Some People Don't Believe I Get Grumpy

My morning began with the song "Blessed Be Your Name."  As we sang the line, Blessed be your name when the sun's shining down on me, when the world's all as it should be ... I thought, "Yes!  That's today, Lord.  Things are GOOD.  You are good.  Blessed be your name!"  I didn't think it lightly, either.  I've sung that song plenty of times with tears streaming down my face as I choked out the words Blessed be your name on a road marked with suffering, though there's pain in the offering, Blessed be your name. I never take for granted the days when I can sing the words with joy.  

After church, I met my mom and dad for lunch, and felt really privileged to be able to actually buy their meal for once!  We had a great visit, and I was in a great mood as I got back to my apartment early in the afternoon.

Then I discovered the broken hot water heater I called maintenance about had not been fixed.  And the cover to the light fixture in the shower was still laying on the bathroom floor.  Then I lost my phone and was forced to use facebook to find someone to call it for me which always frustrates me.  My day was going downhill fast.  I had a brief recovery when Erin and I made a trip to the mall for some window shopping and a snowcone.  But, I came back home to fix dinner and had a mom-question.  I reached for my phone, sitting on top of my purse on the counter just over my kitchen sink.  As I pulled the phone away from the purse, it slipped from my hand, bounced off the counter top, and dropped right to the bottom of the coffee pot full of water sitting in the sink.  And, now it is dead.  And, I am in a seriously foul mood.  And I can't even call and whine about it to anyone - which is by far the worst punishment for a verbal processor. 

Earlier, I was shopping online for a new laptop I've convinced myself I really do need.  Now, I'm shopping for a replacement phone instead because when I bought this one about 8 months ago, I told myself (and the store clerk) in one of my more genius moments that I didn't want insurance since I'd never used my cell phone insurance in the past and this was by far the cheapest phone I'd bought yet, so I definitely wasn't going to insure it.  Doh!

I want to just be grumpy.  I want to believe I have an excuse to just be grumpy.  And throw a big ol' pity party.  And wallow in it.  Dia would tell me to go in the closet and pick out a new attitude.  My mom would tell me to put my big girl panties on and deal with it.  My great grandmother would have told me I could get glad in the same clothes I got mad in.  Angela would tell me a sad story about finding a spider in her house, and hope feeling sorry for her made me feel less pitiful for me (it didn't).

And, all evening long, a bridge keeps playing in my head ... You give and take away, You give and take away, My heart will choose to say: Blessed be Your name! 

This is not a road marked with suffering.  It's just a hitch in my giddy-up.  I do think I'll go to bed early and hope things look better in the morning, though -- just in case. 

By the way, the hot water mysteriously started working again about 30 minutes ago.  

I Call Him Daddy

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families,he leads forth the prisoners with singing ... Psalm 68:5-6

Father's Day sometimes makes me feel a little guilty.  I had no say in choosing my father, and yet, I managed to get one of the finest men around -- and I'm the ONLY one in the whole world who gets to call him Daddy.  It's staggering really when I think about it.  And, it makes me feel like I'm bragging when I talk about him - 'cause I kinda am.  


However, it's impossible in my line of work -- or really, just as a citizen of humanity -- not to think about those who don't have this wonderful swelling pride that bubbles up at Father's Day.  Unfortunately, I often feel like I know more people than not who don't exactly feel all warm and fuzzy when this day roles around. 

This year, as I've thought about something new I could say about my wondeful Dad, I've been thinking about his influence in the lives of others.  David Horton is a world class counselor, mentor, and friend.  And, he's funny.  People seek him out on a regular basis because of this.  And, he patiently listens and provides wise and gentle feedback. 

This Father's Day, I may be the only one who gets to call him "Daddy" but I am aware that there are many whom the Lord has blessed by placing him in their paths, giving them a surrogate father and family - some for a season, others for a life time.  And, I know, that like me, they too will have a clearer picture of their Heavenly Father because of it.

Coming Up Short

In the practice of confession this week, I was treading very slowly, choosing my words with extra care. My sister finally said, "spit it out, my ears can handle it!"  Chagrined, I admitted, "it's not your ears I worry about; it's my own dignity I'm still trying to preserve."  I've thought about that conversation a lot.  The absurdity of my attempts to confess my own wickedness while maintaining some semblance of respectability would be comical if it were not so pitiable.

She graciously heard what I needed to say, listened carefully, without passing judgment, then boiled it all down to a simple statement that I hope will haunt me for a long time to come.  "At some point, you're going to have to decide if you love your sin or if you love Christ."

I've known for a long time now that I am guilty of stopping short of radical.  I want enough of Jesus to be usable.  Even better, I want to be "blessable."  But, I always shy away from crossing the line into radical.
The problem is, there's no such thing.  I've drawn a false line.  I can't be usable or blessable without being radical.  I can be dignified.  I can have the respect of persons.  I can own nice things.  I can hold honored positions. I can bask in my meager accomplishments.  But, I cannot be Spirit-filled, Christlike, God-glorifiying without full surrender of myself, my will, and my delusions of dignity.

It is a strange thing to fear and yet crave the humbling that I know must come.  I cannot pray daily to love what God loves and hate what He hates, then expect that He would allow any amount of pride to go unmortified.

May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. Galatians 6:14

Adventures in Volunteer Direction

At the very top of the application we have all new volunteers fill out, there are three blanks:

Date of Application: ___________ Orientation: ________________ Tour: ___________________

To be fair, most people don't know what to put in those second two categories, so they generally leave them blank.  (They are places for me to mark the date and initials of the person who provides the volunteer orientation and tour.)

Occasionally, though, some over-achiever decides to think really hard and make their best guess at what goes in those blanks.  Generally, I get a "yes" or "no" next to the tour line, and more often than you'd imagine I get the word "straight" next to orientation.  Today, however, I picked up an application with the word "black" next to orientation.

Seriously?  A) I don't think it's remotely appropriate or necessary for me to know someone's race or ethnicity in order for them to volunteer for us.  B)  If I were going to ask for that information in an application, would I really put it on the very top line of the form?  And refer to it as "orientation"?  Really???

And I was worried my job wouldn't be as interesting working with volunteers rather than clients ...

Papa's Antics

It has been well-documented on this blog that I love my Papa -- and that I might be a little bit like him.  This weekend, my family is gathering to celebrate my cousin Gina's wedding, and the festivities began today.  While I arrived in Harlingen this morning, I didn't get to see Papa until dinner time.  But, in the last four hours, he's provided more bloggable entertainment than I'll ever be able to record if I wait until I get home!

1.  He showed up at dinner with a mini satellite TV in his shirt pocket.  FOX News was glowing from his chest, and blaring, but he was so wound up, he didn't even hear it, just kept talking over it until we asked him to turn it down.  Then, he muted the TV but left it turned on and kept right on talking.  Karen captured the moment for me -- if you look closely at Papa's left shirt pocket, you'll see what I'm talking about. (Pay no attention to Gina -- not only is she the bride, today was also her birthday, so she was hamming it up!)

2.  Papa was so excited about meeting new "family" -- Gina's in-laws -- that he talked nonstop throughout our entire meal.  The rest of us were eating ice cream before he'd even looked down to take a bite. At one point, Uncle Vance, stole his plate.  When Papa looked down, a little confused, Nana asked him, "Gene, did you eat your sandwich?"  And he honestly said, "I don't know.  I think I might have."  LOL!  We packed the sandwich up in a to-go box, and he brought it home, then offered it to me as a late night snack -- it's still sitting on the counter.

3.  On the ride home from dinner Papa informed me that he's got someone he wants me to meet.  I'm thinking a lady in their church who does women's ministry or something like this ... He then proceeds to tell me about a "fine young man" in their congregation that loves Jesus.  Papa knows this because this man carries his Bible with him (to church) and it looks like it's been used.  He hopes this man will come to Gina's wedding because Papa invited him.  Those of you who think match-making parents are trouble -- just wait till your grandparents get in on the game!

4.  At the house, where Nana and Papa have lived for a good 25 years, he proceeded to show me the way around, including lessons on how to leave the light on in the bathroom in case I think I might need it in the middle of the night, how to turn the a/c up and down, and how to use their home phone (even after I told him I had my cell phone with me). 

5.  Nana and I were sitting on my bed visiting when Papa came to get me to rescue him from his "computer emergency."  He'd somehow gotten a folder full of pictures stuck in the sidebar of his desktop and couldn't figure out how to get it off there.  He said he let it frustrate him for a few days, then he remembered "the cavalry is coming" and waited for me to arrive.  I figured it out relatively quickly, and he thanked me at least 5 times and told me how proud he is of me before he went to bed.  It's the little things, I guess.

6.  As he was shutting things down for the night, he told me NOT to turn the TV off in the living room (the one beside the "happy tree" aka: Christmas Tree that hasn't been taken down yet) -- said when he turns it off, it gets fuzzy and has to be reset, then he winked and told me, "Besides, when it dies, I can buy a new one ... a bigger one!" 

This is just Day One, folks.

In Case You Need to Be Reminded

I am blessed to work in a place where people pray together, regularly.  Each Wednesday morning, we are invited to meet together for prayer and devotions led by various staff members.  Today, our administrative assistant shared from Isaiah 41:18-20, then read the quote copied below.  If you’re in need today of a reminder of just how extravagant God’s love and care for you are, I cannot encourage you strongly enough to shut your doors, turn down your music, and read these words aloud. 


I will make rivers flow on barren heights, 
and springs within the valleys. 
I will turn the desert into pools of water, 
and the parched ground into springs.


I will put in the desert 
the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive. 
I will set pines in the wasteland, 
the fir and the cypress together,


so that people may see and know, 
may consider and understand, 
that the hand of the LORD has done this, 
that the Holy One of Israel has created it. - Isaiah 41:18-20


We are profoundly impressed with the unlimited resources of the God of the Bible.  He never does anything small.  When He makes an ocean He makes it so deep that no man can fathom it.  When He makes a mountain He makes it so large that no one can measure or weigh it.  When He makes flowers, He scatters multiplied millions of them where there is no one to admire them but Himself.  When He makes grace, He makes it without sides or bottom and leaves the top off.  Instead of giving salvation with a medicine dropper, He pours it forth like a river. 


When God sets out to do a thing for us, He does it with a prodigality of love-prompted abundance that fairly staggers one who reckons things by the coldly calculating standards of earth.

Lettie B. Cowman (1870-1960)

Checklist for a Best Weekend Ever

Surprise visit from an active duty soldier - check!
Pool time - check!
Dinner on the patio at Joe T's with some of my favorite people - check!
Sunday brunch at Yogi's - check!
Sunday stroll through Central Market, Farmers Market, and Target - check!
Pool time - check!
Starbucks - check!
Prince of Persia and chips and queso at West 7th Movie Tavern with the girls - check!
One-hour massage - check!
Facelogic Facial - check!
Pool time - check!
Monday afternoon nap - check!
No alarm clock three mornings in a row - check!

Seriously.  Best. Weekend. Ever!

Book Recommendation and Thoughts on Prayer

This afternoon I finished an autobiography by Rwandan Holocaust survivor Immaculee Ilibagiza called Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust.  I picked it up for $1 last week on the clearance shelf at Half-Price books (my happy place).  I was completely unprepared for how this remarkable story would move me.  I should have guessed, but I didn't.
Immaculee was the 3rd of 4 children in her family, the only girl.  Her parents were well-educated and well-respected in their village, and they worked very hard to provide opportunities for Immaculee and her siblings to go to school as well.  When the Rwandan genocide broke out in 1994, Immaculee was on a visit home from her studies at the university.  Immaculee's oldest brother survived because he was 3000 miles away studying in Senegal.  Their father, mother, and two brothers were each murdered at the hands of angry militia men, neighbors who believed hate-filled propaganda and took up arms against their lifelong friends.  Immaculee survived by hiding in a tiny bathroom with six other Tutsi women for 3 months, not allowed to stand or make a sound, getting by on the meager table scraps of a pastor's family.  Many times during their months in that small space, angry mobs of killers ransacked the pastor's house looking specifically for Immaculee, but never noticed the door hidden behind the wardrobe in the pastor's bedroom.
It is a terrible, frightening, tragic tale, sickening to read but impossible to turn away from.  I kept looking at those dates, thinking about how I was a freshman in high school that year, wondering how I was so shamefully unaware of the horror happening in this remote part of the world.  It seems unthinkable.
And, yet, Immaculee's message is about forgiveness.  She writes over and over again about her times of prayer and meditation, about the solace and peace the Lord provided to her even in that unimaginably tiny bathroom.  She writes about how she knew that refusing to forgive, allowing the hatred to live in her heart would only turn her into the kind of devil that was tearing apart her country.  She writes about repeatedly asking the Lord to take her anger from her and give her the courage to face her losses, her grief, her fear, her tormentors.  She writes about many times when the Lord gave her visions and premonition of what was to come and how His gentle voice steadied her through the months and years following the genocide.  She writes about how she hopes her own story of forgiveness and the freedom she's found in forgiving will help set other survivors free.
In the end, Immaculee makes mention of the fact that there are times when she misses the nearness of God she experienced in that cramped little bathroom amidst those six other women during those 3 months of terror.  This was perhaps the most profound statement in her entire story.
My thought tonight is two-fold.  One, in my own way, I know what she's talking about.  Certainly, I've never even scratched the surface of the horror she's endured, but I know that the intimacy of God in the darkest days of my own small tragedies is something I have longed for but never found in the happier times.  Two, I hope that I would not need to know those darker times again to walk in dependence on  Christ.  I hope that I would have mountain-moving faith even now, in the good times.  That I would listen carefully for God's voice and hurry to obey as He makes His will known.  I hope that I would have courage to fear nothing more than I fear Him, and that living by His counter-cultural principles would allow me to joy of pointing many to eternal Hope and all-surpassing Joy.

It is good for me that I was afflicted that I might learn your statutes.  Psalm 119:71

Direction

¹¹Command and teach these things. ¹²Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity. ¹³Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture, to preaching and to teaching. ¹⁴Do not neglect your gift, which was given you through a prophetic message when the body of elders laid their hands on you.
 ¹⁵Be diligent in these matters; give yourself wholly to them, so that everyone may see your progress. ¹⁶Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers.
~ I Timothy 4:12-16

I Might Be Deaf

When I was in college, I worked with a guy who had a very good ear for music, but sometimes, I felt sad for him. His ability to hear and pick out all of the finer aspects of a performance also kept him from being able to really enjoy anything less than perfection.  Most of the time, I was blissfully unaware of many of the musical mistakes that often drove him right over the edge.

In recent years, I've truly tried to get better, purposefully adding variety to my musical collection, asking friends for suggestions, and trying to listen to the actual music behind the lyrics.  But, alas, today I realized I might be deaf.

You see, two months ago, my car battery died and had to be replaced.  I noticed immediately that my preset radio stations had to be reset, and fixed them accordingly.  However, it was not until today, two months later, that I realized my bass and treble settings were also off.  And, I only realized this because the thug next to me at a stop light was annoying me, and I decided to see if I could drown him out.  I hit the button to adjust my settings and realized both the bass and treble were set to "0".  Oops.

It was incredible how much better my radio sounded on the second half of my drive to work this morning!  Amazing.

Memory Trouble

It's a little after 6pm, and I just realized I've only had about 3 glasses of water today.  That might not seem like a very big deal to you, but it is for me.  It means I forgot.

You see, a little over a month ago, I woke up super early one morning with a terrible pain radiating from my left kidney.  It was by far the worst pain I've ever been in.  It made me break out in a cold sweat.  It made me nauseated.  It made me cry for my mama!  It pushed me to call a neighbor before dawn to ask for help.  And, as soon as it was over, I swore I was going to change.  I've never been bad about drinking water, but I grew religious about it.  I limited myself to one caffeinated beverage a morning, at most.  I drank water all day long from the minute I got out of bed until I thought my eyes might float out of their sockets.  And, I carefully monitored my calcium intake, just in case.

Sometime over the last couple of weeks, I started to forget that pain, how sharp it was, how much I vowed to never do anything to myself that might bring it back.  I slipped in an extra cup of coffee here, or a Diet Dr Pepper there.  Then, this evening, as I was thinking over my day, I realized I started with a Diet DP, promising myself I'd fill my water bottle as soon as I got to work.  But, work was busy, and I didn't have time to get water this morning, so before I knew it, it was lunch time, and I was in the drive thru, and a cold, sweet Dr Pepper sounded so good.  I did manage to drink a bottle and a half of water this afternoon, but then I came home, made dinner, and poured a glass of raspberry lemonade.  And, now, the day is almost over, and I'm far from having had the water I promised myself just a few short weeks ago.

So, I sat here a while and remembered, on purpose, the frightening pain of that morning and why that water is so important.  And, I thought about the Israelites.  Because that's what seminary nerds do.

Psalm 78:35 says, "They remembered that God was their Rock, that God Most High was their Redeemer."  You know why they remembered that?  Because they forgot.  And, they had to be reminded.  And, sometimes, reminders are painful.  I would much rather remember and act on the fact that I need to get another drink of water at 6pm than be awakened by a painful reminder at 6am (or earlier!).

I'll let you draw your own Spiritual analogies, but I think you get the idea.  It's time for me to go have some water!

Angie

Today is Angela Lewis Hinkelman's birthday.  And, for me, that's something wonderful to celebrate.

I get to call her Angie.  That's because I fell asleep once in a van on the way back to Abilene from a Rangers' game and slobbered on her leg.  We decided that very night that we either had to cease being friends or plan on being friends for life.  I think we made a good decision.

For you Grey's Anatomy people out there, Angela is my person.  She's who I need to tell first when good things or bad things happen in order to make them real.  I literally have laughed and cried harder with her than with any other person - and for those of you who've heard me laugh till I wheeze or seen my ugly cry face, you know that's something.  I call her my "appendage friend" because, truly, she is more than just my friend or my sister, she is part of me.  She knows everything.  She gets me.  She lets me be me without making me feel stupid like nobody else in my entire life has ever fully done.  Sometimes, she knows me better than I know myself -- at least, she figures out the conclusions I'm going to draw and decisions I'm going to make before I do, anyway.  It's kind of annoying, frankly.  ;-)

There are lots of reasons you should wish Angela was your best friend, too.  She's fiercely loyal.  Ridiculously and embarrassingly so some of the time.  I know that sometimes she's defensive of me even when I don't deserve it, but I've decided that everyone needs someone in their corner, even when they're wrong. Angela is also incredibly accepting.  For someone who struggles to accept herself and not to judge others, finding this trait in a best friend has been priceless.  Angela's unwavering acceptance of me, the very best right along with the very worst, is a gift that truly amazes me all the more as time goes on.  Angela is also smart, driven, successful, intelligent, likes football, and she's very funny.  (Liking football and being funny are really my only requirements in a best friend, all the rest is just bonus.)  And, she's a little pushy.  She pushes.  She pushes me when I'm ready to be done.  She pushes me to do the right things and the best things and the things I'd never try if nobody was there to push me.  She also used to push me to skip class and lay out by the pool, but that's a different tale. :-D

Angie, I think I could write for days and never come up with enough ways to tell you just how thankful I am for all that you are to me.  In the most uncliche, cheeseless way I can possibly say it, you've been helped me see Jesus in more ways than you may ever know.  Thank you.

PS -- Did I mention she also likes football?

The Accidents We Made On Purpose

Discussing how to go about purposefully setting up successful home groups for a new church has had me thinking all week about the home-based Bible study groups I've been a part of that I'd consider "successful" and attempting to identify just how they got that way.

And, I've come to a very basic conclusion.  Some of the very best things that happened out of those groups were unscripted.  They were the overflow of the things we did on purpose.

[YOOJ] was a group of girls that met weekly for over two years.  We did a few things on purpose.  We purposefully called ourselves "refuge" and designed our weekly gatherings around the idea of being a safe place to retreat from life's storms in the middle of the week.  We purposefully met in a home with a relaxed (often sitting on the floor) atmosphere rather than a crowded or noisy public place or a more formal classroom in a church building.  We purposefully studied and memorized Scripture together, working slowly through various passages, allowing Truth time and opportunity to do its work in our hearts.  We purposefully prayed with and for one another, regularly and out loud.  We purposefully maintained an open group, offering new visitors a brief rundown/explanation of our inside jokes and lingo to make sure they felt included from the outset of their time with us.

Accidentally, because of those things we did on purpose, we became a safe place to "strip down" emotionally.  Accidentally, we grew into a small family, deeply invested in one another's lives, celebrating and mourning numerous milestones together (birthdays, bridal showers, new jobs, new loves, broken relationships, prodigal family members, unsaved friends, deaths, mission trips, personal financial crises, graduations, moves, etc.)  Accidentally, we began to take on some of the character we were studying about together.  We fought for unity because we saw in Scripture where it was one of the identifying marks of the Body of Christ.  Accidentally, we developed our own lingo and nicknames, often abbreviating entire lessons or concepts with simple phrases.  (PTL!  Glory!  Crazy or Jesus?  Satan is a loser.)  Accidentally, we learned that some weeks it's okay to throw out the lesson in order to pull a sister into the "mush pot" and spend an elongated prayer time over her, even if that sister was the teacher.

Erin might be the bravest person I know.  She's been in Bible study with me in some form or fashion for the better part of 4 years now.  From [YOOJ] to G2 to Mariposa.  Erin can attest to my love for gold sticker charts, index cards, nicknames, and fresh coffee as well as my penchant for dressing comfy, sitting with one leg curled under me, and sharing lots of silly stories about myself in hopes that others will share, too.  And, she, can tell you those are all simple things I do on purpose, hoping for some Divine "accidents" to come along.  If a gold star encourages someone to hide God's Word in her heart, buy me a whole book of 'em, and let's get going!  If decorating index cards provides a place for someone to share and exchange her prayer requests, then get me a stack!  (Not really, I have them stashed all over the place already!)  If a fresh pot of hot coffee, helps someone want to curl up in a chair and open up about what's really going on in her life, then I'll keep it brewing.  If answering the door in my sweats or my work out clothes helps put someone at ease so that we can look at one another eye to eye, somebody get me my "uniform."  (Uniform = [YOOJ] speak for the black velour track suit I wore on a weekly basis for a few cold months in 2008.)  And, if telling you about the goofy things I've done this week, puts a smile on your face or makes you feel the least bit less foolish for your own foibles, then by all means, let me tell you about my latest case of foot-in-mouth disease!

And, if somewhere along the way, the Lord begins to move in your heart and prayers start changing your life, and people around you start getting impacted, too, then to God be the glory, another purposeful accident has occurred!

Books Reviewed

Today, I finished reading two different books.  Two very different books actually.  I can't even tell you which one I read first because I read them simultaneously.  They arrived on the same day earlier this week, and I finished them within an hour of each other this evening.

I'll start with Mike McKinley's Church Planing is For: Wimps (How God Uses Messed-Up People to Plant Ordinary Churches That Do Extraordinary Things.  A friend who knows about my current adventure with a new church plant pointed me toward this book, and I purchased it more out of curiosity than anything else.  I promised our lead pastor, Steve, that I'd highlight profusely, make lots of notes in the margin and share as soon I was through it.  While this book is definitely geared toward pastors, I found it interesting and insightful nonetheless.  As The Commons is in it's infancy, I find myself frequently adjusting my prayers for our young church, desiring what is most pleasing to the Lord and constantly thinking about what the purposes and goals for a new church ought to be as well as evaluating my own heart and motives and aptitude for this endeavor.  So, reading someone else's account of their own journey as a church planter during this season seemed like a good idea.  And, I think it was.

The first thing I liked about McKinley is that he's funny.  I literally chuckled out loud several times in the first few pages.  Of course, a lot of his humor is seminary-nerd humor, but what can I say?  I am what I am.  The next thing I liked about this book is that it's not a formula.  McKinley is unrelenting in his call to Biblical Christianity, apart from cultural expectations.  The quote I am most eager to discuss from the entire book comes in the first chapter.  He says, "The more we import movies and drama and pop culture into the churhc, the more specific and targeted our gatherings feel," as he discusses the need for churches to reflect the diversity of the demographic around them.  In at least two different places, McKinley hones in on the need for church planters to make a special effort to get to know other pastors in their area.  This stood out to me because it reflects a humility that I've come to deeply respect and admire about The Commons' pastor, Steve Bezner.  An uncomfortable to valuable mantra in McKinley's writing is the idea that church planting is not a numbers game.  The goal of a church planter is not to be numerical growth but rather "raising up a faithful gospel witness where none exists."

Chapter 3 is titled "One Thing Is Necessary" and there were several places throughout this chapter that I paused to do a little mental fist-pump.  In fact, the word "yes!" is written in the margin of this chapter.  The summary of the chapter, "Preach the Word."  McKinley discusses all of the needs of his fledgling congregation and how tempting it was jump in and begin fixing things, but how he was committed to a faithful teaching of Scripture first and foremost.  Call me crazy (I'm sure many of you have over the years!), but I am absolutely convinced that God's Word is the answer to all of life's questions.  Steve assigned The Commons a homework question last Wednesday night.  "What are the first 5 or 8 or 10 things you'd teach a new believer?  What is it you believe they need to know first?"  Discussing this with a friend on my way home that night, I felt a little sheepish in saying, "Is it wrong if my answer is simply to develop a knowledge of, love for, and submission to God's Word?"  I didn't want to oversimplify the question, but over and over again I have found that the answers to so many of my perceived troubles in life and ministry are found in Scripture.  I genuinely believe that Biblical illiteracy is the greatest problem facing modern-day believers.  So, yes, I loved this chapter.  :-)

It's tempting to review each chapter of this book.  As I flip back through it, I see so many exciting thoughts and concepts and instructions.  Just like the commentary about meeting local pastors, McKinley also points to local school teachers and administrators as a wealth of knowledge regarding local demographics.  Love that.  He talks about the fact that the church should be adorned by love and have a reputation in the community for extraordinary love.  As my pastor-friend Randa Lyle at Meadowridge Community Church likes to say, "Should we ever go away from here, we'd want the community to miss us."

If there's anything in this book that might make church planters squirm, it's McKinley's tendency to throw out strategy (apart from teaching the Word, of course!).   McKinley, a church revitalizer, recounts leading his church in a decision to do away with mission and vision statements, as they'd had them for years but they'd never once had the intended impact on the church people, leading or inspiring them to action.  Then he says this (a statement I have highlighted with a "?" out beside it), "We don't need to make a ton of plans and strategies for how we are going to reach the world.  God is more passionate about spreading his gospel than we are."  See, if you're anything like me, you're squirming over this one.  At least he didn't say we don't need to make any plans or strategies, right?  :-)

I Almost Forgot

Big Dave's Quote of the Day on Mother's Day:

You know what Mother's Day means to me?  One month until Dave Campbell's Texas Football Magazine comes out!

Mother's Day Menu and Recipes

Most years, I am perfectly content to let my Dad take Mama, Mimi, and I to lunch on Mother's Day.  Every few years, though, I get it in my head that I want them to come to my house and let me do the cooking.  This was one of those years.  I spent a good portion of Saturday and much of Sunday morning preparing this meal.  Things went smoothly until about 30 minutes before they showed up when my disposal decided to malfunction and green water started backing up into my sink.  Thankfully, the repair man came quickly!  I'd be lying if I said I didn't stress over this meal, but everything turned out perfectly, and I'm already working on a Father's Day menu!  For those of you that asked, here are my recipes.


Spinach and Strawberry Salad
Fresh baby spinach
Sliced strawberries
Feta Cheese
Bacon crumbles
Almond Slivers
Poppyseed Dressing

Toss and serve right before you sit to eat, so spinach does not wilt.

Chicken Zucchini Casserole
2 cups cooked, shredded chicken breast
2 cups diced zucchini
2 cups shredded carrots
1/2 cup diced onion
1 cup chicken broth
1 cup sour cream
1 stick of butter, melted
1 box stuffing mix
1 cup shredded cheese

In large pot on stove, sauté onion until clear.  Add chicken broth, carrots and zucchini, cook for 5-7 minutes. Add sour cream and cheese.  Mix thoroughly.  Pour mixture into 9 x 13 pan, cover, and bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes.  Mix melted butter and dry stuffing mix until thoroughly coated.  Spread stuffing mix over casserole and bake for 15 more minutes until browned.

I was slaving hard over this meal. ;-) 

Baked Asparagus
Wash fresh asparagus, cut off bottom of stalks, and lay across baking sheet.  Brush on olive oil and sprinkle with pepper and garlic salt.  Bake at 350 for 7-10 minutes.

Carrot Pineapple Cake
2 cups all purpose flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. cinnamon
1 3/4 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
3 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract
2 cups shredded carrots
1 cup flaked coconut
1 cup chopped walnuts (I make this optional because I'm morally opposed to walnuts)
1 8 oz. can crushed pineapple, drained

Grease and flour 2  8-inch round pans.  Mix flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and cinnamon.  Make a well in the center and add sugar, oil, eggs, and vanilla.  Mix with wooden spoon until smooth. Stir in carrots, coconut walnuts and pineapple.
Pour into pans and bake for about 35 minutes.  Allow to cool thoroughly.

Frosting: Combine 8 oz softened cream cheese with 1 stick of softened butter and 2 cups of powdered sugar.  Beat until creamy.

(Hint: I like to save a little bit of crushed pineapple and mix it into the frosting I spread between the layers of cake.)

I got a little creative this year with my mom's gift.  She loves the saying "Well, put your big girl panties on and deal with it!" so I just couldn't resist when I found this sign in Canton last year.  Aunt Susan helped me out by providing cookies to go along with it! 

Women of Influence: Stephanie Rea Horton

Does anyone have a greater influence on a woman than her mother?  For good or for bad, we are always working to please the woman who brought us into this world.
I think what I love most about my relationship with my mom is that I realize as I sit down to write this that no matter how many different mother's day posts I do, I never run out of ways she's shaping me.  The older I get, the closer we get, the more I learn from her.  Seriously.  I would venture to guess that she's got more influence in my life today than she did ten years ago ... mostly because I'm finally maturing enough to really listen and the value of her words and lessons is increasing daily.
I've chronicled numerous times how opposite my mom and I are in personality.  But, the older I get, the more I love that.  I have so much to learn from her gentle, quiet, reticent ways.
My mother as a woman of influence, where do I begin?  She pushes me to be my best.  She never settles for an easy answer.  She sets high standards and never accepts cop outs.  She loves faithfully, loyally, consistently, generously.  She pays attention to details, and therefore, gives very good gifts.  She loves and cares for my Mimi ... and my Dad ... and me ... in the most selfless ways.  I genuinely worry sometimes that I'll never be able to be the daughter to her that I watch her being to my Mimi.  She just keeps giving.
My mom is shy and sometimes less confident than I wish for her to be.  She has no idea how talented and wonderful she is.  She's hard on herself and therefore misses how absolutely lovable she is.  She doesn't give herself enough credit for her knowledge and wisdom of life and experience.  And, I am certain she'd smile more if she had any idea how brilliantly her smile lights up a room.  There are plenty of things about my mom that are remarkable all on her own, but when I begin to think about the way my Dad loves her, my heart swells.  She would be the first to agree with me that my Dad is one of the most honorable men I know, but I sometimes think she fails to see the significance of that in light of the way he loves her.  He chooses her.  He prefers her.  He would rather spend a day with her than be anywhere in the world without her.  She makes him laugh like nobody else can.  He seeks her out for wisdom, encouragement, support.  He trusts her because she has proven herself worthy of his trust.  He looks for ways to make her smile. :-)

Many women have influenced me.  I am who I am today because of each of them in some great or small way.  But, none of them, will ever leave the mark on my life that Stephanie Horton has made.  And, I'm the only one in the world who gets to call her Mom.

Women of Influence: Inelle "Mimi" Barrett

My Mimi and my Nana could not be more different.  And yet, I cannot imagine ever becoming me without both of them.  While I grew up very close to Nana and spending lots of days at her house, Mimi lived a couple of hours away and trips to her house were special.  And, Mimi's kind of like me, not always a kid person.  But, when I turned 13, things really began to change.  Mimi and I discovered a shared love of shopping.  :-)
Mimi is a seamstress.  She is a voracious reader.  She is a talented cook.  She is an extrovert.  She has the most infectious laugh.  She loves music.  She is a wordsmith with a deep love for the English language.  Mimi values family and heritage.  She is very good with numbers.  She loves gadgets.  Mimi is always up for having fun.  And, she appreciates a good pedicure.
I didn't inherit the sewing thing.  My kitchen talents are hardly noteworthy.  And, I'm only decent with the English language because I don't like being corrected.  But, the reading thing, the people thing, the laughing thing, the gadget thing ... those I entirely blame on her.
Mimi moved from Corpus Christi to Plano a bout 4 years ago to be nearer to my mom, and it has been so much fun to have her closer.  I admire the way she's moved to a new city, made friends, found a church, and continues to push herself to learn new skills even in the face of serious health concerns and the loss of her sight and hearing.  My most recent favorite story about Mimi happened when I was at her house a month or so ago.  I'd gone over to spend some time with her and taken her some dinner.  It was a Sunday evening, so I suggested we watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, one of my favorite shows.  Later, on my way home, I was talking to my mom and mentioned what Mimi and I had done together.  My mom started laughing and said, "She didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"She can't stand Ty Pennington!"  (Mom still laughing.)
Mimi hadn't said a word.  I asked her about it later, and she said she was just enjoying the company.  I told her she had to pick the programming next time!  But, it made me feel so special that she'd sit there and watch a program she doesn't even enjoy just to get to spend a little more time with me.

Women of Influence: Ann Fittz and Beckie Hinze

Joining the Christian Women's Job Corps family in the fall of 2006 brought all kinds of amazing women into my life.  Seriously.  I wish that I had time and words to tell you about each and every one of them.  Site coordinators from around the state, lifelong WMU ladies, retired missionaries, volunteers, and even participants.  Each and every one of them with a heart for Jesus and a passion for spreading His hope to as many other women as possible.  Simply incredible.

But, I want to talk today about two very special women who came into my life as a result of CWJC.  The first is Beckie Hinze.  I honestly don't even remember how I first got connected to Beckie.  But, somehow, I ended up in her office one afternoon, and the next thing I knew, two hours had gone by and I felt more affirmed, blessed, encouraged, and ready to take on the world than I had in months.  Beckie has an unbelievable gift for listening, discerning, and well, mothering.  She is a friend and confidant extrodinaire.  Beckie didn't just listen to me, but she got excited with me about CWJC and God's heart for women, and she began telling other women.  She made opportunities for me to speak to other women and train other women and invited others into what God was doing at CWJC.  And, she invited me into her life.  She offers such godly wisdom with such a powerful measure of grace.  I am learning the ministry of intercession, of a well-timed word, and of hospitality through her abundant gifts.

And, then there's Ann.  I remember telling friends at my 30th birthday party that bringing Ann Fittz into my life was the coolest thing God had done for me that year.  The first time I remember being aware of who Ann Fittz was, I was at a choir retreat and she got up to give the morning devotional.  I don't remember her subject, I just remember telling Suzanne, "I want to be her when I grow up."  A while later, Ann became aware of CWJC and invited me to lunch.  We sat there and she looked me in the eye and said, "So, tell me your story."  And, she told me hers.  What I will always remember about the day is Ann telling me about how she began praying when she turned 60 that God would increase the fruit of her life in her latter years to exceed all that He had done in her previous years.  Amen and amen.  Ann loves with her prayers, with her gifts, and with her words.  I laugh when I look around my living room because so many of my favorite possessions are gifts from Ann, some of the selected especially for me, others passed down because she saw a need, and one very special gift that was a sacrificial act of obedience I still can't fully comprehend.  There are so many things I have learned from Ann, but I think the one that sticks with me so often is how she never makes plans without saying, "If the Lord says so, I'll be there."  She is so quick to let me know that she desires to be somewhere, but she's surrendered to the Lord's will in her life above her own plans.  What a delight!

Women of Influence: Lezli and Leslie

In college, most of the women I really looked up to were actually more like peers, I just didn't know it yet.  As a freshman, those seniors seemed so mature, like they had it all figured out.  It wasn't until I was a senior that I really understood how funny that perception was.

However, there were two different women who came into my life during that time who were actually role models, mentors, women of influence.  The first was a woman named Lezli.  I wrote about Lezli not too long ago after my trip to Houston last month.  Lezli and her husband, Reagan, took me into their home both of the summers I was working at a church in Deer Park.  From Lezli, I learned lessons in hospitality, perseverance, integrity, and the beauty of a strong woman.  Lezli has a character quality that I have a difficult time articulating.  There is an inner strength about her that it's impossible not to feel when you're near her.  Lezli, more than just about any woman I've ever known, knows who she is and Whose she is, and she carries that knowledge confidently and boldly in a most beautiful way.  Lezli is completely unpretentious, full of laughter, and quick to recognize the beauty of God in creation.  I'm still striving to be more like her.

Leslie Brown was the next woman to come into my life during my college years.  She and her husband, Mark, moved to Abilene the summer before my junior year.  Coincidentally (if I believed in coincidence) that was right after my last summer at Lezli's house.  Leslie had been heavily invested in the lives of high school girls in her home town, and she grieved to leave them, but the Lord had whispered to her about the opportunity to invest in college girls in Abilene and she jumped at the chance.  How do I even begin to tell you how much Leslie Brown influenced me?  She is a student of God's Word.  I mean, digs down deep and gets as much of the meat out of it as she can possibly find.  She is also a teacher of God's Word, thrilling at the chance to open Scripture and make it plain for others.  She is a woman of hospitality, always opening her home and her life to others.  I couldn't begin to count the number of parties, showers, Bible studies, and get togethers the Browns hosted during my last two years of college.  Leslie also opened her life to me in a special way, mentoring me while we folded laundry, grocery shopped, or watched her kids' sports games.  Leslie was the first woman I remember hearing say something like, "well, I was talking to God about it while I was doing the dishes, and ..." I have no idea what came next, but I remember thinking, "I want to be the kind of woman who talks to God while I do the dishes!"  I am so thankful God brought the Browns to Abilene, and so glad Lezli was willing to invest in a crazy college girl like me.

What I'm Feasting On This Week

When your words came, I ate them; they were my joy and my heart's delight, for I bear your name, O LORD God Almighty. Jeremiah 15:16


You will keep in perfect peace Him whose gaze is fixed on you because he trusts in you. Isaiah 26:3


He will be the stability of your times, a wealth of salvation, wisdom, and knowledge.  The fear of the Lord is Zion's treasure.  Isaiah 33:6.


I am worn out waiting for your rescue, but I have put my hope in Your Word.  Psalm 119:81


Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
Sweetest Name I know!
Fills my every longing,
Keeps me singing as I go!

Women of Influence: Robyn Patrick

Robyn Patrick lived on my street, and she taught my 11th grade Sunday School class.  Robyn is a woman of prayer, and we worked out a special system.  Every time I'd pass her house on my way to school or my way home, I'd beep my horn two short beeps, and I could know that whether Robyn was at her kitchen window where I could see her or making beds in her back room, she paused to pray for me.

Because of the intimacy of her prayer life, Robyn believes is a big big God, and she's continued through the years to help me believe in that same big, big God.  I've never shared a single thing with Robyn that I thought God might be up to, no matter how crazy it seemed, that she didn't agree to pray with me about it and assure me nothing was too impossible for Him.

Robyn opened her kitchen table up to all of us every Tuesday for "T.L.C." -- Tuesday Lunch Club. We'd bring our lunches, and she'd bake the brownies or the rice krispy treats, and we'd spend a crazy half hour talking as fast and laughing as hard as we could.

Robyn, like Mat Wright, continues to be a prayer warrior in my life.  I send her updates occasionally and she always assures me that I am loved and lifted up before the Lord.  What a gift!

Not only is Robyn a woman of prayer, she is also a woman of God's Word.  She would take her Bible in her hands every Sunday morning, and let its pages fall open before us, then look over the top of it, and tell us, "God's Word has a principle for every situation you are going to face.  It has an answer.  It may not tell you specifically whether or not to date that boy, but it'll tell you what kind of character pleases God and what kinds of friends you should surround yourself with.  It may not tell you whether or not to watch that movie, but it'll tell you what kinds of things to set before you eyes and put into your minds."

When I graduated from high school, Robyn gave me a small silver charm in the shape of a Bible, and every time I teach a new class of women in Bible study, I tell them about Robyn and about how right she was about God's Word.  Several years ago, one of the women I had taught was telling me a story about her own teaching experience and how she'd been sharing with one of the women in her class, holding her Bible out in front of her, letting the pages fall open, assuring her there was a principle for every facet of life.  She credited that to me.  I, of course, immediately saw Robyn in the gesture.  It moved me so greatly to know that Robyn's influence hadn't just extended past women that she would know, but also past women I would know.  I called her as soon as I got in my car that day.  I shared the story with her, and she took a long moment to respond.  She shared with me that she'd been thinking just that morning how she just wasn't sure she was getting through to anyone anymore and maybe it was time for her to give up high school Sunday school.  Praise God she hasn't!  The world will never know this side of eternity how many lives Robyn Patrick has impacted.

Women of Influence: Phynetta "Nana" Horton

Her children arise and call her blessed; 

       her husband also, and he praises her ~ Proverbs 31:28

I'm skipping ahead to talk about Nana because today is her birthday, and what better way to celebrate her life than to share with you about her influence or legacy in my life.


Nana is the heart of our family.  -- Papa is the mouth. ;-) -- When I was younger, we lived within bike riding distance of Nana's house, and I spent many afternoons and Saturday mornings with her.  


I've been told it wasn't always this way, but for as long as I can remember, Nana's been a health nut.  She is very creative about getting us grandkids to eat strange new foods she picks up at the health food store.  We never had salt at her house, we had vege-sal.  Snacks were Ak-mak crackers (look 'em up sometime) with a slice of mozarella, and an occasional Jell-O pudding pop, but more often, an oatmeal muffin with a peanutbutter cup baked inside.  Every Sunday lunch at her house was crockpot chicken, brown rice, and lots of fresh veggies.  


Nana's house was always fun.  There were books and games and toys and the swimming pool.  I laugh thinking about how many times we were determined to get in that water in March just because it was a warm day outside.  She'd always let us try it, then stand there with a towel when our lips turned blue and our teeth started chattering and we decided to give in and wait a few more weeks.  


I think the thing I appreciate most about Nana is that I have so many memories of waking up at her house, stumbling sleepily into the kitchen, and finding her sitting at the breakfast table with her Bible open and her prayer guide nearby.  More than any one thing she's ever said to me, that faithfulness in her own personal time with Jesus each day has spoken volumes.


Nana is a very petite woman.  She's about 5'2" and might way 100 lbs ... might.  All of her children and grandchildren dwarf her.  And, I used to think of her as a frail woman.  She's been sick off and on for the last 10 years with various ailments, and in my mind, I equated that with fragility.  But, I was wrong.  


There is a strength about her that comes from somewhere deep down within.  She is bold, and sometimes stubborn.  She fiercely loyal and protective of those under her wing.  And, what she cannot find words to say, she makes up for with a hug and a grip that defies her diminutive size.  Try telling her that you can't do something, and she will take hold of your hands with that grip, find a way to get eye to eye with you, and speak firmly straight into your soul a mix of love and scripture that tempts you to believe you could literally take flight.  


So, today, I celebrate Nana.  Her life, her love, and her influence. 

Women of Influence: High School Youth Workers

High school students are slightly less frightening to me than elementary age children, but I still don't often choose to be left alone in a room with them.  


The first woman I want to commend is Angela Temples.  Angela was my 9th grade Sunday School teacher.  I think it must have been traumatic for her, too, because that was the only year she taught high school Sunday School.  I loved Angela's class, loved watching how the Lord was working in her life at that time, calling her to follow Him in deeper and deeper waters.  I respected her commitment to obedience.  Several years ago, Angela moved to Fort Worth, and I was very pleasantly surprised to find an email from her in my school inbox.  It was a great opportunity for us to reconnect, only this time as peers.  I found her to be such a wise, godly counselor, so quick to give God glory for the blessings in her life, so humble in her daily walk with Him.  It's been a joy in recent years to call her friend.


Trisha Harbus was my 10th grade Sunday School teacher.  And, every year after that, I think Becchi and Brenna and I tried our best to get John Wills to let her move up a grade with us.  But, I think John knew, how much we needed the influence of the other women who'd come into our lives as well.  Trisha was someone who was so generous with her time and made herself available to listen whenever I needed to talk.  Trisha never belittled by 10th grade drama, but helped me put it in perspective just the same.  And, when, as a teenager, I began to doubt my 6 year old conversion experience, Trisha and I had a very serious talk about the fruit of one's life and the evidence of the Spirit at work in a life.  I didn't fully grasp the significance of that conversation at that time, but I have referred back to it more times than I can count by now.


Jane Hughes and her husband, Dick, (Yes, Dick and Jane!) were our 12th grade Sunday School directors.  Jane's nickname among the youth workers was "Bubbles" for her effervescent personality, but I called her "Fabulous" because she simply was.  Jane can light up a room in a moment.  She has the brightest, kindest smile, and the most joyful spirit.  And, for those 12 months, Jane was on a mission, alongside Dick, to get us ready for college.  It was a seriously fun mission.  We spent hours talking about all kinds of things we might face once we got off to college, more than anything learning how to think and reason and search scripture for ourselves.  How grateful I am for her godly influence!

Finally, there was a high school girls' intern named Rhonda Black.  Looking back, I think Rhonda must have been the most patient of them all.  Rhonda's office was my hideout just about every afternoon after school.  I'd show up in the youth office, sit at her desk, and talk ... and talk ... and talk!  And, she'd listen, and respond, and keep trying to get her work done at the same time.  I'm not at all sure how she did it.  I had the opportunity to see Rhonda not long ago and thank her for that time, that empathy, and for the example she set.  Rhonda was the first woman I knew of to go to seminary and get an M.Div.  So many many times during my 4 1/2 years at SWBTS, I wanted to quit, but I'd think, "Rhonda did it.  I can do it."  She is one of the most gracious, godly women I've had the privilege to know.  Her life has not always been easy, but she has always pointed to Jesus.  She continues to mentor me from afar because of this stubborn determination she has to cling to Him like she does.

(I didn't forget 11th grade -- she's getting her own post!)

Never Been Unloved

It's been a while since I posted song lyrics (well, I mean, other than last night when I wrote about "saintyfive").  This week, I was reminded of a song I used to listen to on repeat until I nearly wore out the cd.  Michael W. Smith's "Live the Life" album was released in Spring of 1998.  I don't remember buying the cd, but I remember playing it a lot that summer while I was in Houston.  I knew most of the songs, but only one stuck with me and has continued to find its way onto my various playlists even now.  It's a song called "Never Been Unloved."  I think it gets to me so deeply because it speaks of grace, and in that season of my life, I was just coming to understand what that word was all about.  Someone had given me a copy of "Ragamuffin Gospel" by Brennan Manning that year, and all my notions of piety were being turned upside down.  I was coming to terms with the fact that nothing I could ever do would make God love me any less or any more than He did already.  Grace.  Then, I heard these lyrics, and they resonated with all that I was coming to understand.

I have been unfaithful
I have been unworthy
I have been unrighteous
And I have been unmerciful

I have been unreachable
I have been unteachable
I have been unwilling
And I've been undesirable

And sometimes I have been unwise
I've been undone by what I'm unsure of
But because of you
And all that you went through
I know that I have never been unloved

I have been unbroken
I have been unmended
I have been uneasy
And I've been unapprochable

I've been unemotional
I've been unexceptional
I've been undecided
And I have been unqualified

Unaware - I have been unfair
I've been unfit for blessings from above
But even I can see
The sacrifice You made for me
To show that I have never been unloved

Unaware - I have been unfair
I've been unfit for blessings from above
But even I can see
The sacrifice You made for me
To show that I have never been unloved

It's because of you
And all that you went through
I know that I have never been unloved

Women of Influence: Aunt Susan

So, I’m saving Mom and the Grandmothers for next week, but I think I can go ahead and talk about Aunt Susan today.  My Aunt Susan, my Aunt Susan!  Any of you who follow me on Facebook know that my Aunt Susan is the most talented cookie artist ever.  Ever.   She goes by Sue B Sweets and people order her cookies and have them shipped all over the United States because they’re just that good. 

What you probably don’t know is that my Aunt Susan is one of the most faithful, godly women of influence any young woman could be blessed to know.  There are many things I could talk about that I have learned from her life, but I think the one that has been by far the most influential is prayer.

I have the most vivid memory of being about 9 or 10 years old, standing next to her kitchen table in her little two bedroom house where she, Uncle Tracey, and my three little cousins lived at the time.  Aunt Susan was painting little decorative pins to sell at a craft show with the most creative, detailed hand I’ve ever seen … and she was talking to me about prayer. 

She told me that I could talk to Jesus about anything, that He was very interested in the details of my life and my thoughts.  And, she told me about how she began praying, even when she was a very little girl, for a godly husband and family.  She told me about things she prayed for her daughters even before they were born.  She encouraged me to pray every day for all the things that were on my heart to tell Jesus, and she encouraged me to begin even then praying for the man God would have me marry. 

I took her words to heart.  I believed her, and in turn, have learned to believe God.  And, someday, should I ever marry, thanks to Aunt Susan, I will be able to tell someone I have prayed for him for 20 years and counting.  J

Nothing New Under the Sun

I am no less arrogant than any other generation when it comes to thinking that I'm learning, experiencing, or discovering something entirely new.  I've mentioned in the past how thankful I am for the fact that Jesus satisfies.    That truth just creates such a deep peace in me.  And, honestly, I've felt very innovative in recognizing that incredible truth and bringing it here to share with you.  Satisfaction is something so many of us search for and never find apart from Christ.

Then, tonight, as I came home and was getting ready to lay down, I caught myself humming a very old tune.  It was one of the first songs I ever remember learning in church.  In fact, when I was very, very young, my poor mom was terribly confused at home one day when I kept asking her to "sing saintyfive, mama, sing saintyfive!"  She had no idea what I was talking about, and I didn't understand why she wouldn't just sing it for me.  It all became abundantly clear a couple of weeks later in church when the chorus began and I jumped up and down and told her, "Saintyfive!" with a triumphant grin.  Here's how that very old song goes ...

I am satisfied, satisfied with Jesus

I am satisfied, satisfied with Him

Every need has been supplied

Praise the Lord I'm satisfied 

Oh, I'm satisfied, satisfied with Him!

Let me glory in the Lord
Let me glory in the Lord
And let my one desire be
To lift my Jesus higher (both arms straight up in the air here! super important to preschoolers)
Let me glory in the Lord!

I am satisfied, satisfied with Jesus ...

You get the idea!

So it seems that my new revelation of satisfaction in Christ is not only old news to the world in general, but also something I "learned" a very long time ago!

Women of Influence: Mat Wright

The next woman on my “Women of Influence” list gets her very own post because aside from my Mother and Grandmothers, Mat Wright, has had the longest, most consistent influence in my life.

Because she bought me my first book, Mat credits herself with my love of reading.  And, truthfully, some of my earliest love affairs with books were ones that Mat chose for me.  Mat and her husband, Bob, were my parents’ friends and mentors and neighbors during the first 5 years of my life.  They babysat me often, kept a special corner of their bookshelf stocked with books and toys it was always okay for me to get into, only ever called me “Sweetie” to this day, loved me unconditionally but never let me get away with sass. 

Bob and Mat moved to Wisconsin before I turned 6.  I remember feeling very, very sad the day they left.  That kind of distance in a time before cell phones and email should have been the end of that sweet friendship, but God had instilled a bond in our families that has stood the test of time and distance. 

We actually drove from the Rio Grande Valley to Menomenee Falls, WI, one summer in my dad’s Chevy Beretta to spend a week with the Wrights.  And, of course, they’ve made a trip or two our way as well.  (It got slightly easier after we moved to North Texas.)  She and Bob made a point of coming out to a high school football game when I was in marching band.  (Serious selfless sacrifice!)  And, after I moved to Fort Worth, they made the trip over from Plano to worship at Wedgwood with me one weekend.  Not a single birthday has ever gone by that I haven’t received a card and a check from Mat.  I don’t send out a single prayer update for my current work and ministry that she doesn’t reply with a promise of support and prayer.  And, the entire time I was in seminary, not a month went by that I didn’t receive something in the mail from her just to say she believes in and affirms God’s calling on my life.  Just two years ago, Bob and Mat were at Papa’s 40^th anniversary celebration at the Rio Hondo Baptist Church.  Their encouragement and affirmation at that time were huge is motivating me to get serious about pursuing God’s call on my life as a Bible study teacher. 

I could go on and on.  It’s my blog, and I’m tempted to do so.  But, I think the best way for me to summarize the impact of this very special woman of influence is to talk about ways I see Mat’s imprint on my life today:  There’s a box, in an easily accessible part of my living room, filled with toys that kids know they’re welcome to anytime they come over.  My giant bookshelf is filled to overflowing, most shelves stacked two rows deep with books, many written by authors Mat introduced me to.  Mariposa Ministries.  I’ll even let Mat share credit with my dad for my love of sports.  She was the first woman I ever knew who loved ESPN more than her husband.  (Although, she loves baseball, and I did not inherit that.)  I understand the value of going out of my way to take part in something that matters to someone else, not because I get it, but because it’s a chance to enter their world through something they love.  

Women of Influence: Children's Sunday School Teachers

In honor of Mother’s Day, Cornerstone Christian Women’s Job Corps is offering donors an opportunity to honor “Women of Influence” in their lives by making a donation to an organization that is making a difference in the lives of women.  This got me to thinking about women have made a difference in my life. 

I’ll save the post about the women in my family for closer to Mother’s Day, but today, I want to talk about some elementary Sunday school teachers.  Nothing paralyzes me more quickly than being placed in a room full of small children.  I seriously back up against a wall and remind myself to breathe and hope the time passes quickly.  It’s terrifying.  Now, I’m not a monster who doesn’t like kids, I just don’t like to be left alone with kids.  I thoroughly enjoy being around my “nieces and nephews” when their parents are close by to provide supervision! J  

All of that to say, I have a great amount of admiration for children’s Sunday school teachers.  For pete’s sake, they VOLUNTEER to do that stuff!  Craziness.  J

I had some truly influential Sunday school teachers in my formative years.  

Barbara Sullivan taught us to memorize Psalm 1 in 1^st or 2^nd grade.  The whole 6 verses.  And, she used pictures and illustrations to teach us what it meant.  I go back to that passage so often, and in my mind, I am sitting on little plastic chairs, looking at stick figure drawings, listening to Ms. Barbara explain the dangers of slowing down to listen to ungodly counsel as well as the joys of delighting in God’s perfect Law. 

Cathy Pavon taught us to celebrate our Jesus-birthday.  I marked the day I asked Jesus to come live in my heart in my little lavender Precious Moments Bible, and I was so excited the first time we sang, “Happy Birthday to you, Only one will not do, Born again means salvation, How many have you?” and I got to shout “Two!” because I was not only celebrating a physical birthday, but a spiritual one as well. 

Vicki Clinton not only taught my Sunday School class but lived on my street, and she was crazy enough to invite groups of little girls over to her house!  She is perhaps my earliest personal example of someone who faithfully practiced the ministries of presence and hospitality, being a constant open door in my young life. 

I still have occasion to encounter these women from time to time, and each time I am blessed.  I am thankful for their investment in me, and I am honored to have them as witnesses to how the Lord has caused growth in the seeds that they planted.  

Just Kidding

A few days ago I tweeted that I was out of bloggable thoughts.  I was wrong.  I'm working on new stuff to be published soon.  I know you were worried, so I thought I'd put your mind at ease.  That is all ... for now.

Pretty Woman

For years, women have been dogged for loving the movie Pretty Woman, it's been labeled as nothing more than a dirty story about a prostitute.  And yet, it's my second favorite movie of all time, something for which I am very thankful.  Nobody ever asks what your 2nd favorite move is, they always just want to know about the first.  I can easily tell someone that Steel Magnolias is my favorite movie, and other than the typical male rolling of the eyes and groan, nobody judges me.  However, they might feel differently if they knew what a close runner up Pretty Woman is in my cinematic affections.  It was the first R rated movie I ever lied to see.  Becchi and I used her mom's Blockbuster card to rent it when we were just 16, and I was the one who stepped up to the counter because, of the two of us, I looked older.
For the uninitiated, Pretty Woman is the story of a lonely rich man who picks up a Hollywood prostitute and asks her to stay the week with him in his Beverly Hills penthouse while he's completing business deals there.  He discovers a bright, funny, girl who once had big dreams that have been shattered by bad choices.  She discovers a decent man caught up in shady Wall Street business deals, still trying to please his long deceased father.  And, they fall in love.
Sunday afternoon, after a wonderfully long weekend of extended time outdoors with my very energetic nephew-cousins, I fell into a deep slumber for nearly 3 hours.  Thus, I was wide awake at 11:00 p.m. when I discovered Pretty Woman being aired on TBS.  I hadn't watched the movie in years, but I was instantly hooked all over again. This time, however, I watched it with one critical question in mind:  Why do I love this story so much?  Does it feed my sin nature or is there something here that's appealing to God's bigger story in my life?
I'm sure I'm going to be labeled all kinds of a heretic for this, but I'm going to say, I love the story because there's grace in it.  It's not just a romance about a hooker; it's about a little girl lost.  It's about a girl who made really bad choices, was used and abandoned, and trapped.  She didn't set out for the life he found her living, but she ended up there all the same.  Now, he's by no means a Christ-figure in this drama.  He, too, is lost.  He, too, is broken.  He, too, has set out to please men and ended up living a small and meaningless life because of his pursuits.
In the final scene of the movie, he comes to her, with flowers, and climbs a fire escape despite his fear of heights to "rescue" her, and he asks this question, "What happens after the prince rescues the princess?" and she answers, "She rescues him right back."
A woman I respect very much told me once that falling in love with her husband was the biggest grace she'd ever experienced in human form.  He knew her, really knew her, knew everything she considered unlovable.  And, he loved her.  He came to her rescue time and time again.  And, he felt the same about her, felt undeserving of her steadfast love.  She loved him, not because she didn't know his dark secrets, but in spite of all she knows.
Pretty Woman tells a story about two very human, sinful, fallen people who find the grace to love one another anyway, who choose to step way beyond themselves and their own fears to embrace one another.  Girls loves this movie because it really is a fairytale, and deep down inside, all of us long to be rescued.

How I Get Through My Days ...

www.mthruf.com
www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com
www.totallylookslike.com
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www.oddlyspecific.com

Growing Up, Self-Acceptance

I've decided that growing up is about realizing that your closest friends are right about you.  And, not necessarily about the good things.  They're right about the bad things.  The annoying things.  The quirky things.  All the things I try so hard to change or hide or ignore.  My closest friends were never fooled.  They knew about me all along but decided the good outweighed the weird, I guess.  And, as I get older, I find myself putting less and less energy into hiding and ignoring and denying and more effort into accepting, owning, and even laughing at myself.

The example for today is about silence.  For YEARS, my best friend has feigned a shudder whenever I said I didn't have anything to say about a matter.  She's insisted that silence is the most dangerous of all responses from me.  And, I've laughed at her.  I've insisted on my right to silence.  Insisted it could mean little other than the fact that I had no opinion to express.  She mocked me for even suggesting such a thing.  Recently, I've found myself remaining silent for extended periods of time regarding things I've felt very strongly about.  I did so because I didn't want to care.  I did so because I was afraid I couldn't say what I felt without sounding harsh or causing grief or stirring up an "issue."  (I hate "issues.")  I held my peace until I absolutely could not hold it any longer, and then I said what I was thinking/feeling anyway.  Because it needed to be said.  Because it involved things and/or people that matter to me.  Because, for me, silence is a defense, not an answer.  I am seeing that more clearly than I've ever seen it before, but my best friend has known it all along.  It's just one of those things about me.  She accepted it long ago, ignored me when I denied it, and went on loving me despite it.

I hope you have people in your life like that, people who will love you for you until you learn to love you for you.  (Say that 3 times quickly!)