Promise Me

Promise me that when we are old and gray you will not buy a teal colored RV, but if you cannot promise me that, promise me that when you buy your teal colored RV, you will not pull a bright red pickup behind it. It just hurts my eyes. I think it hurts my feelings, too. I'm not exactly sure how that works. I just know that it offends all of my sensebilities to see that going down the road.

Shout Out to My Girls

These are the lovely ladies affectionately known as the "Yam Yam Sisterhood." Most of us met in a Sunday School Class in the Young Adult Ministry (YAM) about four years ago. We grew together as friends and sisters through times of prayer, a few tears, and a lot of laughter. We are literally spread around the globe now. Three are married. Two are teachers (one is teaching in a foreign country!). One is working on a PhD. One has moved back home to care for her grandmother and finish up her seminary work. Three of us are finishing seminary here and prayerfully deciding where to go next. One is working on her masters in Science Education. In the time that we've been friends, we have served the Lord Peru, Central Asia, Chicago, Mexico, and The U.A.E. We have been youth leaders, children's ministers, Sunday School teachers, and worship musicians. These are some of the most beautiful, creative, amazing women I've ever had the pleasure of "doing life" with. I am so proud of each of you and so thankful for the blessing you are to me. You have taught me many things, and I wouldn't trade a second of our times together. This picture was taken a year and a half ago -- my how time flies!

Guilty Pleasure

I try not to be addicted to more than one TV show a season, and for the past two years, it's been Gilmore Girls all the way. That isn't to say that I don't enjoy American Idol or CSI or even the occassional hour of Reba, but I try not to plan my week around more than one hour of TV a week. However, living in the Wonder House more or less requires that one follow LOST. I thought this was sort of silly when I first moved in, but it's week two of the season now, and I'm totally fascinated. I don't even like science fiction, and you have to consider this show's plot line purely sci fi! But, suspense gets me every time. So, I'm just curious -- what guilty pleasure do you indulge?

Why I Love Walmart

I went to WalMart with a friend the other day. When we came back to the house, I unloaded one bag with three items in it -- baby shoes, milk, and Mr. Clean mopping agent. Can't beat it, folks! Just can't beat it!

What Will They Think of Next?

Check this out!
(Props to Egbert for the link!)

A Dirty Trick

Two years ago when the church I was attending decided to have a photo directory printed, I dutifully signed up for a time to have my picture made and smiled my best smile for the camera. Heck, I went all out and even bought a set of pictures for Mom, Dad, and all the G'rents. But, this year, when our church announced plans for a pictoral directory, I turned on my selective hearing and chose to ignore the announcements about signing up for times to have my picture made. Then, when they had an unknown lady from the photography company call my home to make me aware that I had not signed up for a photo op yet, I accidentally erased the message before I could write down the number to call her back. With photos scheduled less than a week away, I really thought I was in the clear. Then, tonight, I was home alone for a quiet evening of watching TV and cookie baking, when the sucker punch came. My cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but I had no reason to suspect anything amiss, so I answered it. A sweet sounding elderly gentleman's voice greets me, and identifies himself as "Mr. Weir from Meadowridge Baptist Church." The name doesn't ring a bell, but I know that I don't know everyone, so I continue listening to find out how I can help him. He then mentions the name of a friend's dad, a leader in our senior adult Sunday School department. He says, "Mr. Ballard and I are putting together the church pictoral directory project, and we are contacting all of our members who have not signed up to have their picture made to be sure you get into the directory." Caught! "Yes sir," I reply politely, so he coninues, "You see, Kristen, it's important for people like me who don't have such a good memory to have a picture to put with a name so that we can get to know the members of our church. I know you want to help us out with this." The problem was, he was completely sincere. He didn't even know he was foiling my plan. It was a dirty, dirty trick.

Rambling about Love

So, I'm working on a sermon for class next Monday night from I Corinthians 13. I had originally planned to preach verses 4-7 and call it "Love Hurts" talking about how loving the way that we are called to love based on the character of agape love is a painful process, one best modeled by Christ's own suffering. However, as I've studied this week, I'm drawn repeatedly to verses 1-3 about the necessity of love. It appears that chapter 13 is a parenthetical statement, inserted between chapter 12, an exposition of Spiritual Gifts, and chapter 14, Paul's exortation to pursue the gift of prophecy. It would seem more appropriate for John, the Beloved disciple, to write about love, but instead, it is Paul who says, without it we are nothing. This was a lesson that first became real to me on the mission field in Guadalajara several years ago. I spoke the language just fine, was educated and skilled in it way beyond my partner, but I did not love the people there. My heart was home, with friends and family in Texas, and I failed miserably to communicate anything eternal because I attempted to do it all without a sincere agape. This summer, I began praying for an increased faith -- faith to move mountains as it were -- and I have experienced rich blessing in that, but I have also seen that faith like that without the empowerment of love, accomplishes little. And, as we are regularly called on to give sacrificially, and others may benefit from our giving, it is clear that gifts without a heart of compassion, truly committed to the love of the poor and needy, profits me nothing. These are the things I can speak about with confidence and experience. It's when I get to that list in verses 4-7 that things get harder. I am learning to love even when it's painful, but I cannot say that I have learned to love like this. The beautiful thing about it is that as I learn more to love like this, I can be assured that I am beginning to look more and more like the Lord. Of all the things that God could say about Himself in scripture, He says He is love. Ephesians 5:1 says to be an imitator of God as dearly loved children. Imitating God is learning to love with agape love. Patient, kind, humble, gentle, selfless and on and on. Whew! This could take a lifetime. I think that I have been most captured by this passage because it caught me off guard. I mean, I thought it was just there to be read at Wedding Ceremonies. It's supposed to make us feel warm and fuzzy inside isn't it? Then, I started really thinking about this kind of love and what it takes to flesh it out. It's painful. Love Hurts. I tried telling God about it, about how I couldn't love like that because I would end up getting hurt over and over again, taken advantage of and taken for granted, repeatedly disappointed, and probably disregarded. He said, "I know."

My New Favorite Poem

Light Shining Out of Darkness
By: William Cowper

God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the LORD by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow'r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
GOD is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.

Shout Out to Dad

Hey, Daddy - this post is for you! If I'd known you were reading, I'd have written sooner. Sorry you're stuck at the house with the worker men, but I can't wait to see the finished product! Love you! Kristi

Waiting On the Lord

Have you ever had a Bible verse haunt you? You know, one that comes up repeatedly in your life through a variety of sources? One that you can't seem to escape even in the most mundane tasks? One that gives you pause each time you see it? One with a meaning you can't fully grasp but desire to understand more fully? Psalm 27:14 says, "Wait on the Lord. Be of good courage and He will strengthen your heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord." It's not complicated. It's not long. It's words don't require a dictionary. I have known about this verse for some time, but about six months ago, it came to me in a new light, and I have not been able to escape it since. I read it again yesterday, on a flip calendar in my room. You know, the ones with a verse for every day that you only turn about once a week. Yeah, I chose yesterday to turn it and read it, and was frozen by this verse again. I do not yet know what it means to "wait" on the Lord. I have tried hard to work at waiting, and I think this must give God a great smile. Afterall, isn't the whole idea of waiting, to cease my own striving and efforts and believe that He can and will work things out according to His good plan and purpose in my life? I think it must be. Waiting means that it's not about me, and I can't fix it. Waiting means believing and trusting completely and peacefully that God can and will do a better job orchestrating life that I would. Waiting means throwing myself at His mercy and believing that He will renew my strength and see that I will walk and not grow weary ... Yeah, you know that one, too. ;-) So, what do you know about waiting on the Lord? Or, what verses/concepts in scripture haunt you in a similar way these days?

What Should Have Been Your First Clue?

The other day, a friend and I were discussing relationships that just didn't work out and often found ourselves saying, "That should have been my first clue!" My favorite from her was a boy that couldn't figure out where to put the oil in her car even though there was a clearly labeled spout. My most obvious was the boy who didn't like football -- if you know ANYTHING about me or my family, you know that would just never fly. So, now I'm asking you. As you reflect on relationships that didn't work out, what should have been your first clue?

Hope

Tell me what this passage means for you ...

Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words. 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

Assignment America

Can you use the term "Go-Daddy" in a sentence?

I Rest My Case

So I got a phone call from a good friend who recently started seminary at a small school in another state. I tried to warn her about would be stalkers, but I could tell I just wasn't getting through to her. I finally just asked her to promise me she'd call when she met "Stalker #1." Today, after less than a week of classes at her school, the phone rang. Here's how the story goes: J walks into class and sits down with seven other students, all male. Stalker #1 walks in late, sits beside her and picks up her Bible and begins reading notes in the margin and checking out papers stuck between the pages. As they go around the class to introduce themselves, Numero Uno states his name, states his European country of origin, and then informs the room that he is indeed single. Shocking, isn't it? During the break, he follows her out into the hall and begins conversation by asking her about her passion, what she plans to do with her life and how she feels about European missions, specifically, would she like to come to his country? They return to class for him spend the next hour staring at her, follow her back out toward the parking lot, ask her if she indeed has a car, and even though she tells him that she does have a car, he says to her, "Well if you ever need a ride, call me. In fact, where do you live?" I'm not sure how she responded, but I'm pretty sure her next thought was "Yeah right!"

You Haven't Lived Until ...

So, I'm going to tell you about one of the lighter moments of my weekend. My cousins and I watched Napoleon Dynamite with my Mom, Dad, Uncle and Aunt. Trust me folks, you haven't lived until your parents are quoting Napoleon Dynamite -- not just to you, but to each other! Here's how it went in the car yesterday morning, leaving with breakfast from the Whataburger in Corpus Christi:
Dad to Mom: "Hey, Steph, give me some of your tots."
Mom to Dad" "Get your own tots!"
Dad: "Gosh!"
Mom: heavy, annoyed sigh
And, then, they crack up laughing at themselves, while I'm sitting in the backseat in utter shock and disbelief. Wow.

But a Vapor

Daddy and I drove to Corpus Christi this morning to spend the weekend with my Mom's family. Mom flew down earlier in the week to help out around my grandparents' house as we all attempt to grasp the reality of Pappy's cancer. The doctor told us yesterday that it is growing quickly and while he refuses to guess, he believes it will "go quickly." The 8 hour trip down here gave Daddy and I a lot of talk time, time to reflect on our memories of being with Pappy and even a little, tentative wondering about our own mortality. What things will we be remembered for? It was interesting to hear Daddy's perspective, and an excellent reminder for me about the brevity of life. Whether I make it to 78 or die tomorrow, this life is but a vapor. How do I make it count? There are heavy questions in my heart and mind as I pass the time here this afternoon. I watch my parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins as well as my grandmother adjusting to a new way of life, a new family dynamic, and I'm looking for my role in it all, too. Remember us in your thoughts and prayers this weekend, okay? ;-)

Advice for the Would Be Stalker

Okay, so I've been on a serious crusade against seminary stalker boys for years now. There are some great guys around here, I'm know, but I have met very few of them because of my fear of the boys that always manage to get to me or a helpless friend first. So, I've decided to offer some wisdom to you would-be stalkers, help you out a little. Most of you are very well-meaning, I think. But, some social education would do you some good. First, if you want a girl's phone number, email or home address, ask her for it. If she doesn't offer it or refuses to share that information with you, that's it. Stop. Do not ask her friends or google her or look over her shoulder when she's filling out forms in the library. Accept that you have not yet earned her trust in such a way that she wishes to be contacted outside of your classroom interaction. Second, just because a girl smiles or is polite to you does not mean that you now have an open invitation to stare at her through the duration of your next class together or that she was indicating her desire for a dinner invitation. Some girls, especially Southern girls, are just friendly. Third, should she smile and linger a while and should you ask her to dinner and should she accept the invitation, keep it casual. A first outing is not the time to interview her about where she would like to honeymoon or how many children she plans on having or how she feels about being a pastor's wife. Oh, and just one more thing for now ... pushing that button with the handicap sign on it that automatically opens the doors around campus is not chivalry. Just in case you were confused. ;-)

Doctors and Cowboys

So, I'm now in my third day of staying home with a nasty sinus infection. I'm past contagious, but still too weak to be much use to the old people at Meals on Wheels. I haven't done a lot except read other people's blogs and watch the news. I'm horrified by events in New Orleans, but there's more than enough ranting going on for me to need to add my thoughts. I'll just say "ditto." I'm here to confess that the reason I'm probably home today is that I went to the Cowboys vs. J'ville game last night. I couldn't resist. A good friend had an extra ticket, and it just sounded like so much fun, and it was, but I'm definitely paying for it today. But, the Cowboys aren't even what I want to rant about today.
Today, I want to rant about going to the doctor. I don't like going to the doctor. I never have. I don't go nearly often enough. In fact, I couldn't even remember the name of the last doctor I saw when I was filling out my "new patient" chart yesterday. I sat in an icy cold waiting room for thirty minutes before being called back to sit in an icy cold examining room on some sterile strip of paper that makes the most annoying sound in the world whenever you move. I stared at blank walls for another 15 minutes before the good doctor arrived to ask me if I smoke? no drink? no am sexually active? no -- at this point, she looks up at me incredulously and says, "Well, do you do street drugs?" Can I tell you that it took everything in me not to look at her and say, "Yes, yes I do. I don't smoke. I don't drink. I don't sleep around, but I regularly inject my body with poison for the heck of it." Wow. I just said "no" and she stared a second longer, shook her head, and continued writing in her chart. She stuck probing instruments in my ears, my nose, and my throat, listened to me breathe a few times, and then told me that the stuff I'd bought over the counter at the pharmacy was just as good as anything, and I should proably just double the recommended dose for a while and buckle down for a rough allergy season. Then, to add insult to injury, she wrote me a prescription for some junk to spray up my nose a couple of times a day! Really?! Did I mention I PAID her for this?!