Let It Rise

I love bread-baking. I think it’s the simple act of creation: watching a messy pile of flour, liquid, salt, and yeast meld together and then rise, a little miracle in and of itself.

source: torontorob

My first memory of bread-baking is from the mid-90s, when my mother bought into the bread machine craze. She would make a Hawaiian bread, flecked with pineapple and singing with almond extract, that smelled so amazing when it rose we didn’t care that half the time it hit the lid of the machine and fell.

One of my greatest pleasures in being a stay-at-home mom is having the lengths of time it takes to make foods like bread or homemade broths. I may have attempted a loaf here and there when I worked, but not with any regularity. Not enough time to be close to it, carefully evaluating: has it risen enough? do I have time to let it rise AND bake?

Yeast can be a tricky substance, though. If your liquid is too hot, it kills the power of the yeast. If it's not warm, the yeast might not react.

One of Jesus' shortest parables is about yeast. Matthew 6:33 says, "He told them still another parable: 'The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into about sixty pounds of flour until it worked all through the dough.' "

That's it. The whole parable.

I think it was just assumed that the people He spoke to knew how yeast worked. Bread was probably part of their daily diet; bread-making as familiar as it was in the early 20th century in America.

In a big bowl of flour, yeast is just some tiny granules, a miniscule percentage of the whole. And yet without it, we get flat bread. Make the yeast angry and you've got a clump of useless dough. It might look OK. Sure, the dough didn't get quite as puffy as it should. But maybe it will bake right anyway!

Nope.

The image of the kingdom of God being stirred into a giant vat of flour is beautiful to me. We are in a giant world with billions of people. What can we possibly do to change the world for Christ?

But just like yeast, we ... no, not we. The Word of God, the Spirit IN us is so powerful that it can affect everything around us. If we empty ourselves out and let Jesus live through us, we can show others how to rise.

That's why I feel like it's a miracle each time I make bread.

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Love Loss Hope Repeat.

source: Craighton Miller

I’ve never lost a son, but I know two women who have. Both dear, both young, both undeserving of that kind of pain.

In One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp writes that perhaps those tears in the canvas of our life ― the places where we are raw and hurt and wonder Why God? ― are the places where we can see Him most clearly. If we choose. I think those are also the places we can try to patch up with tar and feathers, using scathing words against the One who allowed those rips in the first place.

I think of another mother, a very young one, who wondered why she was going to have a son. I have been there, although unlike Mary, I was not a teenager nor unmarried. But I’ve flipped those flashcards around in my head, too: Why me? What am I going to do with a son? Am I ready for this? Will I ruin him? Scar him for life?

Those perhaps not rips but puckers, places where we’ve doubted the goodness, the grace, the all-knowingness of a Heavenly Father.

We have a second son, a Compassion child, who lives in the scattered islands of the Philippines. Does his mother wonder, too? Why so many? Why so little to work on? Is she embarrassed to have to reach out to help support her children?

All different tears in varying stages. I’m sure at one time or another, we’ve all asked the same questions in different wording, different languages.

Do we see God in the pain? I imagine my heart with tiny pin-pricks straight through, some larger than others … and a flashlight shining from behind, revealing stars. There’s something about stars, isn’t there? Hope. Vastness. Waves of feeling the universe.

I want to swim in the pools of light instead of hiding in the shadows. Finding myself closer to the Comforter, the Giver, whether I feel He is those things at that moment or not. 

Because He is in there, somewhere.

At Christmas, I miss those two unknown men who were lost, my uncle and brother-in-law. I reflect on the hurt of their mothers. And I pray extra-hard that God will seep through the holes and continue to heal, twenty or forty years later, with the promise of glory-to-come.

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Truth in the Tinsel; Or, How Other People Plan My Crafts for Me

It's both a relief and panic-inducing to me that Libbie is finally old enough to do craft-type things. I longed for her to be able to color, glue, and maybe even cut. And now that she can, I try to take advantage of it!

I'm not a crafty person myself, but thankfully I live in the era of Pinterest. We've done several creative things from there recently, including cloud dough and toilet-paper-roll turkeys!

I'm thankful to continue letting others plan my craft projects, and in December we're undertaking a big one: learning about the nativity story by making an ornament every day.

Amanda (of OhAmanda and Impress Your Kids) is my oldest blogging friend. Her passion for teaching her children about Christ never fails to amaze me. And this year she's put all her crafty energy and passion into Truth in the Tinsel: An Advent Experience for Little Hands.

I was thrilled to see how thorough each day's experience is: Amanda provides a "clue" for the kids to discover in an advent calendar or on a paper chain, a Scripture to read together, questions to discuss, an ornament to make, and a further activity to do if you choose. There are also supply lists and recommendations for only doing selections from the 24 days of Advent.

The Truth in the Tinsel e-book is $4.99, but for Black Friday it's $2.99! WOOHOO!

I sincerely hope you'll take advatage of the opportunity to teach your child the importance of Christmas. I've read through Truth in the Tinsel and it's so full of gospel truth, creativity, and love. I can't wait to do it with Libbie and watch her grasp the Truth. And I'll be sharing some of our projects on the Truth in the Tinsel Facebook page, so make sure you like it!

Yes, I will make a small affiliate fee if you buy through my link. If that bothers you, just type in TruthintheTinsel.com and buy it from there. But please DO IT! Cause this is an awesome resource.
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Prying the Mirror Off the Wall

Don’t I beg you, only hear the message, but put it into practice; otherwise you are merely deluding yourselves. The man who simply hears and does nothing about it is like a man catching the reflection of his own face in a mirror. He sees himself, it is true, but he goes on with whatever he was doing without the slightest recollection of what sort of person he saw in the mirror.

But the man who looks into the perfect mirror of God’s law, the law of liberty (or freedom), and makes a habit of so doing, is not the man who sees and forgets. He puts that law into practice and he wins true happiness.  James 1:22-25, J.B. Phillips New Testament

source: _Dimitry

Back in Nashville, my friend Lee had the biggest mirror I'd ever seen in her dining area. It was an open dining area, across from the stairs, really with just one wall. That mirror covered most of the one wall. It was simply enormous.

Sometimes I was a little freaked out to watch myself eat in that mirror. Was that really what I looked like? What others were seeing as I stuffed my face? Ew.

There is a way I like to think that I am and a way I really am. I am a chronic mirror-checker: is that really me? Are my eyebrows that bushy? Am I really THAT big?

I wonder how I would behave in a house with mirrored walls. If I had to watch my every move, see my face when I discipline my children in anger. Watch myself be slothful as I choose the computer over exercise or housecleaning or parenting.

It scares me, the thought of Someone watching. He sees not only all those outside faces and words but the doubts and scary thoughts and depression and anger that dance around in my head. I, like the man James describes, can turn from my Bible and immediately forget faith, forget Him. Not seeing straight.

I don't want to live in fear of mirrors. Inner, outer, all over. I only want to be mirror myself, reflecting Him as He watches me. Break the mirrors from the wall and mosaic them to my body.

Can you see it? Glowing with Him?

Let's do it. Let's break the mirrors.

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Books to Start Conversations about Jesus and Faith with Your Young Kids

{31 Days of Reading Well: Day 18}

It gripped me this year as school began that I only had three years left with Libbie truly under my wings; she will be almost 6 by the time she goes to kindergarten but still, it doesn't seem long enough! We love reading together and I try to make a point of choosing some books that open spiritual conversations with her. 

Here are seven that I love (including some series, so really, a lot more!) and three that I think I would love.

1. Gigi, God's Little Princess series (and I would assume Will, God's Mighty Warrior series as well) - I love the OH SO PINK illustrations in the Gigi books as well as the message. Mr. V tells Libbie every night now, "Good night, princess. Sweet dreams." I just love Sheila Walsh's sense of humor that makes these books readable for parents, too.

2. The Parable of the Lily by Liz Curtis Higgs - A recommendation from Amanda (as MANY of these have been!), this book is an Easter parable by prolific author Higgs (see my review of Mine Is the Night here).  A daughter is given a gift that she finds pretty worthless: a flower bulb in a crate of dirt. But she finds out maybe it was the most beautiful gift of all.

3. Miss Fannie's Hat by Jan Karon - Yes, I linked to my post about this yesterday. It still needed to go here! More pink, more fun, great Bible verse to memorize, wonderful lesson about giving.

4. Just Like Jesus Said series by Melody Carlson - Melody Carlson is another author who writes for children, teens, and adults. This set of four books convey stories in rhyme and help teach basic Bible lessons: sharing, caring, giving.

5. My ABC Bible Verses by Susan Hunt - We haven't been real methodical about this book yet, especially since the stories are longer with only one picture. Plus, the Bible verses are in KJV. But it teaches practical lessons and I like the idea of doing letter Bible verses! (And we're going to do these alphabet Scripture cards from I Can Teach My Child, definitely!)

6. Jesus Storybook Bible - Sometimes I wish that EVERY Bible story were in this wonderful Bible. But otherwise, it's pretty perfect. Every single story points to Jesus and His salvation of the world. Stories are usually three to four pages long, perfect for bedtime. And having Libbie come up to me and say, "Will you read me the Bible?" is just ... perfect!

7. God Thinks You're Wonderful by Max Lucado - Libbie has yet to sit through this entire book, but it's a sweet concept and I am sure she will with a few more months. It's so Lucado - the line about "if God had a refrigerator, He would hang your picture on it" just makes me smile!

I'm sure I will think of a zillion other books as soon as I hit publish, but that's all I can think of for now ... but here are three more I haven't read but think would be great:

8. Humphrey's First Christmas by Carol Heyer

9. What Is Easter? by Michelle Medlock Adams

10. Heaven, God's Promise for Me by Anne Graham Lotz

What are your favorite Christ-centered books to read to your kids?

Linked up to Top Ten Tuesday at OhAmanda & Best of 31 Days.


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31 Days of Reading Well: Day 9, Bibles and Devotionals

"He cared for them [the Israelites] with a true heart and led them with skillful hands." Psalm 78:72

The same skillful hands that led the Israelites lead me today. A wondrous thought! Am I as precious to Him as they? I know the answer - it's found in a Love Letter and nailed, scarred hands and feet.

I wonder if He is ever impatient, full of fire at our tactless lethargy. Has it really taken us more than two thousand years to spread His Gospel to all people?

Where the God of Jeremiah had righteous anger, where He literally saw blood - the spilt blood of Israel - He now sees just The Blood. Blood of His lamb. The only sacrifice that made Him breathe deeply and say, "Yes. That. Is. Enough." Thank You, Jesus.

Black as my sins were,
He said, "I will take them
Pound them to My feet
Push them to My skull
Anchor Me to the cross
For your communion
Your atonement
Your redemption
    - Your chance."

____

I share these thoughts from my journal yesterday to say this: read the Bible. It's the only Book that is different each time you read, enlightened by the Holy Spirit and circumstance.

It is a beautiful love story, the story of God's pursuit of you and the events He knit to make sure you would be with Him.

I use a MacArthur Study Bible that I love. It's been a long time since I had a study Bible, and I really enjoy having the notes and concordance right there to read. I've always admired John MacArthur. I don't always agree 100% with his commentary, but it does help enlighten many of the historical and etymological issues.

I've also been reading from the One Year Bible for Women. I guess the pinkness and lovely designs inside make it "for women." It's just your basic one-year Bible, but I think the length and mixture of each day's reading is good.

I am not a huge devotional reader, but I do pick up My Utmost for His Highest every once in a while. This is one area where I really do think I would like to have a Kindle or other e-reader, so I could read when I have a chance: waiting in a parking lot to get Libbie from preschool, waiting at doctor appointments, etc. I've heard such high praise of Jesus Calling that I would like to pick that one up someday soon.


Do you have a favorite Bible translation, study Bible, or devotional?



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Still Held

I let myself look at the pictures one last time.

I don't even feel the tears until I see the smiling faces of our 24-year-old selves, grinning with satisfaction. "I really feel like we're not being wasteful," I said. "We got what we could afford and we'll use all the space."

Eleven-hundred and seventy square feet that we felt like we owned, even if after a year Mr. V calculated we only really "owned" the tiny half bathroom.

I've learned a lot about ownership over the past months.

Two years ago - maybe even two months ago - I would have told you that foreclosure was not an option for us. Our credit scores have already been super high. We've always tried to make smart financial choices.

We foreclose today.

__________

When I wrote this or this, I would have never imagined the road would end in foreclosure. Never.

But lately I've faced the fact that foreclosure is not the worst thing that could happen to us.

I praise, in the midst of the pain.

We were provided this apartment and new home, which will give us the ability to pay cash for the next seven years.

We have clothes and food and the ability to send our children to school.

We have a Savior who knows our every need and is providing. 

Through all the pain and trial, I believe that as much as I did two years ago. He is enough.

I started this journey with the belief that God would work it all out for His good and it would be a way I could minister to others. It may not be how I thought, but it still is. He is the I AM. The End.

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Joy {Five Minute Friday}

source: antaean

Last weekend, I went on a women's retreat with some ladies from my church. It was a last-minute decision; I had been hesitant because we're still moving things from our house. But a few days before, I decided I couldn't NOT go. I needed some female fellowship. I can't complain about not having friends if I don't try to make some.

One the last sessions I went to, a dear woman shared about Paul's thorn in the flesh — and what she believed her own thorn to be. Word by word, she picked apart Paul's writings and examined the passage.

I shared that I feel my thorn is depression. It is a constant plague to me, for the most part, and some days it takes over my brain, seemingly acting from its own will. It sure feels thorny.

Seeing it as a thorn, though, allowed by God gives me a new perspective. Because of depression, some days I have to believe things I know to be true even when I don't feel them. I have to decide each day that the joy of the Lord IS my strength. It doesn't matter how I feel that particular day. I choose joy.


Inspired and linked to Five-Minute Friday at The Gypsy Mama.


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Rainy September

It's another day where I feel like I've failed in everything.

Clothes don't fit,
but I eat macaroni and cheese.
Try to stay calm,
but I still snap snap snap. Pull glasses back, point angrily, try to get the lightbulb turned on above her head.
Grump at other cars,
write Better Business Bureau reports in my head
instead of offering forgiveness
and remembering it's a first world problem.

In the solitary night,
I cling to what I try to imprint
on my babies' brains.

Today Libbie said to me, "God loves me when I obey Mommy and Daddy."

"NO." I am scared of this lesson, this untruth. "God ALWAYS loves you. He LIKES it when you obey. But that doesn't change His love."

Does she get it? Do I?

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I Wonder If You Wonder

Some nights, I wonder if you ever wonder if you were wrong.

If He did indeed die on the cross and rise on the third day ... then that should make a difference in your life.

Because sometimes, I doubt. Never the presence of God, but occasionally I wonder ... what if someone made it all up?

And I wonder if you wonder, what if they didn't?

That tiny word faith fills my heart, and I don't believe I can get through the day without Jesus. I don't believe I deserve anything but hell but live a grace-filled life despite of circumstances. A life that will be eternal, not stopped by the failed body.

I often wonder about you, who said you believed this, who was sprinkled or dunked or catechized. And then poof, that spark, it died.

Do you ever want to resuscitate it?

I wonder if you ever wonder if you are wrong.

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Like a Gardening Toddler

It's a hot afternoon in June, and Libbie and I are on the back deck. My poor basil plant is withering, the one thing in our yard I claim to care about - since it provides the crop for our Summer Bow-Ties, fresh pesto, gorgeous pizza - and it's nearly dead. My dependence on the rain to water it is not a smart choice in the drought we've had.

I hand Libbie her little yellow spray bottle and ask her to water my plant. I will dump some more water on it later, of course, but her helpfulness needs an outlet that does not include stirring hot pots on the stove or trying to help her brother sit up.

She gives it a good spray and then keeps on watering the friends around it: the bushes, the grass, and the weeds that grow around the weathered deck.

source: kitkaphotogirl

She does not discriminate, joyfully doling out to each one, weed or treasured food-bearing plant, its share of needed water. And I think this - this is the faith of a child. This is what Jesus meant.

Libbie does not know to differentiate between people, plants, colors. She doesn't know that one plant is helpful and one plant is a nuisance to the garden. She sees them like I believe Jesus sees people: each one as His favorite. Each one important to Him. Each one beloved, in need of some tender nurture.

And often, I think He gives us children to learn some of these simple lessons, the truths we've forgotten since we, age two-and-a-half, watered our own weeds.

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Be Wise, Be Innocent

Our precious David,

Yesterday at church, we gave you to God.

No, we didn't exactly leave you there on the altar, to follow Pastor Myron around. But in front of our church family, we promised to raise you in the church, in a home that teaches you about Jesus and leads by example.

One of the crazy things about families is that children don't really belong to their parents. They are given from God and they already belong to God. He cares about them even more than their parents do, which is hard to fathom. What we did yesterday was simply symbolic: saying that we agree with God's plan for you. You are His.

During my pregnancy with you, I couldn't get these verses from Romans out of my head and heart:

I want you to be wise about what is good, yet innocent about what is evil. The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet. Romans 16:19b-20a, HCSB

What more could a mommy want for her baby? In a world where kids grow up so fast, I want you to be innocent. Not so innocent that you are unaware, of course, but so wise about what is good that you cannot give in to evil. I want to teach you what is good, what is right, what is pure, what is noble. I want to impress upon your heart the Truths of Scripture, so fiercely inscribed that you couldn't get rid of them if you tried.

I believe you are destined to be a great man of God, David. Crush Satan. Lead the way. Do what you need to do and go where you need to go. Serve Him with all your heart, mind, and strength.

I love that these verses refer to God as the God of peace. It is what makes our God unique. Christ came as a peacemaker, not as the warrior the Jews expected.

I will try, sweetheart, to be the best example of Christian love I can be. I will fail. I will yell. But I will love you to the ends of the earth.

Thank you for being my precious one, my son, my cuddle bug. I love you.

Mommy

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Can a Fool Be Wise?

Because:

• I'm tired
• I've been working on lots of freelance stuff
• I haven't slept a whole night in at least six months
• I don't have anything new to say

I'm "rerunning" this post from October 2009. Enjoy, and looking forward to hearing your comments.



I've always struggled with Job.

While I consider God's admonition in the last chapters of the book my second-favorite Scripture passage, I am never quite sure what to do with the rest of the lengthy chapters.

If you're not familiar with the biblical Book of Job, the short version is that Satan asks God for permission to afflict Job with many painful situations after God cites that Job is His most faithful servant on earth. So God allows it. Job's children are all killed, all his riches taken away, and his body inflicted with boils from head to toe. Wearily, he sits on his doorstep and scrapes at his boils with broken pottery.

That's when his three buddies come to visit. Over the course of many chapters, they try to convince him of all kinds of crazyness. Then in the end God swoops in, reprimands Job and his dumb friends, and then restores everything to Job. Of the friends, God says, "I am angry with you ... you have not spoken the truth about Me, as My servant Job has" (42:7).

So here's what I've always battled with: is there any merit in the words of Job's friends throughout the Book of Job? Can we quote those passages out of context as Truth?

It seems to me that they do say some insightful things:

"See how happy the man is God corrects; so do not reject the discipline of the Almighty" (5:17).

"We were born only yesterday and know nothing. Our days on earth are but a shadow" (8:9).

"It is impossible for God to do wrong and for the Almighty to act unjustly" (34:10).


Working in the world of Bible studies, I know we HAVE done exactly this, taken the friends' words for the wisdom they seem to be. But God Himself said the friends were fools? It's a strange dichotomy.

I believe that everything in Scripture is there for a reason. Certainly there are many truths that can be scraped from the falsehoods in this text. It's a life lesson not to let even your most trusted friends draw you away from what you know to be true. A perfect example of standing up for what you believe in and remaining pure in heart.

But still, I wonder. Can we quote the words of fools as good, as Truth?

What do you think?



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Why I Think Everyone Should Read Heaven Is for Real

My prayer life has always been lacking.

I have an imagination that runs wild. (And, as a side note, has definitely been passed on to my daughter. The other day she put socks on her hands and insisted they were for building a snowman. Which we did. In the living room. Out of air.) I could never count sheep because I start picturing them doing funny things, like trying to get under the fence or performing pirouettes.

I have a difficult time getting to sleep because I can't get my brain to shut down. And when I pray, I feel unable to focus, to just stay praying. My mind gallops off and all of a sudden I'm making a grocery list and trying to remember if we need pasta and trying to picture what Libbie might look like in a few years.

When I visited my parents in March, my mom urged me to read Heaven Is for Real on her Nook. And, in a matter of hours I spent absorbed in that little screen, I did.

If you haven't heard of this New York Times bestseller (still #1 in nonfiction, and it came out in November), it is the true story of a 3-year-old boy who went to heaven during a very serious illness and time in the hospital.

I completely believe that it is true. First, everything is backed with biblical quotations. Second, the child knew things he couldn't know. Third, even a 3-year-old couldn't make up this stuff.

The writing is not elegant and it can be a bit scattered, but the pieces of what the author, Todd Burpo, relays are heart-wrenching and make me thirst for heaven.

Reading Heaven Is for Real has changed my prayer life. I think it's because I have a portrait of heaven drawn by a 3-year-old: one my tiny brain can take in. I can imagine myself sitting in a little chair next to Jesus, talking about the people I know, the things I care about, my woes and joys. Where I would plead with Him to "shoot His power down" (terminology from the child).

Jesus is real. Heaven is real. If you need a little reinforcement of those matters, I think reading this book might be eye-opening for you. Even if you don't, I think it's an awesome reminder that Jesus cares for us, for every aspect of our lives. He has prepared a place for us that is awe-inspiring.

I know these are muddled words, but I can't quite describe the why. I just hope you'll take my urging and get Heaven Is for Real into your hands as quickly as possible. Then come tell me what you thoughts about it! You can always e-mail me (jessie at vanderbiltwife dot com) if you want to chat about books - or just about anything.

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Appearance of Love

I wield my vacuum as a weapon, valiantly sucking away the crumbs and hair and dust that tells of our everyday existence. Creating a story that is not my own, one where I am tidy and my children are constantly bathed and my stove does not have dirty pots on it. All for the sake of someone I know doesn't truly care.

I still feel the urge. The need to hide what's there, what is true. The knowledge of what I need to fix in myself. The disgust with my body, my home, the ants dancing across the bathroom floor.

Do I do the same thing here, in my home on the Web? Show only what I think others can stomach; make myself look better, holier, thinner than I am?

I revel in the sacred moments but fail to reveal that they are too rare. I've not shared with many my Lenten sacrifices, because I would be forced to admit I have fully kept to neither.

I tell of my battle with depression, but not about the day where I couldn't stop crying and screamed at my babies and had to have a friend take them somewhere else.

I don't ever want to be too proud to be true. In love, I show you who I am. Run quickly, or stay around and have a cup of coffee and confess that you, too, screw up. I'll love you either way.

_______

I want to turn Romans 12 into a painting, something I can see in my house every day:

⁹ Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. ¹⁰ Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. ¹¹ Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. ¹² Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ¹³ Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.
 ¹⁴ Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. ¹⁵ Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. ¹⁶ Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.
 ¹⁷ Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. ¹⁸ If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. ¹⁹ Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,”  says the Lord. ²⁰ On the contrary:
   “If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
   if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.”
 ²¹ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good (NIV).

Here is some of Matthew Henry's commentary on verses 9-16:

"True Christian love will make us take part in the sorrows and joys of each other. Labour as much as you can to agree in the same spiritual truths; and when you come short of that, yet agree in affection. Look upon worldly pomp and dignity with holy contempt. Do not mind it; be not in love with it. Be reconciled to the place God in his providence puts you in, whatever it be. Nothing is below us, but sin. We shall never find in our hearts to condescend to others, while we indulge conceit of ourselves; therefore that must be mortified."

True Love. Reconciled.

I seem to recall a fitting picture of those words.

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Working for the Lord

I am standing in my kitchen wondering what I would make Jesus for dinner.

It's Sunday afternoon, and I don't particularly want to be in the kitchen for hours, as I have been. But prepping several meals at a time saves time during the week ... time I need when my kids are having meltdowns at 4 p.m.

I am starting to get bitter, especially when I ask my husband to watch the baby and he says he doesn't really want to, but he will. I can see the sparks coming out of my ears. I brace myself against the counter and think my own personal mantra:

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men (Col. 3:23).

And my mind wanders, considering doing this very task for Jesus. I certainly wouldn't make Him Chicken and Dressing casserole, which is what I'm currently composing at the counter. I did make the cream of chicken soup from scratch, but boxed cornbread stuffing? Not for my Lord.

I know many cooks have a specialty, but I don't. I often try new recipes on guests, because I'm a little crazy. Baked Ziti is something we often take to friends who need a meal, but I'm not sure Jesus would appreciate the pork products.

Finally, I decide I would make him what my earthly father always asks my mother for: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy.

I don't really know how to make fried chicken; but for Jesus, I would learn.

I'm not sure this is what Paul meant in Colossians.

Sharing this post on Feels Like Home as my Sunday Best!
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Hallelujah, What a Savior

The most significant time of worship in my life didn't happen in a church—I expect that might be true for many people. It wasn't singing "More Precious Than Silver" at Vespers in the woods at GA camp, although that might be a close second. It wasn't the missions service in 4th grade where I felt a strong call to the mission field. It wasn't performing "Worlds Apart" during my time as a summer missionary after my freshman year of college, although that was indeed intense and powerful.

For me, that time of worship took place in VanNess Auditorium at LifeWay Christian Resources, where I had the privilege of working for five years.

I didn't usually sing in the LifeWay choir, but they assembled a special choir to perform some pieces from 3:16 The Musical, based on Max Lucado's book 3:16 and the accompanying Bible study we were putting together. For several weeks, I attended practices during lunchtime, adding my little second soprano to their normal mix. I'm not very good at reading music, but I love singing and I found these selections especially moving.

The morning dawned ... icily. I think I was supposed to be at work for practice at 6:45, and I wasn't even sure I would be able to get through the ice to my car. I recall frantically scraping and dousing with water. (We Tennesseans don't handle snow and ice gracefully.)

But I made it. And so did a couple hundred other LifeWay employees. A much higher percentage than usual chapel attendance, perhaps influenced by the fact that the music was led by Travis Cottrell and the narration was done by Max Lucado himself.

There is a movement in one of the pieces incorporating "Man of Sorrows" (it starts about 3:37 in this video of the song). Something about the lyrics and instrumentation choked me up every time we practiced, and the day of the chapel service, tears poured down my face as I tried to sing.

Hallelujah, what a Savior!
Hallelujah, what a Friend!

I just listened to that YouTube video and it had the same effect.

When the song was over, every person in the auditorium was on their feet clapping. For Jesus. It was the closest to heaven I have ever felt on earth.

I am sure the teeny, tiny baby that was in my belly jumped for joy as she felt the Spirit move. Even I didn't know she was there yet. I had waited for her for a long time, and God brought her at the perfect time for us.

Hallelujah, what a Savior. What a friend.

Added to Remarkable Faith: Worship at Giving Up on Perfect. If you missed it, here is my post for last week's theme of funeral. 

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Remarkable Faith: A Funeral

I was just shy of 18 when one of my friends died in a car accident.

I'd been to very few funerals up to that point: a great-grandfather when I was very small; my best friend's mother when I was 12.

I remember the day of her funeral vividly, in slow-motion. Setting up. Hearing the song "Tears in Heaven" practiced what seemed like a hundred times. Crying so much someone from the family section handed me tissues. The urn. The multitude of faces, people she had touched in one way or another.

I felt broken, sitting there, staring at the urn, the senior picture, the mother who never expected to bury a daughter.

My faith was a little broken at that point, too. That summer after my senior year may be the low point of my faith, despite the fact that I was entering college as a Virginia Baptist Scholar. God felt far. Freedom felt close as a new 18-year-old with a job, a boyfriend, independence looming.

God slowly worked at my heart as I entered college, and I discovered a new passion for service. It was nearly two years after the funeral that I was doing a Disciple Now weekend, trying to lead and counsel a group of middle-school girls. (Have I mentioned how much middle-schoolers scare me?) I knew the church felt familiar, but it wasn't until I stepped into the sanctuary for our closing service that it hit me.

This was the church where we had my friend's funeral.

I panicked and ran out. My then-boyfriend, Mr. V, came with me to the playground of the church as I cried, unable to fathom reentering the holy place, a sanctuary's carpet that held my tears.

As he sat there with me and tried to make me smile by telling me his favorite "math love poem," I think I realized that he was the one. Broken by death, healed by love.

But I still have a very violent reaction to "Tears in Heaven."

Thanks, Mary, for the inspiration to write about a funeral that affected my faith. This is part of her Remarkable Faith series at Giving Up on Perfect. 

I'm sharing my Sunday Best at Feels Like Home. 

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Faithfully My Name is Called Each Night*

For many years but especially since I had children, I've asked my parents many times what they did to me when I was a teenager. What did they do to make me not ever want to do anything bad?

I'm not saying I was a perfect or model teenager. But I never fell away from my faith in a drastic way, I did not smoke or drink, or have sex, or really even have a great desire to do any of these things. Yes, I did have the first-child syndrome of wanting to please my parents immensely. But I know many oldest children who did not take the narrow road.

For years, my parents would respond that they had no idea what they did. My mom tended to credit our youth pastor. Sometimes they claimed that strong-willed chilren became teens who didn't bow to peer pressure.

Only recently did my dad finally respond, "Well, your mom prays. A lot."

My college. My husband. My children. My ability to stay at home. All things I know my mother has prayed fervently over.

Mom is a bit of a worrier ... but she turns that into prayer, the right solution for worry. And I believe she's taught me to do the same thing. Every joy, every pain, every struggle, almost always my first reaction is to speak to my Jesus.

Oh, how glad I am that He always listens.

One of the most important things I've ever learned is that if it concerns me, it concerns Him. He loves me that much.

And I believe it's a lesson my mother taught me well.

Title is from the song "Mama's Prayers" by Elizabeth Cook, whom I love!

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