Intersections, a sequel of sorts

A few weeks ago I wrote about a young woman I know with four children, for whom I pray, with whom I'd lost contact.  I got a single comment on the blog post, reminding me to pray, reminding me that it's worth it to pray.

I had been praying for this young woman, and thinking enough about her to merit a blog post, but that comment spurned me on to pray more specifically.  More specifically that I'd be able to get back in contact with this young woman.  More specifically that I'd be able to be a part of their lives again, that the Word of God could once again have entrance into their home, perhaps by way of the Sunday School paper, or a calendar.

This past Saturday, I was busy.  My grandma's doing poorly, I had a babysitting gig, things felt hectic, but I'd been away and decided it really was high time I visited around my Sunday School neighborhood.  I arrived to my usual houses and the first person I saw, out playing on the lawn, was her little six-year-old boy.  I got out of my car, at least 90% sure that I was seeing things, but he came running up to me.  "Miss Joanne, Miss Joanne!"  His older sister (but not the oldest, who was with her grandma) came up, a boundless ball of seven-year-old energy.  "We miss you!"

Many hugs ensued.  "I've missed you, too."

Here, right in front of me, was an answer to a prayer I'd been praying.  I had been praying, but honestly, until I saw their happy little faces, right in front of me, it didn't cross my mind that I really hadn't exhibited a lot of faith in my prayers.  Did I think I could get back in contact with them?  Yeah, I mean, I guess so.  Did I firmly believe it?  No.

Their mom was in one of the apartments, getting water.  When she came out I gave her a big hug.  I'd really, really missed her.  She had the baby with her--a beautiful little boy named Anton Jr.  He's perfect.  We didn't talk much, my friend and I, but I got her new number and she said I could stop by their new place sometime.  I played tag with the two little ones for a few minutes, by which time she'd packed up the baby in the car and was ready to go.

I stood in the parking lot, waving them away.  The wind was slightly biting, so as soon as they were gone I carried on, but you have to understand, my smile was brighter,  my steps were lighter.  The Lord showed me, in this small but incredible way, that of COURSE He's able.  The fact that she and I overlapped by probably only ten minutes, on a day where I had enough going on that my schedule was so unpredictable, is such a little picture to me of how the Lord orchestrates everything.

So if you're praying for something, for someone, keep at it.  If you're praying for a single mother of two who recently had a birthday, keep at it.  If you have a broken heart, keep praying for grace.  If you know someone who is still lost in their sins, keep praying for their salvation.  If you know someone who's in over their heads, keep praying for them to seek out the Lord in their depths.  If you know someone who daily is choosing to reject this world and choose Jesus, keep praying that they might continue to train their eyes on Him and Him alone.  If you know a broken family, pray for healing.  If you know of someone who has a big decision coming up, pray for wisdom.

The Lord our God is able.  He is mighty to save, and His grace is sufficient for all of our needs.  His mercies, which are new every morning, are available for us.  May we daily seek Him, may we daily make our requests made known until God.  He's got this.

Intersections

I've known her for years.  I met her daughter first.  A beautiful little girl named India with huge hair and bright eyes.  "Can I come to Sunday School, too?"  I was out visiting and India had found me on my rounds.

"Sure!  I'll have to talk to your mom first, though."  So she brought me to her mom.  Mom welcomed me in and talked to me about the Sunday School.  She thought it was important if kids went to church, even if, like her, they one day realized they didn't need it any more.  "We don't just outgrow Jesus," I told her.  "No, no, of course not," she agreed, "I know God is important.  I just don't really think it's for me."

But her daughter came to Sunday School anyhow.  That wild hair and those bright eyes that were so intelligent.  When India's two little siblings--a girl and a boy--got a little older she'd bring them too, though she wasn't that excited about it.  "My mom said they have to come," she'd huff after taking forever to round herself and them up.

Not everything was smooth sailing in the home, of course.  "Me and their dad?  We never got married," mom told me, "there just wasn't a good time, and he's away now, of course."

Of course.  He'd stolen a car (call me jaded, but at this point in my life stealing a car is hardly the worst offense, as far as I'm concerned) and been locked up for a while.  The little boy hardly even knew his daddy, but that didn't stop him from talking about dad for weeks after their sporadic visits to the prison.  Father's day came and went, more than once, but at least they had a dad.  They were pretty stable, as far as families go.  "And we'll be getting married when he gets out," I would hear.

And then one day it happened.  I had gone to their house, just to see if the kids were coming to Sunday School the following morning.  "Miss Joanne?"  It wasn't surprising to hear a strange man know my name--this happens all the time, though "Miss Church Lady" is the common moniker.  "Yes, that's me!"  I brightly introduced myself to this strange man, only to have him introduce himself right back at me as the kids' dad.  "I've heard a lot about you, and I'm so glad you take my kids to church.  They really need it, you know?"

He'd heard about me from jail.  I think that was a scrapbookable first in my life.

I was happy to meet him, though.  I'd heard about him a lot, too.

He and she and the kids were so happy.  He was still on parole and couldn't live with them--the projects are not a place you're allowed to live right away, apparently.  They knew they'd have hiccups, of course, but they'd stayed together a long time and they'd be fine.  Their little family of five finally had a chance at a life together.

But they weren't.  They weren't really together, and they definitely weren't fine.  There were rifts that I didn't see for a while, but she confided in me one day that they weren't sure they could make it work.  "What if we can't do it?  I wanted my kids to have us both.  And he's out now.  They should have us both.  But we both changed so much when he was on the inside.  Neither of us realized how different things were going to be."

After that, it was really just a matter of time, a matter of all the pieces finally falling down.  His parole allowed him to move into a little place a little more towards the respectable side of town.  Sometimes they would all go to stay with him.  I'd go on a Saturday afternoon and she'd be alone in her little apartment.  "I'm sorry, Miss Joanne.  They're at they're dad's and I was going to go.  But we fought, so I came home.  I didn't want them to have to leave their dad's, though, so I let them stay over there.  I hate for the kids to know we're having troubles.  Try again next week."

She still had no use for God.  She put herself into this unraveling mess, she told me.  She'd take responsibility.  This didn't have to do with God.  This was just life.

"Maybe I shouldn't have gotten pregnant in the first place," she said, as if it might have fixed her issues.  "But we were going to get married!"

Time passed and things formally ended.  Now instead of working on the relationship, they worked on a schedule.

"You'll have the kids on weekends, and we'll do every other school holiday."  That sort of thing.

"We'll start seeing other people."  That sort of thing.

After all that time--and the beautiful, crazy-haired girl who'd wormed her way into my heart at age 6 was now a responsible young lady of 10--after all those years of promises to each other, things were changing.  All the commitment they had felt was easily dissolved, because all those promises had been inked only in words, so easily spoken, so conveniently put aside.

She spent a lot of weekends away, after that.  India and the two younger ones were at dad's, and she'd go to stay with her own mother, looking for stability and an understanding heart.  But then the time came when I noticed that she was around more, and I kept hearing from others in the neighborhood "Did you hear that she's together with Anton?"

I knew Anton, of course.  I know a lot of them.  Spend lazy Saturday afternoons anywhere and you become as much of a fixture as the next person, even if they mostly think your name is "Miss Church Lady."

Anton was solid.  He was kind.  All the neighborhood kids loved him, and he (respectfully and in a trustworthy manner, because it's 2016 and you have to specify) loved them back.  He was friendly and when the kids begged him to show off his standing backflip to me, he would.  I was impressed by him, because he had a job, because of his standing backflip, because he knew how to keep his language clean, because of his way with kids, because everyone thought highly of him.  We weren't friends, but we knew each other.

He's the one who told me.  "You knew I was with her, yeah?"

"Yeah,"

"We're having a baby, did you hear?"

No.  No, I hadn't heard.

She was in the process of moving.  A different life, a different place.  We'd talked about it before and she was trying hard to make things better for her little brood of three.  I'd see the kids, they'd come to Sunday School from time to time still (India was finally old enough to be in my class, but missed so many Sundays because of her dad's schedule that she never felt like she was fully a part of the goings-on, so her enthusiasm waned considerably), or I'd run into them at the park.  "Yeah, she's having a baby," they confirmed.

"I was so mad that I cried when she told me," the biggest-sister-to-be confided.  "I liked Anton, but not as my mom's boyfriend."

But still, I never talked to her.  I'd go to their place and ask to see her, but she'd be napping, or in the shower, or in the basement, or anywhere else but there at the front door.  The first time I met her I'd been invited in.  Not now, though.  Now she was like a ghost.

And finally they moved, and I had no forwarding address.

Then one day, by chance (except that I'm a Christian and I know it wasn't chance), I met them at the library.  The two younger (now middle-to-be) siblings came flying up to me, smothering me in hugs.  She was turned toward the counter and didn't angle her body towards me.  At all.  "Congratulations," I told her sincerely, understanding at once that after all this time she thought I didn't know.

"New life is always exciting, and wonderful!"  I went on to tell her that I knew she'd be such a great mom to this one, too.

"Oh, you've heard?"  She now turned fully towards me.  She was about seven months along, and there's no way I wouldn't have noticed, even if I hadn't been looking, even if she'd tried to use a counter and a stack of books to cover her belly.

"Of course!  Anton told me, and the kids have talked to me about it, too."

At that point she opened up a little bit.  "It's going to be a boy," she said.  "India--who's at her dad's today, I'm sure she'll be sorry she missed you--was so upset when she heard it was a boy.  She just thought I'd still be together with her dad, you know?  And if she had to have another sibling, she wanted a girl to make up for it."

She kept squirming, like she wanted to tell me something.  Something to make her feel better, or possibly make me feel better.  Finally, it came out.  "Maybe I shouldn't have gotten pregnant, Miss Joanne, but I really think it's going to work.  I can feel it.  Did I tell you?  It's not the right time for us now, but we're going to get married!"

One of my other Sunday School kids still goes to school with her daughter India.  I heard that she delivered a healthy baby boy at the end of October, though nobody has been able to tell me his name.  I don't tell this story for any reason--moral, social, spiritual, or otherwise.  I was just praying for her today, and her little brood of four.

Thanksgiving 2014

I love Thanksgiving.  No, for real, I do.  It's cozy, and thankful, and wonderful, and I just love it.

Not the food.  But I've said that before.   (I just searched by blog under the "Thanksgiving" label and came up with like 10 posts about Thanksgiving.  I'm not kidding, I love everything about Thanksgiving but the food!)

Also something I've said before is that for the last several years I've had my Sunday School girls write thanksgiving lists in class.  We read verses about being thankful, talk about why we should be thankful, and to Whom we should be thankful, and then try to think of things for which to be thankful (this year I remembered to be thankful for Chipotle.  Mmm).  Usually gets some pretty good results (one of our most frequent Sunday School-and-Gospel speakers is famous for reminding us to be thankful for everything, including chairs, so almost all the girls remembered this and marked that they were thankful for chairs), but this year I heard one I hadn't heard before.

While reading around an item or two from our list one girl shared that she was thankful for my eyebrows.

"Uh, my eyebrows?  Specifically me?  Or you're thankful for your eyebrows?"

"Oh no, Miss Joanne, not my eyebrows.  Yours.  I think they look okay with your face."

"Mmmmmmmnmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmk."

And that, my friends, is the story of how I got a complex about my eyebrows and I'm not even sure why, because, comfortingly enough, they are "okay."

(Just because I couldn't resist, I searched the KJV for references to eyebrows.  There's only one direct reference, and in this reference the guy is straight-up shaving his off.  Maybe eyebrows are meant to be expendable?)

Things that are real

Last night during gospel I was sitting in the midst of a horde of children (for real.  There were anywhere from 27-30 out--we never could get an accurate count) and they were dutifully taking notes (you remember something, you get a cookie or two--they have great incentive to take notes for the sake of remembering!) and Mr. Speaker mentioned that "the judgement of God is real."  He didn't say much about it, honestly, but the kids like sound bites that are easy to write down, so I noticed several kids dutifully writing down that "the judgement of God is real."

I literally almost never get choked up about things (for instance, weddings.  Never have I ever cried at one of those) but looking at the few kids sitting next to me, putting pen to paper and writing, "the judgement of God is real," make me emotional.  Because while I am confident that some of those children are truly the Lord's, I am equally confident that some of them are not.  For whatever reason, some keep putting it off.  And I think my heart broke a little bit last night, just thinking of the solemnity of it all.  Because even if they don't understand the severity of it, the truth of it remains, "the judgement of God is real."

This is why we spend and be spent for the Lord's work.  Because last night 27-30 children got to sit under the sound of the Word and they know, for sure, because they've heard, time and time again, about the love of God.  And they know, for sure, because they've heard it time and time again, that accepting the love of God is the best possible way to avoid the judgement of God.

I see monsters

As I've mentioned before, I work at a daycare.  A job, I love by the way, but I just had to go through my annual learning certificates (which help me keep the job I love, but I don't love quite as much as the job itself).  Turns out, the state requires that I know certain things so I'm fully equipped to work with children.

Will I remember anything I learned?  Almost certainly not.  Sometimes I get panicked when I realize that I've been issued a CRP certificate and I might one day be called upon to perform actual CPR on an actual person.  I feel like I would be one of those people who just like start hyperventilating and don't accomplish anything helpful.  Though one time I was in a situation where someone's foot got run over by a car, and I was the only person who kept her cool and got the situation sorted out.  So... maybe I'd be okay?

But that's not what this is about.

In addition to superfun times in my Communicable Diseases class (sarcasm alert) I took a class on child abuse prevention.  I add the "prevention" because I kept referring to it as just "child abuse," but those conversations got awkward.  "What was that thing you had last night?"  "Oh, I had this child abuse thing I had to do.  I mean, I didn't abuse children.  I learned how not to.  Not that I ever did before.  Just...  prevention.  It was a prevention class."

Anyhow, it was sort of terrifying.  As we all know, I work with kids all the time.  During the week at my daycare, I work with fabulous children who have (from what I know, anyhow) solid homes and loving and nurturing families.  On the weekends with Sunday School I work with fabulous children who have slightly less happy homes.  I mean, they might be happy homes, but they're not stable.  They might be loving, but I can't help but think that they're probably not very nurturing.  It's a sad fact, but a lot of broken families are exactly that; broken.  I spend time with kids who have these unavoidably warped views on life, who mistrust men, authority figures, and basically everyone.  Kids who curse like sailors and stay up till four in the morning watching questionable movies because nobody ever tells them they shouldn't.  That's life for them.

Something else they have to deal with?  Abuse.  I won't go into the specifics, mostly because I take the mantle of trust that they've placed in me very seriously, but I know kids who have been abused.  In various ways and by different people.  But it's horrifying.  No child should have to worry about things like that.  But these kids, my kids, have to worry about this.  Nobody is there to protect them--mommy works two jobs to support them and her boyfriend (who is on disability, you know, because of his back, because I've learned it's always the back).  These are kids who are raised by sheer force of will, guidance from TV, and the occasional grandmother.

It shouldn't be like that.  In my child abuse class they talked about the different indicators and whatever of child abuse.  Kids you should keep your eyes open for because either they are showing indications of being abused, or their home life is such that would lend itself to abuse.

It made me upset at the world in which we live.  That we have to learn to look for the monsters in the closet.  That I work at a daycare, with only kids who are younger than school-age, and we are mandated by the state to keep our eyes open for kids who might be abused at home.  I'm not saying there's ever a good age to start abusing kids, but the little defenseless ones are especially not okay to abuse.

This is rambley and doesn't make much sense, but I just...  have been feeling sad about the whole thing.  That I know kids who have told me about being abused, that I live in a world where I have to look for it, that I live in a world where there really are monsters in the closet.

And it makes me hope that in my small corner of the world, I can maybe be another influence in these lives.  I can't pretend to be the changing force in anybody's life (that is, in fact, the Lord's job, I'm thankful to say, and not a burden on my shoulders), but I know that I can be there for the kids I do have.  These are kids who move a lot (which always makes me muchly sorrowful), but while they're here, living in "my" neighborhood, my prayer is that the Lord can use me in their lives in whatever way I can.  If that means waking up early on a Saturday morning and going to a track meet, I'll be there.  If it means helping with homework, I'll be there.  Hugs, the occasional birthday party, and basketball (some of my favorite memories from last summer are actually being coached in basketball by some of my older Sunday School boys--because secretly I love basketball), those are things I can be there for.  Some kids will never share the deeper parts of their lives with me.  But for the kids who do entrust parts of their lives to me, I want to be able to cope, and to share with them the only One Who could ever handle the pain they've been given in their short lives.  It's only through God's grace that my life is so together.  I can't reverse their lives and somehow change it to make sense.  But I so greatly desire to help them see that through God, their lives can make sense.  We so often mourn, at my house, the lives we see with so much potential to be something, yet equally with so much potential to go off-course and become one more statistic.  Not like we expect the worst, per se, we're just pretty practical about it.

And it's sad.  Sad that we live in a world where we have to be practical about kids who might one day become statistics.  Kids who know monsters personally and try to leave the ugly parts of live behind when they get older, but end up making a mess of their lives, because they don't know how to do differently.

So that's the rant of the week.  Life makes me sad.  I mean, I know there's so much more to life, and I'd like to think that the real and perfect power of God will make a difference right now, today, in some of these lives, but I know that a lot of these stories have a lot of twists and turns before surrendering to the Lord.  And I know I won't always be there for these parts of their lives.  As much as I want to somehow be there for them, always, I know life doesn't work like that.

But I'm so thankful for these days I have been given with them.  For the privilege of being able to be with them in these days, even if they're numbered.  That's okay--the message of hope never dims.  What they learn about the Lord now will never change.  When their lives have changed, when their circumstances aren't what they always dreamed of, Jesus Christ will be there, the same yesterday, and today, and forever.

And that's a lot more than I say for myself, any day of the week.

Things I learned in 2013

This feels like deja vu.  I literally just did a "What I learned in 2012" post, but, as we all know, that was a whole year late, so...  I'll just do this, and maybe my "What I learned in 2014" post will seem normal, presuming I do it in 12 months instead of waiting till 2015 is over with.

Yikes.  2015 sounds frighteningly close.  It's a good thing I know the Lord is coming soon!  I won't have to worry about silly things like "What I learned" lists.  Especially when my lists are as subjective and vague as mine typically are.

As always, this list is in no particular order.

1)  Rice bags can catch on fire in the microwave.  In other news, microwaves still function even with holes melted into the side of them.  That is truly something I didn't used to know.
2)  People can still surprise you.  I'm not that old, but I have a habit of thinking that nothing is unexpected.  Well, it's not true.  Unexpected things can (and do) happen.
3)  God is a lot more gracious than I am.  I knew that, but I was reminded again this past year.
4)  I'm kind of emotional.  I used to mock my friends who teared up at the slightest provocation, but I'm not much better these days.  I don't know if it's age or event related, but I cry a lot more often than I want to.
5)  When I look around I realize that the Lord has a way of using substitution in my life.  In a good way.  For instance, there are things I think I want but instead of giving those to me, He gives to me things that feed the need perfectly for where I am in life.  That probably doesn't make sense, so I'll elaborate.  All I ever wanted to be from my youth up was to be a mom.  I never had career aspirations or even life aspirations, truth be told, outside of marriage and family.  And I still would love to be a mother, but at the current, that's not in the cards for me.  But what I do have is a passel of Sunday School kids, and a job at a daycare.  Almost every day of my life is filled with sticky smiles and heads of hair to braid.  So it might seem like a silly something (and I'm not trying to say that what I do is mothering, because you mothers out there know that it's way more than just making sure kids aren't choking on plastic bags or whatever), but I have been so thankful this past year to realize that the Lord knows my heart and keeps my lap filled with children who want to listen to me read story books.  It's a gift.  And I'm thankful for it.
6)  I should never be so dogmatic when I say that certain things won't happen.  Turns out #2 on my list applies to all kinds of areas.  Sometimes things that seem like they'll never happen do.
7)  Life is made of moments, not milestones.  I mean, some people get milestones, and I obviously have milestone-ish things in my life, but I've been learning not to look to milestones for contentment.  Life passes me by when I'm constantly looking ahead for events over which I hold no control.  Life is the every day, the mundane, the mealtimes and conversations and friendships and the shared memories.  Life isn't always about moments that are scrapbook-able.

I could go on.  But 2014 has already been overwhelming with with things and I'm afraid that if I finish this list (which I started a few weeks ago, but, as per usual, left in draft format for a while) it'll be subtly influenced by 2014.  And then what would I put on my list next year?  If the Lord doesn't come, that is.

Habit, I am thy creature

I like to think that I'm above stuff like habits.  I mean, brushing teeth and reading the Bible is good, but I've always had this vague opinion about myself that I could mix things up in my life and it would be no big deal.

Then I either got older or realized my habits for what they are:  habits.

This is super deep, I know.

There's an intersection I go through fairly often.  From that intersection there are two ways I could get home.  I could turn left, or go straight.  Both ways are probably comparable in time, though I guess I don't know exactly.  Anyhow, if I'm at that intersection coming home from the nursing home, I turn right.  If I'm there coming home from one of my Sunday school drop-offs, I go straight.

And I have no idea why.  I just do.

The same reason, probably, that there are some streets where I always drive in the left lane, even though I traditionally believe in driving in the right lane unless I'm passing someone.  It's a weird habit thing.

But it's interesting to think about habits at this point in the year.  People keep asking me what resolutions I made this year.

Resolutions?  Haha, ain't nobody got time for that.

But seriously, maybe I should be re-patterning parts of my life.  Because clearly, somewhere in the back portion of my brain, I love being a habitual person.  Regardless of whether or not I think I need habits or not, I make habits, and stick with them.  Imagine how awesome it would be if I made and kept good habits throughout my whole life!

Now I just have to decide if turning right is the good habit, or if going straight is.

It feels like a hard decision, actually.

I should probably eat less cookies.  Particularly when they're cute.

Worth it

Some days my responsibilities leave me tired.  I remember earlier this year when a friend was helping me do Sunday School stuff she remarked, "How do you do it?  These kids wear me out!"

I feel you.

Some Sundays I just feel spent.  It is ridiculous, of course, because it's only a couple of hours a couple of times a weekend, but the constant chaos has a way of wearing you down.  Like a rock in a creek.  No matter how innocuous the creek seems, eventually that rock is going to be worn down whether or not it wants to be.

Like tonight, driving the kids home from gospel.  Definitely had to pull over and do the, "Whomsoever does not sit down and stop fighting won't come or get cookies ever again."  It works for a few blocks, anyhow.

But.

But.

Let me tell you a story that starts a while ago.  A story that begins on a different thread, but leads back to the subject at hand.

Earlier this summer I started a book called Get Lost.  I started it and realized that it was going to be good, good enough, in fact, for me to *gasp* buy an actual copy for myself, instead of just using the library version I had.  (I don't prefer to use money for... anything.  I avoid purchasing things unless it's ABSOLUTELY NEEDED.  So to think that I should buy something is a Big Deal in my life.)  So I bought myself a copy and... then put the book on hold for a while.  But earlier this month I picked it up and devoured the book (in the literary fashion, not the rumble in my tummy fashion).  It's rather good.  Note to self: if I have daughters, I'm pretty much getting them copies.  (Unfortunately, the tagline is about finding true love.  The author did that to be clever, because she urges you to find true love in Christ, but it's awkwardly misleading when discussing it with others, because I'm not on a quest to find true love, but I would like to read more about deepening my relationship with the Lord.)

Anyhow, it was so good that I bought a copy for a friend who I thought might appreciate it.  Three days after I gave it to her she came up to me and told me she'd purchased seven copies, to give to her friends.  (Then of course I was all like, "Ugh, must I?" but the Lord urged me to buy even more copies, and now five additional friends are gifted with copies.)

A few days later, the same friend came to me and said there was a line in the book that had gotten her to thinking.  The line was something like, "Allow the Lord to use you wherever you are, whether it be in raising children for the Lord alongside your husband, or as a single woman on Wall Street."  The author, I'm sure, meant, you know, the stock market version of Wall Street.  But...  in my neck of the woods a lot of our Sunday School work originated on a street called Wall Street.  So, after reading this line, my friend came to me and said she wanted to be more involved in the Sunday School effort.

"Oh, hey, perfect timing.  I'm having some girls over for supper this week, can you come?"  She made time, and she came.

Insert the night of the dinner.  I was stressed.  I'd forgotten to make cookies (a tragedy worse than DEATH to these kids) and more girls came than expected (which is to be expected, but sometimes I foolishly forget such things), and I was sort of running around like a headless chicken, helping girls make pizzas, keeping them from breaking the trampoline, that sort of thing.

The evening progressed, and I was much occupied with keeping things moving smoothly.  I talked to everyone, tried to get personal conversations in, but...  with a dozen or so (more?  I already don't remember) girls running around, it was rough.

My friend, however, felt the Lord urge her to talk to one of the girls specifically.  To just sit down and get to know her a little better.  To see if she was enjoying the evening and see if she had any questions about the Bible reading we'd had.

"Yeah," the girl wondered, when prodded, "what does it mean exactly to be born again?"

An hour later, I was inside watching the least sensical play EVER, as staged by the girls (I have several versions recorded on my phone, but have no idea how to upload them to Blogger--any advice?) and my friend and the girl wandered in.  My friend rejoicing with the angels; the girl freshly saved.

My friend told me she might not have come but for reading that line in the book.  I wouldn't have thought to invite her except that she brought it up first.  And I honestly don't think I would have made time to talk to that one girl myself.  All these little things work together, and now we rejoice (me with actual tears, because I ALWAYS cry when our kids get saved, haha) because of the reminders of God's abiding faithfulness.

So when I get worn down (interesting note--when I first heard that song I was particularly tired and worn--I begin to see a pattern in my life--and I'm pretty sure I cried.  I seem to cry a lot in these featured stories, sigh) I just have to remember that it's worth it.

Not for my own life, but for their lives, and for His eternal glory.

I blame Louis Daguerre

I was doing pretty well.  Honestly I was.  I was posting pretty often, keeping up with Hopeful Rambles, and then one day, I got a little cocky.  "I can do this," I thought to myself, "I can do this blogging thing.  And because I know I can do it due to my mostly faithful postation thus far, I'm going to go that extra mile.  I'm going to start including pictures in my posts.  I'll finally be that person who makes their blog interesting."

Well.  That worked not at all.  What happened is that I realized that uploading photos is time-consuming.  Words are easy for me, photo uploading is not.  Ergo...  the demise of the blog.

And so.  I'm not going to bother with pictures any more.  (Unless it somehow turns out to be convenient and no hassle whatsoever.)  I can't possibly.

It's currently VBS week but for some reason the guilt of the past year of not posting finally got to me.  So here I be.

Hello.

That is all.

Very Busy Season (or... VBS)

 

It's Vacation Bible School time around our place.  Which means, basically, that we run around for a week pulling our hair out, picking up more children than can possibly fit in our vehicles, and generally feeling like surely we'll be more organized next year.

We never are.

So don't expect me to update regularly like I was doing last week (three times!  possibly a new record!) because I'll be busy feeling guilty about breaking the law by having at least 10 more kids in my van than I have seat belts.  That sort of thing.

But it surely is good to be having VBS.  There's something energizing about all the kids, and the smell of paint, and hearing little voices learning Bible verses.  That sort of thing.  So (loss of hair aside), it's a good week around here.  A good week indeed.

Oh, Euty

Last Sunday we were talking about Eutychus in our Sunday School class, and I was talking to the girls about being examples.  I brought up Euty because I was reading the story the other day and it made me ponder more about examplehood.  Not that that's a word.  But what's interesting to me about the story of Euty is that he wasn't paying attention to Paul, or got tired, or whatever happened, and fell asleep and ended up taking a tumble into the yard.

How this relates to examples:  So, say Eutychus had a younger brother or something who saw the severity of what happened to Euty (whether or not Eutychus actually died or was just presumed dead was a matter of some debate at the breakfast table this morning, interestingly enough) but then thought, "Hey, it's okay, he ended up alive.  I'm going to sit in that window sill where I can breathe some fresh air and I'll just make SURE to not fall asleep, since I know what could happen if I did, but even if I did, obviously nothing too horrible happens if I get all Humpty Dumpty."  All good in theory, but what happens if said younger brother actually does have a great fall and can't be brought back up alive again?  What then?

That's the thing.  God in His graciousness gives second chances, and sometimes someone takes a fall, as it were, and it works out fine, but sometimes things don't work out so well for the faller.  And that's why Christians have to be careful to not be the ones to make it seem like it's okay to fall in the first place.  Because the guy who follows (FALLows?)  after might not escape unscathed.

I don't think my Sunday School class necessarily got what I was saying, but hey, they got the gist of it.  I think.  I hope.

Also, I call Eutychus by his way-cooler nickname "Euty" because when I was a youngster I used to have a book of Bible poems by someone named John Knapp, and it's AWESOME.  Seriously.  You slash your children slash any person would love it.  He writes poems about several obscure persons from the Bible (Ethan the Ezrahite for one) and writes ditties to help you remember the lineage of Abraham's offspring, the churches of Revelation, and why Miriam got leprosy in the Bible instead of being turned into a pillar of pepper.  Trust me, it makes sense.  Anyhow, in one of his poems it references Eutychus and endearingly calls him Euty.  Ever since I first read that I've taken to also calling him Euty.  It has a much nicer ring to it.

Many blessings

Have I ever mentioned how much I love my Sunday School class? Well, I do. They're the best. And, since Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and my Sunday School class is my favorite class, it's no surprise that I have a great story about the two of them together.

Sunday morning, we learned about Thanks. One of the kids had supplied dum-dums enough to supply every single person in the upstairs, all-inclusive part with a treat, and so we all chorused a "Thank you" to him (well, his family, really, as they sent it along with him). This was perfect, as I was going to talk about thanks anyhow.

We spent some time talking about Christ's work on the cross and how that is the best thing to be thankful for. I had new kids, so we spent time making sure everyone knew how to get saved, and then I gave them all pieces of paper and writing instruments (I'm about five, so we all had crayons and markers and such) and told them to write or draw some things they were thankful for. After a few minutes (I was still writing furiously, myself), I said that if they were done, we would each read a few things from our lists. Oh, no, they declared, they weren't done! They kept writing, and writing, and many pages were filled up.

All good things must come to an end, so I finally had them wrap it up, and we all took turns reading a couple of the things we were thankful for. Interestingly enough, three of us (yes, yes, I wrote this, too) wrote that we were thankful for cheese. I like cheese enough to be thankful for it, but I was pretty impressed with the rest of them writing it. We all had fun explaining why we were thankful for certain people, I had the chance to be weirded out by several of their girls being thankful for themselves, I giggled when they were thankful for things like malls and lip gloss, and smiled when they were thankful for the Bible, and Sunday School, and family.

By the time we were done, none of us wanted to leave (partly because there was still some of the pumpkin log I'd made them for snack, but that's besides the point), and I made them promise to say thank you to at least three people later on in the day. Not sure if it'll work, but I think if people can get through their heads the attitude of thankfulness, that their whole attitude of life will change for the better.

All in all, a good Sunday School class. Those girls are the best.

Priorities

I know it's sort of lame to totally steal someone elses's story, but I got this in a forward yesterday and really liked it, so I'm doing that lame reshare thing. I guess I have no more ideas of my own. I'm just recycling ideas of others. It's a sad day in my world.

~~A Sunday school teacher walked into his classroom with a box filled with a variety of items. When the class began, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with orange golf balls. At the very top he placed a white one. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The teacher then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The teacher next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous, “yes”.

“Now,” said the teacher, “I want to tell you that this jar represents your life. The white golf ball at the top represents God, your first priority, who must be first in your life. The orange golf balls represent the other important things in life like your family, your children, your brothers and sisters in Christ, your friends; important things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your health, your education, your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else, the small stuff.”

“The secret to a happy and full life is having the right priorities. If you put the sand into the jar first there is little room for the pebbles or the golf balls. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the important things in life.”

“Jesus said…Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.” Matthew 22:37~~

See? That wasn't so bad. Now, if only I'd thought of this story myself. =)

Oxen

One verse that is recited as if a mantra about our house is Proverbs 14:4, the verse that goes, "Where no oxen are, the crib is clean." We don't just quote this because we used to have kids over to our house for Bible study who thought it was somehow appropriate to call our house "God's Crib" because, you know, I guess our house was the hip version of God's house. Not sure why...

Anyhow, we use this verse to stay encouraged when our Sunday School events go a little crazy. Police had to come? This means the crib is used, people, this is fine. Kids are fighting? That means the kids are there, at Sunday School, so that's good. Sure, everything feels like a mess, but it means there's potential, there's an effort, and there's an outreach. Sometimes it's hard to appreciate the chaos, but fact is, chaos means that things are happening! As crazy as things get sometimes, we still prefer the crazy times to the times when nobody even shows up to Sunday School. That happens, by the way. Sometimes each class will only have one or two kids, and all the Sunday School teachers feel quite bereft of our usual Sunday Adventures.

That's mostly in the summer, for some reason. Kids come more during the school year.

And Hobby Class, for instance, where last week I picked up 14 kids, and this week only two. Last week there was more chaos (and more police cars), but I think I liked it better. But numbers aren't what matter, the outcome is what matters: that a child might come to know the Lord Jesus Christ as their own personal Saviour. That's what matters.

So anyhow, if something has you discouraged because the situation seems out of control, just remember the verse we love so well in our household and bear in mind that it's only a mess because you're making the effort. If all else fails, refer to your home as a "crib." All the cool kids do.

Ah, for the time

I glumly sit around at work every afternoon and think, "I could be cooking!" It seems silly, I guess, because I know that one day I'll be cooking more than I ever wanted, but I really miss having the time to cook. Every once in a while I'll have time when I get home from work, but we're a rather regimented family when it comes to meals, and when I get home is the time where we sit down and get started, so I usually end up just being there for the partaking, and not the making.

I bake for my Sunday School class once a week, but I've never liked baking as much as cooking "real food," and since the girls in my class mostly just like chocolate chip muffins, anyhow, it's not like I branch out to very much other stuff.

This just came up because I was ogling the Williams-Sonoma website (best recipes ever! Well, best pictures of recipes, at any rate) and wishing I could make some asparagus or something. Guess that means I'd have to, you know, buy some asparagus, but it always seems more fun in the Idea Stage.

Not to say that I've totally moved on from AllRecipes.com, because I'm not about to do that. They're my go-to recipe site, and I shall not be moved!

She said yes

I recently read The Martyr of the Catacombs for the first time in maybe a dozen years or so, and it was way better than I'd remembered it being. Honestly, when I was younger I read it and thought, "Wait, why does my mom like this so much?" but this time around I was absolutely captivated. I'm hoping it's because the story was that good, and not just because (wait for it) I'll be seeing the catacombs for myself in about a week.

(YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!)

Sorry.

But since I've been reading that book, I've been thinking a lot about persecution and martyrs and the such, and I ended up discussing this with my Sunday School class on Lord's Day. We started by talking about Stephen, how in doing his humble work of serving the widows, he attracted enough attention to be killed for his faith. Then we talked about Antipas, who didn't deny the faith. It was here that the conversation got really interesting.

One of the girls knew about Columbine, and Cassie Bernall, so we started talking about that. The girls were interested when I told them that Cassie had been asked, point blank, if she was a Christian. At the reply (which was a Yes), she was fatally shot.

"But... did she have to say yes?" asked one of the girls, "Wouldn't she have still been a Christian even if she'd said no?"

It was interesting to me that she asked this, because I'd been trying to make the same point earlier, in discussing the catacombs and the book, The Martyr of the Catacombs. In the book (and in real life, obviously), the choice was given to some of the under-trial Christians--either sacrifice to the gods of Rome, or be killed for your Christian faith. I had been trying to talk to the girls about what that meant, and whether it was "wrong" to sacrifice to the pagan gods if you didn't mean it. We never got too far with that, until Cassie came up.

Now all the girls had questions. Several of them said that they would always say YES, because it's like a lie to say otherwise. I tried to bring it to more practical terms, asking if they'd feel comfortable speaking up as a Christian among friends, even if you knew you were going to lose your friends (the girls said no problem, they could do that), or speaking up in a job situation, if you knew you would probably lose your job for being a Christian (they're young, but they'll probably do the summer job thing sooner rather than later, so I thought I might as well mention that problems like this don't go away because you grow up).

Most of them kept saying that yes, yes, they'd absolutely say yes, stand up for their faith in Christ. Most.

One of the girls seemed a little more hesitant. "Would it be wrong, do you think? Wouldn't God just forgive you, and you could keep on living for Him?"

There's where it got sticky. Yes, God would forgive you, He's always willing to, but defy His name in preference for something else? Why would you?

"You know... to live."

Another girl kept on saying that it was wrong to even think about saying that you weren't a Christian (even if you knew you'd be forgiven), because then you're not really doing any good for God.

Interesting, but that was one of the points I was trying to make. I asked the girls what being martyred accomplishes. They thought it didn't do anything, nothing but kill people. Then I started talking about the outward display of devotion to the Lord and I think I saw some little light bulbs turn on. We rounded out the class with a discussion of what it meant to be a Christian--what good we could be for the Lord, what our lives even mean if we're not doing anything for Him.

Not bad for a thirty-minute Sunday School class!

That was a scattered bunch of words, but I just wanted to share. The girls seemed so interested, which was really cool to see, since they're frequently easily bored with subjects like not punching each other or something else so "lame." I have an odd bunch.

Anyhow, if you haven't read that book, I would highly recommend it. It was most excellent, and food for thought. Plus, who knows? Maybe you'll get a chance to make it food for thought for those around you, as well!

Bop to the top

I hate money. And I love it. I hate it because it seems to bring out the worst in people, and seems to cause undue worry (or not so undue, seeing as when people stress about money it's typically because they don't have enough). But I like that, well, it buys things. I'm sure we don't need half of the things we have, but sometimes it's just nice to have that extra purse. Disclaimer: I'm not actually sure I've ever purchased a purse. I don't like to spend money on something that feels thusly superfluous.

I just think it's interesting to read about money in the Bible. When the woman in Luke 15 lost her silver coin, she didn't shrug and say, "Well, I guess the Lord is teaching me a lesson about valuing earthly treasures," and let it be. No, she spent the time to sweep her house and find that money (I think I might too, if a tenth of my wealth suddenly got lost).

But we're not supposed to worry about money. Remember the thing about the lilies? They're clothed, and our Father in Heaven will likewise clothe us. But with a limited income, it's hard to view things that way. After all, when Peter needed tax money, he just went down to the water and got it from the mouth of the fish. When we do taxes these days, it's a little more complicated. Add to that the fact that most people pay utilities, insurance, monthly payments on their cars, mortgages, and buy food. Money like that doesn't just grow in fishes mouths.

Fine then. If a man doesn't work, neither shall he eat. But it's not just about food and raiment these days. We live in houses, we send kids to college, we put gasoline in our cars. Could we get by without those things? I guess. I mean, plenty of people live in cars or under bridges due to the whole lack-of-money thing. Plenty of other people choose to live in motor homes to avoid mortgages and utility bills.

I'm not saying it's wrong to live in a house (personally, I love my house. And my bed. And the fact that I have a closet). I'm just saying, though, that it bothers me that money is such a prevalent issue with, well, everyone. What's the most irritating, however, is the people who have "enough money" (code word: more money than I'll ever have) who worry about money. I certainly don't approve of spending money frivolously (unless you want to send me on vacation, in which case I recommend spending money lavishly, thank you), but it rubs me the wrong way when people with money begrudge sharing that money.

I spend money on a budget. A certain amount (read: most) of my money goes towards my ahh-I'll-have-a-mortgage-one-day fund, and another amount (read: a small amount) goes towards my ehh-I'll-spend-it fund (which, by the way, mostly funds my weekly baking sessions for my Sunday School class). I think my problem is that I judge too harshly. When I see people struggling financially and know that there is at least one area in their life in which they spend money needlessly, I always sort of quirk an eyebrow and think, "But if you just..."

Which is terrible. I have no place to worry about why people are or aren't spending money. Plus, I sort of OD'd on Larry Burkett back in the day, so I think I know all the pat answers, but since I really haven't had to live them, it's not worth much.

Moral of story? Money is complicated. The end.

Change

My title was inspired by a post in another friend's blog; thanks Joy.

This past weekend we had a big Sunday School bash, where we rent out a school, all the Sunday School classes put on little plays, and there is way too much pizza and candy. So pretty much, a lot of fun. Fun when you're a kid, I guess I should say, and a little more harried and crazy when you're a teacher of one of these said classes.

Not that I don't love my girls, because they're pretty much awesome. I have 10-, 11-, and 12-year-olds, and they are truly amazing. And hilarious. And they all love vampires, a less hilarious subject which I find myself shooting down during class nearly every Sunday. Come on, how many different segues are there into the subject of Twilight, anyhow? Apparently, a lot.

All that aside, I was thinking about how awesome my play was on Saturday. Not because it turned out insanely well (though, considering the talent levels of both the actors and me, the writer/director/ahhh, it really did turn out impressively), but because our story was a cool lesson.

We did the story of John Newton--we started with his mother dying and him being shanghaied by the British Navy, and moved on to his disregard of all things nice and polite, and finished up with his getting saved, marrying the pretty girl, and writing Amazing Grace. We covered a lot in roughly seven minutes.

Anyhow, there was something I didn't even notice until the play actually began, and we were live in front of the audience--which is to say, the happy mix of girls in my class. John Newton was a slave trader, and doing the play on Saturday, I was incredibly thankful for how much had changed. A little Hispanic girl played Mr. Newton (she did a pretty good job of convincing the captain to search for "his" son until John was found), and a little African-American girl played a captain--the very captain who talked John into dealing slaves in the first place. It didn't even dawn on me when we were doing the "auditions" (auditions comprised of all the girls wanting to be Mary, the eventual wife, and everyone being sad when they realized they couldn't all have the same part) that I could have done the casting differently. But I don't think I would have changed it if I could have, you know? Who cares that my slaves were played by little girls who look more Swedish than African, anyhow? This is what we've moved beyond, and I'm thankful that I honestly don't even notice it any longer.

So this is a tribute to those brave men and women who fought for what was right, who did the hard thing, who sacrificed personal comfort for the good of others. I'd like to think I would follow in their footsteps, given the chance (yes, yes, I know there's a lot I can be doing now--see what I mean? I'm not as impassioned on the subject as they obviously were), but I'm scared that it's just another thing that I'd ignore in favour of "protecting the family" or something like that.

Food for thought, this change stuff is...

Give me words to speak

I fall so short. All the time. In every area.

But one area in which I've been feeling particularly short recently is the whole evangelizing thing. Sometimes I just don't open my mouth for the Lord. If someone wants to make the first move and ask me, then I'll talk, but otherwise? I just don't. Which is terrible, I fully recognize this.

For instance, as my brother and I were walking home from meeting one evening recently, we saw a guy wondering around some bushes with a flashlight. So, naturally, we stopped and asked him if we could be of any assistance. Turns out he'd lost the battery for his cell phone, and his wife was quite upset, so he was looking for it in the dark. So, we helped him look for it for a while, and when we all came up empty-handed, he said to just forget it, he'd look tomorrow.

So I told him I really hoped he found it, and I was sorry that he'd lost it. At which point, the guy called over his shoulder (he was walking away from us in rather a huff), "What's the point, this whole life is miserable and nothing goes right anyhow and she's going to kill me and nothing good happens..." His rather run-on sentence went on for a while, at least until my brother and I could no longer hear him, and that was that.

But I remember standing there thinking: should I be running after him? Because I know that there are good things in life, I know it's not all miserable! I have Jesus living in my heart! I apparently know something this guy doesn't know!

But I stood there and watched him go. I didn't even holler a "JESUS SAVES!" after him or anything.

I could justify my way out of that one, since he'd been walking away and everything, but recently I had another experience where I just didn't open my mouth, and really could have.

I was walking home from meeting on a Sunday afternoon, and in one of the parking lots I cut across (I believe in efficiency) I came across a group of old people, just sitting around in lawn chairs. So they asked me how my day was, what I'd accomplished, what I did for work, all that stuff. I told them a little about me, and one of the things I mentioned was that I taught Sunday School.

So one old dude told this story that went something as follows, "I taught Sunday School to high school students, and they were wondering how God could have made man after the cave men were already around, and so I explained that man wasn't really man until God put a soul in him."

I remember standing there looking at this guy thinking, "Wh-huh?" And I was still trying to work out his logic when some other guy started talking to me about job stuff and another old guy started asking me how I felt about Obama.

But again, that's no excuse! I shouldn't have let him tell such a completely weird thing and get away with it. Sure, he was old, but he's talking about my Saviour, here. I should be able to jump in and be like, "Oh, actually, I was just reading His letter the other day and I'm pretty sure you got it all wrong."

Ack. Like I said, I fall so short it's depressing.

Journal Journies

So why my sudden interest in going through my old journals? Well, one day I realized that I taught a Sunday School class of 10-12 year olds, yet could hardly remember anything about that age. It seems silly to admit to not remembering a few years back, but a lot has happened since my 11-year-old days! Eleven, by the way, was the age I was when I first started keeping a journal with any real consistency. I was actually a little fanatical about it, writing enough in my first month of writing to fill up an entire journal. Since then, I’ve slowed down quite a bit. Oh, sometimes I’ll go through spurts of entry after entry of completely random musings, which usually end up filling quite a bit of white space, but in general, I’ve lost a bit of my chronicling zeal.

But what did I discover about my little 11-year-old self? Mostly that I was a depressed and sad little child. I never found anything positive about myself or my surroundings, and dwelt mostly on problems that I felt affected me personally. Thankfully my short-sightedness wore off during the years, though when, I’m not quite sure. I’m still reviewing the evidence for a breakthrough from my dismal childhood blues, but haven’t come across anything yet. Mostly I’m just thankful to be far, far away from those days.