Like a child

I was sitting on the couch trying to soothe Corban to sleep when Isabelle crawled up next to us, laid down on her stomach, looked me in the eye and said, "I'm my meeting. I'm praying." Then she put her head down and said something that sounded like, "Dear God, you love you." Recently, she's been dancing around the house singing her version of a song that has the word "Hallelujah" in it. And just about every time we leave the house, she thinks we're going to church or Sunday school.

This humbles me. Having not been raised in this way, I'm continually amazed by her absorption of our faith practices, and I'm thankful that in some way, I must be doing something right. On those days when I don't feel like a very good Christian (whatever that's supposed to mean), the whispered prayers of a 2-year-old encourage me.

I thought about how Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me," and how He didn't have to coerce, bribe or in any way entice the children to come to Him. They were on their way. It was the adults who hesitated. It's still us adults who take our time coming to Jesus, whether it's for the first time for salvation or with our everyday troubles or for whatever reason. I see how easily Isabelle accepts Jesus as part of her life and I wonder, "Why is it so hard for me?"

"I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven," Jesus told a group of disciples when they wanted to know who was the greatest.

Some days, I ask the same question.

A friend recently shared that her 4-year-old daughter disappeared upstairs for a while, and when she came back down, told her mother that she'd been praying to Jesus.

The kingdom belongs to such as these. Amen and amen.

Specks and logs

I'm mildly obsessive about my teeth, at least when it comes to food particles being stuck between them. Usually, I'll smile wide at Phil and ask him if there's anything between my teeth after a meal, especially if I know I'm going to be meeting new people or talking in a group or seeing anyone who isn't a family member. If he's not there to tell me, I make a beeline for a mirror. Sometimes he tells me when I don't ask, and while that's not always easy to take, I know he's telling me out of love.

Last week, while talking with a woman I didn't know well after a meal, I noticed some food remnants in her teeth. I quickly averted my eyes and pretended I hadn't seen them. When our conversation was over and she had left, I mentally kicked myself for not saying something. I imagined the embarrassment she might face if she was headed to class and talked to others with noticeable black spots between her teeth. Would it have been awkward to tell her? Yes, but I know I'd want someone to tell me.

We had a similar opportunity spiritually this week. Phil and I were confronted with someone who behaves according to the world's standards while proclaiming to be a Christian. Neither of us said anything in the moment, but we were both burdened by the situation afterwards. We have yet to come up with a loving way to broach the subject. For the benefit of this person, whom we love dearly, we know it's like the food-in-teeth issue -- it might be awkward, even perceived as offensive, at the time, but in the long run, it's for this person's benefit.

I think about Jesus' words -- "Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?" (Matthew 7:3) -- and I wonder if I'm seeing a speck without noticing a log in my own life. I know Scripture supports lovingly confronting people about sin, but I don't know how to do it, and most of the time, I even wonder if I should.

Any insights out there to help me along? I'd love to hear any experiences you've had with this issue.

What's inside

I'm a colossal failure at hard-boiled eggs. While I'm no gourmet chef, I'm certainly not worthy of being on "Worst Cooks in America," so admitting I'm so terrible at something seemingly so simple is not easy.

We had a potluck at church today. I hadn't been to the grocery store all week, so I was trying to pick something to make from ingredients I already had in the house. I came across a deviled egg recipe that sounded good, so I boiled my eggs. Knowing I have trouble with this task, I consulted a cookbook and followed the instructions for boiling eggs to a "T." After they cooled and I began the peeling process, I discovered the usual soft, runny white underneath the shell surrounding a cooked yoke. As I threw egg white after egg white into the trash, I became frustrated at the realization that deviled eggs was not going to be on the menu at church.

Later, I prepared another dish as my plan B, but the hard-boiled egg failures still irk me. I wish there was a way to tell before I start peeling them whether they're cooked well or not. It's an act of faith, in a way, not unlike our own spiritual development.

Do you ever wonder what you look like on the inside to God? Are we soft, runny and underdone, not worth much toward our intended purpose? Are we overdone, hard and tainted, still good for that which we're meant but not too appealing to look at? Or are we perfectly prepared for what God has in mind? God only knows.

Nobody likes to go through unpleasant circumstances, but like the eggs have to be boiled to be of use when I intend to serve them as deviled eggs, God uses the tough times, the "hot water" of life to prepare us for what's ahead. If we seek to get out of it too soon, we become useless. If we're in too long, sometimes we can become bitter.

James says this: "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." (verses 2-4)

Are you facing trials of many kinds? Know that God sees the growth happening inside and will bring you to maturity because of it.

And if anyone knows how to make a perfect hard-boiled egg, I'm all ears.

The only thing to fear

I quit watching horror movies sometime in the last 10-15 years. I'm not sure of the exact reason. I once thought it was because I became a Christian, but I think it had more to do with growing up and realizing that I have enough realistic fears that I don't need to add fictitious ones to the mix.

Some of the things I fear:

getting pregnant again too soon

discovering a major health issue when I don't have medical insurance

stifling my daughter's outgoing personality and wild, creative behavior because I'm tired or impatient or more reserved, myself

obeying God's call on my life

This last one is the one that has been most on my mind lately. God's specific call for my life includes writing. I have lots of ideas, some information, and hardly anything actually written, yet I can't deny that God wants me to write. I can't NOT write, even if I'm just making a grocery list or jotting a note to a friend. It lifts my spirits, gives me hope and spurs me on. My heart races when I do it, and I feel full when I've let my thoughts flow on paper or screen.

And I find myself jealous (usually), critical (sometimes) and challenged (always) when I hear about someone else's writing success. Mostly I just want the time and motivation to do what I know needs to be done.

So I ask myself how much I want it. Because if I really wanted it, I'd do it.

I think I'm afraid. Not of rejection because I know it will happen; it happens to all writers, even good ones. I think I'm afraid that if I write, I'll discover that God didn't call me to that after all, and then I won't know what my calling is.

Wow. That seems a little silly when I see it written before my eyes. Still ...

I read this in Oswald Chambers' "My Utmost for His Highest" today. Speaks to me where I'm at. He says, "tenacity is more than endurance, it is endurance combined with the absolute certainty that what we are looking for is going to transpire. Tenacity is more than hanging on, which may be but the weakness of being too afraid to fall off. ... Then comes the call to spiritual tenacity, not to hang on and do nothing, but to work deliberately on the certainty that God is not going to be worsted."

Then I read these words from the psalmist's pen: "God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear ..." (Psalm 46:1-2a, NIV)

God is my strength, whether in trouble or not. Therefore, I have nothing to fear. "Tenacious" is not a word I would use to describe myself, and I haven't always thought of it as a good thing, but after today, I think it's a necessary attribute for the Christian life.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt said, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." From the Christian standpoint, the only person we have to fear is God Himself, not because he's horror-movie scary but because of something else I read today: "The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it." (Psalm 24:1)

Everything is His. Everyone is His. If that's true, then I don't have to live in fear of any of the above-mentioned circumstances because God is in control. I don't have to acknowledge that He is for that to be true. I don't even have to FEEL like He's in control for it to be true. Because He is in control, all I have to fear is how I live my life in relation to Him -- in obedience or disobedience. One brings life; the other death. I can tenaciously pursue obedience to God and trust Him whatever the outcome or I can live disobediently and find myself merely hanging on, afraid to fall.

The first step is always the hardest.

Out of the tube

Isabelle, our almost-2-year-old, has been saying "Dang it" occasionally. I don't know what bothers me more -- that she uses the phrase in appropriate situations so she already knows what it means or that I know she learned it by listening to my husband and me.

When she says it, we tell her not to use those words, and sometimes she'll say "Oopsie" right after it because we've tried to substitute that phrase for the other one in our own speech. Still, the "dang" cat is out of the bag, and I'm reminded, convicted really, how much harm we do with our words and how permanent their place once they are voiced.

I remember a children's sermon about this, using a tube of toothpaste as an illustration. The teacher squeezed all the toothpaste out and offered $5 to any child who could put the toothpaste back in the tube. Try as they might, not one of those kids could put an ounce of toothpaste back in the tube. The teacher went on to tell the children that this is what it's like with our words. Once they're out, they can never go back in.

One time while working for the college newspaper, I had an issue with one of the editors and said some things about her to other staffers. Of course, those comments got back to her and she confronted me about it. I was embarrassed that she heard what I'd said about her, and I'd like to say it's a lesson I learned, but I know far too often I still speak without thinking or considering whether I'd want the person I'm talking about to hear what I've said.

Recently I've been reading through Proverbs, and the Lord has convicted me through a string of verses that I must be more discerning about what I say. Consider these thoughts:

The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life, but violence overwhelms the mouth of the wicked. (10:11)

Wisdom is found on the lips of the discerning ... the mouth of a fool invites ruin. (10:13, 14)

Whoever spreads slander is a fool. (10:18)

When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise. (10:19)

The tongue of the righteous is choice silver ... the lips of the righteous nourish many. (10:20, 21)

"Loose lips sink ships" is how the old military saying goes. The same is true of the Church. Our "casual" commentary on each other will slowly destroy any chance we have at unity and witness to the world.

And, it starts with me.

"Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips." (Psalm 141:3)

Spotless

I broke a sweat Swiffering the kitchen floor last week. Maybe I wouldn't have had to work so hard if the last time the floor was swept and mopped wasn't three months ago. (Gross, I know, but no one will ever mistake me for Mrs. Clean.)

Days later, as my husband prepared our Valentine's Day dinner, he said, Sorry, you're probably going to have to sweep again.

Not a big deal when we're only talking about a day or two's worth of kitchen crumbs. That's a quick job. When it has accumulated over time, then we're talking scrub-worthy effort.

I feel the same way about my spiritual life. It doesn't take much for God to get the gunk out of my life when I come to Him daily with it. But when it's been days, weeks, months or years, the process requires more effort, more sweat and most likely some tears.

1 John 1:9 says "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." (NIV)

I admit, I'm not too faithful at confessing my sins. Sometimes, I delude myself into thinking I don't have any. Then, I get a gentle (or not so gentle) reminder from God, and for a time, I'm humbled. Until I become comfortable enough with my life to stop confessing my sins.

What would my life look like if I daily came to God and asked Him to not only forgive me of the sins I could remember but to show me the sins I didn't even know I was committing?

We're entering the season of Lent today, and I haven't given much thought to how I can intentionally honor the Lord during this time and set apart something for Him. This may be the place to start: "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." Psalm 139:23-24 (NIV)

My heart longs to sing this truth each day: "Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow, now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."

He's always going to be starting with dirt when He begins the washing process. How much dirt is up to me.

The sigh moment

Raising two kids wouldn't be so hard if one of them wasn't a toddler who was constantly demanding her own way. Her first-born nature and mine seem always to be wrestling for control. She loves to help with dishes, and some days, I feel like we're elbowing each other for a better position at the sink -- her goal, to play in the water and mine, to actually clean some dishes! She's also in the bossy stage. I feel like her pet sometimes. "Sit." "C'mere." Will I soon be asked to "roll over" or "shake"?

No matter how crazy the day has been, though, there's this moment at the end of the day that makes it all worthwhile. It starts with kisses and hugs at bedtime, followed by an "I wuv you" as one of us puts her in her crib. As soon as the door to the bedroom closes, my husband and I look at each other and almost audibly let our breath out. He calls it "the sigh moment." The work part of the day is over and it's time to relax. Even if our son is still awake, it's still a more calm time in our household.

Thinking about the sigh moment helps me get through those everyone's-tired-and-cranky-and-there's-too-much-to-do days. That's my reward.

So, too, in the Christian life. Walking with the Lord, working for Him, serving in His name can be exhausting and seemingly unrewarding, at times. But we have confidence that when our time is done, we'll have a sigh moment with Him. Not just a "well done, good and faithful servant," although coming from God Himself, that would be enough, but eternity to live with Him.

"Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." Revelation 21:3-4

Tone deaf

I started re-reading C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters" this week because I need a reminder of the subtle ways we, Christians, can tear each other apart, almost without knowing it.

I've been thinking heavily about this passage lately:

In civilised life domestic hatred usually expresses itself by saying things which would appear quite harmless on paper (the words are not offensive) but in such a voice, or at such a moment, that they are not far short of a blow in the face. To keep this game up you ... must see to it that each ... has a sort of double standard. Your patient must demand that all his own utterances are to be taken at their face value and judged simply on the actual words, while at the same time judging all his mother's utterances with the fullest and most oversensitive interpretation of the tone and the context and the suspected intention.

Sometimes I forget how easily a tone can change a conversation, and I wonder if the way I say something often makes it difficult for the other person to actually hear what I'm saying. And vice versa.

One afternoon this week, I walked into the house with an armload of groceries. Everyone else in the house was napping. Until I walked in. The first words out of my husband's mouth were "I need to teach you how to enter a house." His tone wasn't cruel, but I sensed some annoyance, because the door slammed behind me and everyone woke up. My reaction was less than cordial and for a few minutes, until I realized how childish I was being, I sulked around the house and began compiling my mental list of grievances against my husband. All because of how I interpreted his tone. All he was really saying was that I could have entered the house more quietly, and he was willing to demonstrate. I blew it out of proportion.

Maybe this is why Scripture tells us: Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone. (Colossians 4:6)

And: A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. (Proverbs 15:1)

I'm hoping to be a better listener, tuning out a person's tone to get to the heart of what they're saying. I'm not sure it's easy, but I'm willing to try.

Grace in the common place

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." -- 2 Corinthians 12:9

I've been learning, recently, through the book our women's Bible study is reading, "Lies Women Believe," that God's grace is sufficient for me. Since becoming a Christian, I think I've known this about the big things of life, but I'm learning that it applies to the everyday, common things as well. In the book, the author describes several circumstances and then writes after those descriptions, "His grace is sufficient for me." Here are some of mine:

When dinner was supposed to be ready 10 minutes ago and I haven't started it yet, His grace is sufficient for me.

When the toddler is screaming, "Mommy, mommy, mommy" from the top of her lungs and I'm sitting right next to her, His grace is sufficient for me.

When the baby is crying and won't go to sleep while the toddler just filled her diaper with poop, His grace is sufficient for me.

When the house is a disaster and I've spent my last bit of energy, His grace is sufficient for me.

When I just want to scream because the stress level's high, His grace is sufficient for me.

When I'm tired and hungry and trying to get dinner on the table and the water boils over and the baby needs attention and the toddler is patting my butt saying, "Mommy, mommy, mommy" and I'm ready to throw in the towel, His grace is sufficient for me.

I'm sure there're are many more, but those are what rise to the top tonight. Feel free to add your own.

Life In Progress

A place for everything and everything in its place. Our motto these days is more like "no place for anything and nothing in its place."

Thanks to Christmas, the addition of a new baby and traveling, our house is far from orderly. We still have suitcases (empty) in the bedroom, mounds of laundry that seem to multiply overnight, toys in every room of the house and piles of papers and other miscellaneous objects that seem to have no home.

This bugs me. I like order. I enjoy putting things where they go. I want to be able to walk through the house without worrying about tripping over a stray toy or cup.

I'm thinking that's not going to happen until Phil and I are empty-nesters. Realistically, it's probably possible sooner than that, but when I look around the house, I wonder if it's always going to be like this. When we lived in our first apartment, our stuff was packed into it in an out-of-control, embarrassing sort of way. Then, our daughter was born and the disorder was more like chaos. When we moved to the house we now live in, we couldn't believe all the room we had. We've learned, though, that when you upgrade, you find a way to fill the space you have. Add to that the birth of our son and we're back to feeling a little like sardines.

Maybe that means we have too much stuff. Thanks to ample storage space in the attic, we have a few boxes of things we haven't used since we've been married. They're mostly decorative things, I think, like picture frames and wall hangings, although there's also a box of music boxes I've collected since I was a girl that haven't seen the light of day in close to 10 years. I've never been much of a decorator, but I want to be able to display these things and create a homey atmosphere. Right now, the atmosphere is modern toddler, at best; messy family, at worst. I fear that our kids will be 16 before we're able to show off their baby pictures or that Phil and I will be celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary before I get around to putting up our wedding pictures.

We're definitely a work in progress when it comes to our home, and I know this happens to most families with young children. It's just hard for me to accept because I'm not a work-in-progress type of girl. I like to finish what I start. This was the hardest time management lesson to learn as a reporter. Most of the time, I had to have three or four stories "in progress" while I waited for phone calls to be returned or interviews to be scheduled. If I had waited until one story was finished before I started the next one, I would never have made deadline and probably would have been quickly out of a job.

Most of the time my life feels like a work in progress, too. Some days, I wish I was a lot closer to complete than I am. I'm often reminded of how much work is left to do, especially when I say something I don't really mean, become overwhelmed by the little things, or ignore a need when I could help meet it.

I'm grateful for other work-in-progress people in my life, who even if they're a little closer to complete than I am, remind me that nobody's perfect and nobody will be this side of Heaven. I'm drawn to those kind of people, who easily admit their faults and acknowledge they don't have it all together.

Maybe that's why I've always loved Philippians 1:6: "being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

Someday I'll be complete. Until then, I can rest in the truth that every day is bringing me a little closer to that end.

Connected

It's been too long. Those of you who know our family well or follow us on Facebook know that on December 2 we were blessed with a son, Corban Ranard, who weighed in at 9 lbs. 10 oz. and was 21 inches long. After the weeks and months of anxiety and waiting, he arrived just a few hours after his due date, via C-section, which was a fearful prospect before it happened but actually turned out to be not so bad. The last month has been full of family visits, holiday celebrations and adjusting to life as a family of four.

Even though we live 700 miles from family and most of our friends, we were truly blessed to have our parents present before and after Corban's birth to help with household chores and even to give Phil and me a week without a toddler before we traveled home for the holidays. I don't know how we would have done it without them. We delayed reality for a while, but it was a great help to have so much support during my recovery.

I've had lots of time to think, even if I don't have lots of time to publish those thoughts. One thought I wanted to share came to me while I watched my dad try to fix our strands of Christmas lights as we decorated our tree. Of the two strands, only half of one worked, which would have made for a dimly lit tree. While Phil was out running errands, and picking up two new boxes of lights, my dad set out on a search for the lights that were causing the problem. After a diligent search of both strands, he found the problem on one strand and fixed it so that all the lights worked. The nonworking half of the second strand was beyond repair, so he cut it off and wrapped the exposed wire on the working strand.

The second strand reminds me of the church or what the Bible calls the body of Christ. The purpose of a strand of lights is to shine, as is the purpose of the body. "You are the light of the world," Jesus tells his disciples. And like the strand of lights, we're all connected. So, if one member experiences a problem, it affects the rest. Yet, I wonder, how many of us are like the half strand that was working, happily shining our lights, not knowing that the rest of the strand was dark, affecting the overall brightness of our light?

"For the body is not one member, but many. ... And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it. Now you are Christ's body, and individually members of it." -- 1 Corinthians 12:14, 26-27

The body of Christ, His church, is only as bright as the weakest member. I can't effectively show the light of Jesus if other members of the church are struggling to even light in the first place. I'm praying for open eyes to see the unlit lights around me and for wisdom to help them shine again.

True hope

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight." -- Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)

I can quote this verse, but I forget, sometimes, to claim its truth and live it out. It's been a rough couple of weeks with the pregnancy, not because of any problems really, but because of expectations and false hopes.

Last week, at 37 weeks, I was barely dilated, but the doctor was hopeful that something would be happening soon. Other mommy friends told me their stories and I started to get excited that maybe we'd have a baby by the end of the week. On Friday, after timing contractions for an hour between 4 and 5 a.m., I woke Phil up, certain we'd be heading to the hospital. As I sat on the couch, though, just to be sure I was feeling what I was feeling, the contractions stopped. And as the day went on, life resumed to normal. Disappointment set in as I refreshed my memory about the signs of false labor. Then, I got angry. So, I took out my frustrations on the dishes and anything else I thought needed a good cleaning. And I wore myself out.

At my next appointment, I went in with the hope that my cervical dilation would have progressed in the last week only to find out that really nothing had happened. Same dilation, same belly measurement, and now the doctor was talking possible C-section if the baby didn't drop soon. We did have another ultrasound to measure the baby's growth, and he or she is not quite 8 lbs. yet, so the news wasn't all bad.

I left the appointment in tears, with more disappointment and frustration taking control of my attitude. After rejoicing that we made it past the 35-week mark, I've convinced myself that this baby is never going to be born, even though I'm still two weeks from my due date. I've allowed the doctor appointments, and even other birth experiences, to build my expectations and set me up for false hope. Not that anyone has intended to do that; I've just been willing to cling to any kind of hope that the baby will be here sooner than my due date.

Even the doctor this week, though, said he wished he had a crystal ball and could tell me what was going to happen. As I've thought more about the past couple of weeks, I'm being reminded that even though the doctor can't tell me for certain what will happen and my friends' birth experiences won't necessarily be mine, I have a Father in Heaven who knows EXACTLY how this pregnancy will end. He knows the time, day, place and circumstances. And though I wish He would let me in on some of that, I have no other option but to trust that His timing is perfect and will be perfect and there's a reason for all this waiting. I cannot trust in what I know, what my friends know or even 100 percent in what the doctors know because none of us is God Almighty.

And I have to remember that the hope I have in Christ is "an anchor for the soul, firm and secure." (Hebrews 6:19, NIV) When I cling to this hope, I will not be tossed about, emotionally or spiritually, but can wait with confidence for Him.

Easy? No, but neither is freaking out and placing my hope in news that seems to change from week to week. Firm and secure. That's what I need. That's what I've been lacking.

As the hymn says, "On Christ the Solid Rock, I stand. All other ground is sinking sand." Amen. And Amen.

Making room

We've had an interesting day, but it really begins Tuesday. That was my 35-week doctors' appointment, at which the doctor discovered that my belly had grown, in a week, bigger than it should be at this point in the pregnancy. So, she scheduled us for an ultrasound, which was this afternoon. Bear in mind that a year and a half ago, at 35 weeks pregnant, I was in the hospital preparing to give birth to our 6 lb., 3 oz. daughter.

As the ultrasound tech took the baby's measurements, she said, more than once, "Oh, big baby." Really? I thought. I mean, people have been looking at me like I'm nuts when I tell them I have five weeks to go, even asking me if I'm sure I'll make it one more day, but I guess I wasn't totally prepared to hear that the baby is big. I blame the steroids in the shots they're giving me. :) Anyway, according to her measurements, the baby is 7 lbs., 6 oz. already, which may bump my due date up about two weeks.

So, let's see, if my math is correct, five minus two is ... three. Three? Like, we could have a baby in less than three weeks? But we're so not ready! I envy those people who have everything in order and who seem to just sit around and wait for the baby to come. That's not been our experience so far. Heck, when Isabelle was born, our apartment was undergoing electrical work that our landlord had yet to finish and we had, literally, nothing as far as baby gear goes. No car seat, no crib, no diapers, no clothes. I remember telling people, "We have five weeks" like in that span of time, the baby fairy was going to sweep through our apartment and equip us with everything we needed.

Lesson learned. This time, at least, we have gear. We have diapers. We even have a more-than-half-packed hospital bag. Still, we find ourselves with some minor redecorating, shall we say, to make room for the baby, who will sleep in our room for the time being. After hearing today's baby update, it seems like all of a sudden we're in high gear to get this stuff done.

All of this makes me think of getting ready for Jesus. The world was mostly unprepared for His arrival the first time; will we make the same mistake the second time around?

I think of the Parable of the Ten Virgins, found in Matthew 25:1-13, and how half of them were ready and half of them weren't. And even though the bridegroom in the story was delayed, the five who had prepared were ready anyway while the other five were caught by surprise. In the course of my everyday life, I wonder if I'll be caught by surprise when Jesus returns or if I'll be ready. It's certainly no secret that He's coming again. He talked about it often when He was on earth, as is recorded in the Gospels. So, like with pregnancy, I shouldn't be surprised that it will happen someday.

Unlike with pregnancy, there's no due date, though. At the end of the passage in Matthew, Jesus says, "Be on the alert then, for you do not know the day nor the hour." How, then, should that affect how I live my life?

Anticipating the baby's arrival, I see my daily activities through a different lens. I look around the house and see better what needs to be cleaned or moved or gotten rid of. How I spend my day also is affected. I rest when I need to, knowing that I have the trial of labor ahead. Or I prioritize baby-related activities, like washing baby clothes or packing the hospital bag, above other things I could be doing like reading or checking Facebook. (OK, so it doesn't always look like that as I'm 100 percent guilty of being on FB when I should be doing something far more productive.)

If I view my life through the lens that Jesus is returning, and it could be any day, then my priorities should change, too. I should value what He values. I should consider how I spend my time and money. I should have an urgency about my life that reflects the need to be ready for His arrival.

Most days my life doesn't look anything like that because it's so easy to get caught up in the daily stuff of life that we, in some ways, have to be concerned with to make life flow from day to day. Still, I desire a more eternal perspective. Will you pray with me for that perspective? Regardless of the day or year of Christ's return, we, Christians, need to be ready. How will you get ready?

Lean on me

It's been an overwhelming couple of days, just thinking about what's to come and what needs to be done. I've passed the psychological milestone of 35 weeks in this pregnancy (that's when Isabelle was born) so I feel like I'm in waiting mode -- that any day, our second child could enter our lives.

On top of getting things ready for the baby and the seemingly endless string of doctors' appointments that go with it, we've had additional basic life issues to deal with this week like paperwork for benefits renewal, car inspection and trying to find somewhere, anywhere still offering flu shots. Add those to the daily grind of school, work, housework, child care and it's no wonder the floodgates opened tonight and I found myself a blubbering mess of tears as a friend and I met for our weekly chat. Yet when she left, life suddenly didn't seem so overwhelming and just voicing the struggles diminished them somewhat.

The same thing happened yesterday when I was frazzled and frustrated -- the ladies of the Bible study I attend threw me a baby shower of sorts, complete with cupcakes, ice cream, baby-themed plates and a generous offer of meals for our family after the baby is born.

Both instances brought to mind a passage from Ecclesiastes. "Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up." (4:9-10, NASB)

Phil and I have and continue to be lifted up by our families -- both biological and spiritual -- in ways we can never repay. At times, it's hard to accept so much help when you feel you have nothing to give back, but we're learning firsthand the principle of passing on to someone else what's been done for you. Pay it forward, if you will. We're racking up quite an account for someone or several people in the future, which is indeed a blessing now and to come.

I think it's safe to say the hardest thing we've had to do so far in our married life is leave our hometown, family and friends to move to a state where we knew less than a handful of people. We knew when we got married that it would be that way. So, for our exit song at our reception, we asked that the DJ play "Lean on Me" and that all of our family and friends join us for a sort of group hug/dance. It's a song that Phil's camp "kids" made meaningful to a group of Bible campers, but that's not the main reason we chose the song. Its words hit us where we live, then and now. It really has the same message as the Bible passage quoted above: We need other people to survive in this world, but we can't get help if we don't tell people we need it and what a sad state to be in: needing help but having no friends.

Two hours ago, and most of yesterday, I was too stressed to even know where to begin counting my blessings. Now, although it's somewhat cliche, I can say that I'm too blessed to be stressed. Life's circumstances and responsibilities haven't gone away, but I've got a better perspective on them, and I'm reminded that I'm not walking through them alone. I just have to be willing to make them known, even if it means crying a mess of tears in the presence of a friend.

Whatever circumstances you find yourself in as you read this, I pray that you have a good friend who can walk with you and lift you up. Life really is better together.

So much love to give

We're expecting baby No. 2 in seven weeks or less, and I'm beginning to wonder if I will have enough love to give two children. Do you ever wonder if there's a limit to your love?

As I "practice" raising two children under 2, I find myself at times unable to love someone else's daughter as much as I love my own. Maybe that's not required of me, but I can see a difference sometimes in how I treat them. And I worry that my love for Isabelle will grow less when a new baby enters our world or that I'll find myself struggling to love them both equally.

How do you do it, parents with multiple children? Do I worry for nothing? Does love increase with the number of children in your house and you find yourself with more to give? Is this just pregnancy hormones and third trimester anxiety kicking in?

"For God so loved the world ..." I read in John 3:16; how does He do it? I know He's God, but the world, is well, big, to say the least, and growing bigger every day. I'm in awe of His infinite capacity to love, even those who don't want anything to do with Him.

So, I pray to be more loving, to be full of God's love because on my own, I haven't enough. And I trust I'll find a way to love my daughter as much as a new baby and vice versa.

Lord, I don't have it in me to love the world as You do; all I ask is for enough love to give to those You give to me. Amen.

Salty living

"You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men." (Matthew 5:13, NASB)

I'm consistently amazed by Jesus' use of the simplest images to convey deep spiritual truths, and his use of salt imagery is one from which I continue to find more and more meaning. Today, as I read this verse, the word "tasteless" practically jumped off the page. I've never thought that salt could be tasteless in the sense of having lost its flavor because I have no memory of ever eating salt with no taste. But I thought of another use of the word "tasteless," the sense of liking or inclination (think tasteless joke or bad taste in friends).

So, I looked up the Greek word for "tasteless" used in this verse (http://www.biblestudytools.com) and besides meaning "salt that has lost its strength or flavor," it also can be translated as "foolish." The root word of the Greek word used here means "foolish, impious and godless."

Have you ever cringed when another Christian opens his or her mouth and presumes to speak for all Christians? Are you ever sad when you see how TV shows or movies portray Christians? We can criticize those depictions all we want, but if we're honest, there's probably an element of truth on which they are based.

I wonder if Christians, the Church, have become tasteless to the world. I'm not saying we're to say what the world wants to hear, i.e. make the Gospel "taste" good while throwing out the truth. I'm just wondering if we're fulfilling our mission to make the world crave the Gospel. Salty foods make me thirsty; salty Christians should make others thirsty for the Living Water found in Jesus Christ.

In addition to being tasteless, I wonder if our "salty" lives sometimes leave a bad taste in others' mouths. I remember one time my husband and I made spoonbread (a cornbread-like dish you can eat with a spoon, hence the name) and when we tasted it, we practically spit it out because it didn't taste like we had remembered it. Turns out, we used a tablespoon of salt instead of a teaspoon. The salt taste was so overpowering it ruined the dish. Maybe, at times, we can come on too strong and leave people wanting to have nothing to do with Christianity.

Somewhere in between is a balance, and I'm still figuring out how to live a life that leads people to crave Jesus without giving Him a bad name.

Failure to launch

So, what if you started a moms group and no one showed up?

This summer, it was on my heart to try to start some sort of weekly moms gathering at our church, even though there aren't a lot of stay-at-home moms in our church. I've just been really burdened for mom company and offering a place where moms can get together for a little while during the day and get to know other moms. Over the summer, I repeatedly heard the message, "Reach out." If I wanted friends, I needed to take the first step and not wait for someone else to reach out to me. I didn't have a curriculum or concrete plan in mind; I just thought we could get to know each other to start and go from there, eventually reaching beyond the church walls to our neighbors and moms in need in our community.

The first week, two older moms (whose kids are grown and are grandmas) showed up to support me so I wouldn't be alone. It was a touching and thoughtful gesture that almost made me cry. (Of course, it doesn't take much to make me cry these days!) This week, Isabelle and I played in the nursery by ourselves.

I wasn't too discouraged after the first week; it's sort of what I expected. And as we walked home after meeting Phil for lunch, I felt God impress on me the words "faithful with a few things." It comes from the Parable of the Talents, found in Matthew 25. Jesus tells a story of a man who leaves his possessions to servants to care for while he's gone. The three servants are all given different amounts and do different things with them. The first two servants grow their master's possessions while he's gone, and the master says to them, "You were faithful with a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master." (Matthew 25:21, NASB)

I believe starting small is a good thing, but that also takes time and patience and faithfulness. I know of other moms groups that started with 2 or 3 and have grown multiple times that over years. I know God can do that here, but He also could keep us small or impress on me that maybe this isn't the right time or place. I know it's in His hands, so I cling to His encouragement, "faithful with a few things."

I have a little more marketing to do to get the word out more about the group, but my first priority right now is prayer and looking for opportunities to build relationships with other moms as I meet them. And I'd ask if you have a similar burden where you're at, or something you're considering starting, to pray with me, and I'll pray with you. And maybe a little at a time, we can change the world for Christ.

It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that ring ...

For a variety of reasons, I haven't been wearing my wedding ring much lately. Especially over the summer, it has rarely found its way to my hand, mostly because of the heat. My hands swell and I have trouble getting it off, so most days, I just haven't bothered. And if I know I'm not going to leave the house, then I usually leave it off.

When I do leave the house, even if it's just for a walk around the block with Isabelle, though, I like to have it on. Maybe that's just for appearances' sake, but I feel like anyone I meet might notice I don't have it on and assume I'm a single mom, pregnant out of wedlock or something like that. I wonder if that's because I might mistakenly assume the same thing about someone I see with children who isn't wearing a wedding band.

I find myself often looking at people's ring fingers -- so I can pass judgment on them or just gather information? I remember after we moved to Pennsylvania last year, we couldn't determine right away if our pastor was married because he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. We speculated for a few weeks, until we met his wife, and later learned he'd lost his ring on a mission trip to Brazil. I think he got a new one for their anniversary a few months later. (If I've got the story wrong, correct me!)

Wearing my ring or not wearing it doesn't make me any less married, and I know there are some cultures where rings aren't part of a wedding ceremony at all. And even though I know a ring or no ring won't change my actions or the fact that I'm married, I still feel the need to wear it out in public.

This makes me think about Christianity and how we know people are Christians or not. Does it depend upon some outward indication, like that they're wearing a cross necklace or a Christian-themed T-shirt, they go to church or carry a Bible? Is it more like a state of mind, like when I'm not wearing my wedding ring, I still know and act like I'm married, so similarly, whether anything in my appearance says it or not, I still know and act on the truth of my relationship with Christ?

The Bible gives some ways we can tell. One that comes to mind is found in John 13:35: "By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."

Our youth group will be discussing this issue in the next couple of weeks, so I'll be studying it more during that time. I'm just beginning to believe that telling someone you're a Christian isn't enough anymore because it has sort of lost its meaning, or it has a different meaning to different people. But maybe like the wedding ring thing, I'm just making dangerous assumptions without knowing the truth.

How do you tell people about what you believe, and what does "Christian" mean to you?

Bravery's price

Someone told me today I was brave. My feat? Standing in front of a room full (maybe 50 or so) of writers, mostly Christian, I assume, and sharing for a few minutes what God had put on my heart about the need to write His stories. It's only the second time I can clearly remember someone calling me brave. (The other was on a New Year's Eve date disaster. My date, my friend, her boyfriend and I went to a dance club/bar in Iowa that allowed minors. My friend and her boyfriend got in a fight on the way there, and my date would have been more comfortable in a line-dancing type of club. Tired of sitting at the table doing nothing, I got up and joined a group of strangers on the dance floor. When I returned to my table, my date said, "Boy, you sure are brave.")

Most of the time, "brave" is not a word I would use to describe myself. Shoot, tonight I was even slightly afraid to take laundry to the basement by myself. And I usually think that if I was ever in a situation that required bravery, I would be the one cowering in the corner, praying for it to be over without incident.

The "brave" comment brought to mind a Sara Groves song that almost always makes me cry when I hear it. In "When the Saints," she sings of how the courage of other saints, past and present, drives her to keep up the good fight. Here's an excerpt:

'"I think of Paul and Silas in the prison yard
I hear their song of freedom rising to the stars

I see the shepherd Moses in the Pharaoh's court
I hear his call for freedom for the people of the Lord

And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them
And when the Saints go marching in

I want to be one of them

I see the long quiet walk along the Underground Railroad
I see the slave awakening to the value of her soul

I see the young missionary and the angry spear
I see his family returning with no trace of fear

I see the long hard shadows of Calcutta nights
I see the sister standing by the dying man's side

I see the young girl huddled on the brothel floor
I see the man with a passion come and kicking down the door

I see the man of sorrows and his long troubled road
I see the world on his shoulders and my easy load

And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them
and when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them"

It's that last part that always gets me ... "the world on his shoulders and my easy load." I'm humbled and challenged by all of these scenarios, and I know my faith is weak in comparison. I have no fear that I won't go to heaven, but I long to join this band of saints who weren't and aren't afraid to do the hard things in the name of the Lord.

Brave? Hardly. But I'm learning to cling to the promise: "For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline." (2 Timothy 1:7, NASB)

And what follows that promise is a challenge. Because God has given us power, love and discipline, "Therefore, do not be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord or of me (Paul) His prisoner, but join with me in suffering for the gospel according to the power of God, who has saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace which was granted us in Christ Jesus from all eternity." (vv. 8-9, NASB)

To be brave comes with a price, and I know I haven't come close to paying it yet.

Family resemblance

"This little one must belong to you. I can see it in everything about her."

Words spoken by a complete stranger at a picnic yesterday while Isabelle sat next to me eating corn off the cob and potato chips. I told her she'd say the opposite if my husband was present because most people see him in her before they see me. Either way, though, there's no denying she's ours.

Have you had people tell you that about your kids or your parents? I used to get it all the time growing up. Either they'd say, you look just like your mother or you must be Rich's daughter, depending on who they knew. As a kid, when you just want to be an individual, it's not always a compliment to be told you look like someone else (unless it's a movie star, of course!) and as a girl, being told you resemble your father can be devastating. Fortunately, we get over such childhood devastations and realize that people were being kind, not cruel. As a parent, it's a huge compliment to hear that people can see you in your child. To me, it was just neat that someone who didn't know us could tell that Isabelle was my daughter. It adds to the amazement of God's miraculous work of using two people to make another person.

As Christians, we can have no higher compliment than for someone to tell us we look like our Father, or that they can see Jesus in us. Romans 8:29 tells us that's God's purpose in our lives: "For those whom he foreknew, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son so that He would be the firstborn among many brethren." (NASB)

Ideally, then, the longer I walk with Christ, the more I will look like Him. Most days, I feel like I have a long way to go. Do you know people who exude the likeness of Christ? I can think of a few, and they challenge me by the way they live their lives.

The tricky thing about this is that I want to look like Christ in the way I live my life, but if I know how much I look like Him, it may become a source of pride and then I'm back to looking less like Him.

At this stage of her life, I'm not sure my daughter has any idea she looks like me or my husband, and sometimes, even when we're older, that's hard for us to see. So, we rely on those around us to tell us what may be plainly obvious to others but not to us. I think it can work the same for our Christian brothers and sisters. It's easy to get discouraged and think that we in no way resemble our Father. After all, the world certainly doesn't make it easy or fashionable to look like Christ. So, maybe what needs to happen is that if we see someone doing something Christlike, we encourage them and say something like "You look like your Father," "You must be a child of God" or "I see Jesus in you."

Maybe that sounds kind of cheesy, but I think it could go a long way in lifting each other up and helping each other get through one more day. I'll look for more opportunities to tell people that, and in the meantime, I'll ask God to show me how I can be more like Him.