Thank You.

The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world.
John 1:9

It's the last Sunday of the year, the last of my week's-end posts to summarize one seven-day slice of an ordinary life. Though this week held Christmas, it wasn't otherwise very different from most other weeks I've told you about. We spent time with family, we celebrated blessings and gifts from the Lord, we enjoyed yummy food, we changed diapers and washed dishes and folded clothes and vacuumed carpets. We woke up each morning with new mercies of God washing over us, went to sleep in our cozy bed at night with gratefulness for health, protection, and provision. We had times of weariness and times of light hearts. Small things made our hearts hurt; other small things filled us up with joy. Most weeks of this 2015 year have been much like this one. Nothing I could say would be much different from what I've been saying for a year now.

It's been a challenge to share true parts of my life with you this year, while also maintaining a healthy distance. Filtering my story through this blog, straining out the things that would be reactionary, over-dramatic, or just too raw, helped me distill the heart-juices of my year into cups of (hopefully) meaningful content. Writing in a private journal, as I did for most of my life, doesn't require that filter. For a year, it was healthy for me to pour measured doses of a filtered story. If it didn't help you, at least it helped me. I think I've learned to look at each episode of life through the lens of God's grace, to see pieces of my story as pieces of a greater Story, and to pull real truth out of an unimpressive week.

About halfway through the year, I started praying about this blog, about the writing I've found myself doing my whole life. I'm supposed to write, right? But what should I say? And to whom? And for how long? I decided that if I'm going to do this writing thing at all, it has to be for His glory. Telling my own weekly story isn't enough. Certainly it's in ordinary lives like mine that God shows His power, demonstrates His grace, and works His salvation. But a "here's my life" blog has a tendency to lean toward self-glory rather than pointing the spotlight on Him. So I'm moving in 2016 to a blog style with a slightly different focus. If you want to follow along over at ourfiftytwo.weebly.com, you'll find me reflecting on God's Word through the scripture reading plan I've designed, though of course I won't be able to help also commenting on the ways He intersects with my ordinary life in the fifty-two weeks to come.

I spent some time today reading back over some of the early posts from this year. It encouraged me to see the things God brought us through since January. And with another January coming up in just a few days, I'm able to walk forward confidently, knowing He will surround our lives in the coming year as well.

Merry Christmas.

Happy New Year.

Happy Old Year.

Happy Many Years to all who trust in the sweet Name of our Lord.

The Waiting

She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins. 
Matthew 1:21

Capping off advent with a long Christmas vacation matches the heart of what advent celebrates: waiting. The Christ is coming. We wait. Deliverance is coming. We wait. Peace and joy are coming. We wait. And, for those working in academia, the long Christmas break is coming. We wait.

Then, when the last day arrives, when all the kids are decked in reindeer sweaters and the staff room is sugary-sweet with the cookies of a dozen generous moms, we celebrate the end of the waiting. We drive home looking forward to sixteen glorious days of sleeping in, eating pie for breakfast, ignoring our email, and curling up by the fire with library novels. Of course, if you happen to have a toddler, the "sleeping in" is somewhat relative. Nevertheless, vacation brings rest and by mid-December, we are ready for it.

This weekend already kicked off the celebrations as we joined Pete's family for Christmas dinner and gift exchange. Henry ate too many cookies, played all day with his cousins, and finally learned to say all of their names (though Charlotte is merely "Ha-ha"). We are on cloud nine with this December's Christmas break.

So as I'm celebrating the arrival of one thing waited-for, I'm encouraged to notice the things we're still waiting for. All of us. An end to violence and fear and danger. The dissolution of all countries and kingdoms. A time when money and paperwork and calendars are no longer needed. The day when our Lord fully and finally saves us from this whole sin-soaked world. A greeting with our Savior to pale all the Christmas greetings we've ever enjoyed. The 2015 advent season will soon be over. But we will still be waiting through the advent preceding his return.

We've welcomed the restfulness of Christmas break, and there are only four days of advent left until we celebrate Jesus's first coming. I think a long, sweet, cinnamony Christmas vacation is a little taste of the perfect rest that will come when the long, long second Advent of Christ is over, when He comes again. For that, we continue to wait expectantly.

Reasons to be Grateful: Dec 7 - 13

I will be like the dew to Israel; he will blossom like a lily. 
Hosea 14:5

You know in middle school when you go on a class retreat and they have you find a partner and do "trust falls?" This week was our trust fall. The two things we've been looking forward to, with equal parts dread and excitement, happened back to back this week: Pete's surgery on Tuesday, followed by three days of at-home recovery during which our new roof was put on. Both were successful and incident-free. A new knee ligament and a roof-ful of new hunter green shingles, and we're rolling steadily toward Christmas and the new year with the things we'd hoped for safely tucked in our belts.

It feels dangerous to brag about God's goodness in a week like this. As if He might yank the rug out from under us next week with a car wreck or a sudden loss. But proclaiming His faithfulness today makes it no less true when he allows for the next trial. He is good. His goodness showed this week in affirmative answers to prayers, in solutions to material problems, in provision for practical needs. It could show next week in an unasked-for struggle that forces us to draw nearer to Him. It's not my place to speculate about what's around the bend. So for today, I praise Him for seeing us through a tangle of circumstances to the smooth road on the other side.

I'll make my gratefulness specific: 

We didn't encounter any traffic or delays on our way to the hospital on Tuesday morning.

Our wait in the prep room was pleasant, even though it was an hour longer than expected.

Henry was well-behaved for his morning spent with my mom at her school.

I had a stellar book with me which wholly occupied my attention for the three-hour wait in the lobby.

Friends and relatives checked in via text and email throughout the day, assuring us that they were praying.

Pete's immediate post-op recovery was easy, even enjoyable. He said he felt like Adam, coming to life.

Nurses were kind and patient.

The pharmacy was able to fill the prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics right away, when we stopped on the way home.

My mom stayed throughout the evening following surgery, as I prepared dinner, cared for Pete, and attended to Henry.

We had three perfect days of weather for roofing.

The roofers were safe and found nothing unexpected in the course of the job. 

My birthday was spent at home with my recovering husband, but my dad also came over for the day to give me an extra hand. Therefore, I spent the day with the three men I love most: my dad, my husband, and my little boy.

Henry loved watching the roofers (the "meeh," meaning "men") go "up, up, up" and work on the roof.

Without making time for a full-fledged grocery shopping trip, we still had plenty of food in the house for a week of meals.

Our eight ice trays made it easy to freeze enough ice for Pete's wound-cooling ice water pump machine.

The first batch of a prayer card project I've been planning for a while is completed.

I'm grateful for all these things, and more. I'm grateful for a God who cares about details. Reading Hosea 14 this week was also a boost for my soul, an encouraging description of the God who heals and loves. In trouble and in blessing, we lean on the One who brings blossoms, shoots, roots, splendor, fragrance, shade, flourishing, and fruitfulness. When the dew of His Spirit sparkles in our hearts, we can expect Him to bring life-changing growth.

There are a few weeks left in this set of fifty-two. I'm looking forward to seeing what God does with them in my life. Are you open to see what He might do in yours?

Comfort and Joy: Nov 30 - Dec 6

Sing to the Lord, for he has done glorious things; let this be known to all the world.
Isaiah 12:5

Isaiah 12 should be an easy chapter to read. It's a simple song of praise to God for His character, His kindness, His works, and His greatness.

But every time I came to it this week, my eyes glazed over a little bit. For me, this is not an ideal Christmas season. My husband has knee surgery this week. Our house is getting re-roofed sometime in the next ten days or so. The costs of several monthly bill payments have gone up. We have decisions to make and long-term outcomes to consider, events to schedule and things to buy and conversations to anticipate. I've actually had nightmares about being on the Titanic as it's sinking.

"I will trust and not be afraid," say the verses from Isaiah 12. But that can feel a little nebulous when there's so much that seems worthy of fearing. Romans 15 takes it further. "As you trust in him," Paul says, the God of hope will fill you with joy and peace.

Joy and peace. Christmas ornament words. Christmas card sentiments. Real life experiences?

Between the crunch of finances, the filled-up calendar, the social media expectations, and the social reality let-downs, December is probably the last month of the year that should be labeled with the words joy and peace. Wreaths decorated with the words disappointed and anxious wouldn't sell as well, but they might be more realistic.

Yet somehow, we're promised peace and joy. In this season, and in every season. But peace and joy don't just sneak up on us when we're worried, frustrated, or envious. They aren't waiting to pounce. They're waiting to be found. Peace and joy come from trusting. Trusting. The action that seems like inaction, but is actually the most conscious and intentional thing we do, because fretting is what we do best and avoiding it is an active choice.

So when we trust - when I trust - instead of being afraid, instead of comparing and wallowing and complaining, we are finally freed to find peace. We discover that it's possible to feel joy. Trusting doesn't have to feel vague. It's the act of silencing the thoughts that creep in when someone else's life looks better than mine, the act of choosing not to whine about yet another unexpected setback, the act of walking into a new week with a smile instead of a wince, the act of sharing.

When we do these things, we find that peace and joy are not far behind. And following them? Hope.

Romans 15 says that once we've found the joy and peace that come from trusting, we will soon find ourselves overflowing with hope. While we're counting down the days of advent, checking off the last twenty-some days of 2015, hope can rise in us, filling up the places that were once pockets of self-pity or doubt or even anger.

Tonight, at the close of this week, I read Isaiah 12 again. Finally, I saw hope there.

"I will praise you, O Lord.
Although you were angry with me, your anger has turned away and you have comforted me.
Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid." 

God's anger - the anger He righteously had for my sins and yours - has turned away. It has turned onto His Son. Instead of acting on His anger toward me, He redirects anger toward Christ and aims comfort toward me. Whatever comes into my story is an extension, somehow, of this comfort, of this goodness. This is why I can trust. This is why I can hope. This is hope. Salvation comes. Bottomless wells of it. Comfort comes. Joy comes. Good tidings come. And these are the things I choose to decorate with this December: the things that can be written on a postcard, but are best written on a heart.

Reasons to be (un)grateful: Nov 23 - 29

... for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. 
Isaiah 11:9

A family can be whole one year and broken the next. The annual family photo can be a few faces short for any number of reasons, and those that remain ache from the absence. And when holiday celebrations bring families together, the blend of stress, responsibility, memories, anxiety, and expectations among a band of everyday sinners is a recipe for disappointment.

We entered the "holiday season" this week with the celebration of Thanksgiving and though my family enjoyed the weekend, I'm hesitant to be another whipped-cream storyteller of the internet, swirling yummy curlicues when there are so many whose hearts are hurting. November and December and January are shellacked in festive colors and tagged (or hashtagged) with words like "cheer," "joy," "grateful," and "gladness." But the more holiday seasons I walk through, the more sensitive I become to the realities other people are living when November rolls around and the twinkle lights go up. Maybe there are obvious aches like a fresh divorce, a recent death, or a sudden job loss. But certainly there are private aches too. No holiday table is free from them.

Over the past few months, I've watched one little part of the story God is writing in the life of a friend of mine and she gave me permission to share it. Midway through their process of buying a house this fall, her husband lost his job. The purchase of the new house was threatened by the income loss, and the arrangement of a tenant for the current house (which they intend to rent out rather than to sell) had hit only dead ends. Around the same time, all four wheels were stolen off one of their cars in the middle of the night. The school district in which the new home is located will not be able to serve their special needs daughter, but the only specialized school that had an opening was the one they liked least. One of their toddler's daytime babysitters suddenly quit. It seemed that in the list of "things that can go wrong," nearly every item had been checked. My friend told me that, uncharacteristically, she was not worrying. She had taken the pieces of their life and handed them to the Lord, submitting them to His will. As of this week, the sale of the house was finalized. The move was completed and she was preparing to cook a Thanksgiving turkey in her new kitchen. A spot opened up for their daughter at their first choice school. Another babysitter was wiling to pick up the extra day. And then there was a job offer for her husband, one much larger than ever expected, at a company just 10 minutes from their new home. The new salary meant they could lower the rent on their former home, and they are hopeful that this will bring a renter soon.

I share her story, rather than any part of my own, because I think it's often the stories of others that encourage our faith most. Certainly we have opportunities to see God work in our own lives, but we're often too close to the situations to notice what He's doing. When we get to see a story from the sidelines, the distance helps us see the whole thing as one narrative, rather than facing the episodes as a seemingly endless parade of setbacks.

Pete and I noticed at our church's Thanksgiving Eve service that of the people who shared from the open mic about things they were grateful for this year, most described situations for which one would not be expected to give thanks. It was the disappointments and the struggles that caused people to notice reasons to thank the Lord. Not everyone reaches Thanksgiving - or Christmas - with a story worth sharing in front of the church. Some stories are still in the messy parts when the year ends. But listening to the other stories God is writing, watching how He brings beautiful things out of those dark seasons, and praising Him for the good He has done in other lives can lift a sad heart toward heaven.

If you had trouble making a list of things to be thankful for this week, or if you're looking forward to the work days between now and Christmas because they keep you away from hurtful family relationships, or if the glittery holiday you'd pictured has been muddied by a painful loss, try peering in the window of someone else's story. Don't look for perfection (it's not in their home either). Look for healing. Every truly grateful heart is a heart that's been patched up and mended. And as you humbly turn your bruised story over to the Lord, you can be sure that you'll receive healing too and one day - maybe soon, maybe not so soon - yours will be a story of gratefulness too.

One: Nov 16 - 22

I in them, and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. 
Jn. 17:23

You know what Jesus prayed for us before He went to the cross? Not for our spiritual growth, not for our soul-winning skills, not for increased holiness. He prayed that His people would have unity. And not just a loose unity that means we all share the name "Christian," but unity that actually mirrors Christ's oneness with the Father.

Every morning this week, as I read the verses in John 17 that record this prayer, I became more convicted of my neglect for pursuing this oneness. I make myself the standard of 'normal' and assume that people are mostly like me and that God prefers it that way. The ones who aren't like me - who like different kinds of worship music, or different translations of the Bible, or different home decor styles, or live in different parts of the country - well, he tolerates them with a patronizing smile. He doesn't mind caring for them too, but really, He's my type.

How embarrassingly prideful.

In Jesus's John 17 prayer, and in the entirety of His ministry, He made it clear that He does not intend for His people to isolate themselves into cliques. He intends complete unity among His children. This is humbling for every self-centered Christian, but the reason He intends it is even more humbling.

Jesus said that this unity would "let the world know" that Jesus had truly been sent from God. Isn't it often lack of unity among believers that drives people from Christ? Don't many of our sins come down to a failure to live out the oneness that Jesus prayed for us? Do you see how much our unity matters?

Perhaps you are in a family that is shattered. Or a church that's been split. Or a community fractured down the middle by disagreements. Or maybe you just have a colleague you dislike or a member of your church you avoid. Jesus knows that oneness isn't easy. I think that's why He prays for it with such urgency. And if it's the theme of His last great recorded prayer, shouldn't it be the theme of at least a few of ours too?

If you're finding it hard to look down the road ahead and see oneness with other Christians, try making Jesus's prayer your own this week.

"I pray that all of us may be one, Father, just as You are in Christ and Christ is in You. May we be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent Jesus and have loved us, even as you loved Him."

Sausage Tortellini Soup

If it's raining at your house, like it is at mine, you're probably feeling hungry for some autumn soup for a cozy November dinner. Try this one!

What You Need:
1 lb ground sweet Italian sausage
1 onion
2 carrots
olive oil
32 oz chicken broth
2 C water
1 can (14.5 oz) petite diced tomatoes
1 can (8 oz) tomato sauce
1/2 tsp dried basil
1/2 tsp dried oregano
1/2 C milk or cream
1-2 T flour
1 8oz package dried tortellini
2 C chopped kale

To Prepare:
In a large saucepan, brown the sausage until fully cooked. 

Chop 1 onion and 2 carrots into small pieces. 

Remove sausage from pan when cooked and set aside.

Pour a swirl of olive oil in the saucepan and add onion and carrot.

Cook until softened, about 5-8 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Add 32 oz chicken broth, 2 C water, 1 can petite diced tomatoes, 1 can tomato sauce, 1/2 tsp basil, and 1/2 tsp oregano. Turn heat to high.

Whisk a heaping tablespoon of flour into about 1/2 C of milk or cream. When dissolved, add this to the soup and stir well.

Bring soup to a boil.

Add tortellini and cook as long as is directed on the package (probably about 15 minutes), stirring occasionally.

Add chopped kale before serving and stir to allow it to soften.

Not My Life: Nov 9-15

They are not of the world, even as I am not of it. Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth. 
John 17:16-17

Christmas came to our home this week.

Watching this nearly-two-year-old show excitement about Christmas warms his mama's heart. A few times I found him sitting on the steps, just sitting and looking at the Christmas lights. And ever since we got his nativity set from the attic this week he's been constantly playing with the people and setting up scenes. He is delighted by the presence of Jesus in this house, though he doesn't yet understand the miracle that these toys represent.

Even though I had a baby Jesus kicking around the living room this week, I still found it hard to keep the truth of Christmas - of the world-changing plot twist His coming brought - in mind. I was still short-tempered with my husband and son. I still fretted over issues at work and at home. I still complained.

His arrival on this planet changed everything. But too often His arrival on a mantelpiece doesn't change anything.

A line from Paul Tripp's devotional helped my perspective this week:

"You have been called to be the look on His face, the tone of His voice, and the touch of His hand. Your life doesn't belong to you anymore."

I am chronically possessive of my life. Especially when life is ordinary and it seems like my wishes are generally coming true, I struggle to remember that I'm not in charge. I'm running my life, right?

But when life gets rocked - by Pete's injury, or bombings and shootings an ocean away - it's much easier to admit that I'm not writing the script. Even the glitch that knocked out our internet connection on Sunday night forced me to admit that my plans don't always work out.

And an unexpected peace comes when I recognize that no incident rolls into history without a Divine nod. Worry can melt when I remember that my breaths, my heartbeats, the winding path of my life are not in my hands. I can become a little bit more like Jesus when I stop fighting God for the steering wheel and allow Him to drive.

Christmas lights and a plastic nativity set don't make Jesus any closer than He normally is. But the next few months will layer reminders into my life of Christ's nearness and His kindness to me. So hopefully my tendency to run the show will be somewhat forced into submission.

Do you struggle with this too? The spiritual blindness to the miracle of being called into God's story and given the chance to play a part in it? After this week, in which we're finishing up readings in John 17, my weekly meditation passages will be focused on the coming of Jesus. Won't you join me in reading these passages each day? Let's focus our hearts and minds on what Jesus brings when He comes and how our lives fit perfectly in the puzzle of His great plan.

MidWeek Mini: Bread

So, did you watch The Great British Baking Show yet? I dare you to watch a whole season and then not try a made-from-scratch recipe in your own kitchen. After finishing the season that just aired on PBS, I promptly went to the kitchen to try a simple Italian loaf. The first two attempts were mediocre. But a third try, in which I layered mozzarella cheese and pepperoni, was tasty if not especially attractive. Today, I'm trying an alternate recipe and my hopes are rising with the dough.

After just a few days of bread-baking adventures, I have learned a few life lessons taught in the school of home-kitchen-baking.

1. How to wait. Proofing (that's the rising of the bread as the yeast activates) takes time. There's no action for the baker to take, nothing to quicken the process. Just patiently waiting. And after it finishes, you punch it down and reshape it for a second round of rising and waiting. Moving on to the next step too soon can mean doom for your bread. You must learn to wait.

2. The sweetness of providing nourishment. My husband got home yesterday and devoured nearly an entire loaf of pepperoni bread. Providing something yummy that fills up the soul as it fills up the belly is rewarding. Doing things for others, things that meet their needs, is sweet to your own soul.

3. Nobody else's life instructions work perfectly for you. The first loaf I tried was ugly. I mean really ugly. Dry looking, pale and pasty in color. It tasted alright, but my guess was that my oven (which is gas and therefore heats up quickly) did not work with the fast-rising yeast recipe I was trying. I had to make some changes for the second loaf, which was only slightly better, and will be further experimenting with getting the right coloring on my bread.

So what did I bake? I started with this recipe. It looked super easy and impossible to mess up. As I mentioned, it didn't brown very well and looked awful but the taste was yummy, especially my third try.

Today, I baked this one. After the first rise, I made it into a rectangle and sprinkled it with some Italian seasoning, mozzarella cheese, and pepperoni slices. Then I rolled it up, let it have its second rise, and baked it, all as directed in the recipe (with some extra cheese on top too). I'm still having issues with the coloring of the bread (why is it not browning!?), but it's tasting awesome.

Got a bread recipe that never fails? Got tips for me on getting this bread to turn golden? Help a baker out! In the meantime, go buy some yeast and get some bread proofing in your kitchen.

Cracks: Nov 2 - 8

I have brought you glory on earth by completing the work you gave me to do. 
Jn. 17:4

I try to live with joy, but sometimes the tide of worry rises and I get swept into deep waters of anxiety. Sometimes it's health concerns, like Pete's torn ACL. Sometimes it's life's endless paperwork, like the water bill and the insurance renewal. Sometimes it's our future or our family, and sometimes it's just the cracked plaster and sloping floors of our vintage old house.

I told Pete I wanted to move this week. I didn't really mean it because I love this house, but every time I see a new crack across a wall or hear a new creak that wasn't there before, the panic swells up and I wonder how long it will be until this home is just a heap of bricks in a grassy lot. My eyes trace little fractures across a wall and I imagine the whole room splitting in two. I add up pounds in my head, tallying the weight that might bring a whole house crumbling. I tiptoe across floorboards.

I'm not complaining. Life is hard and it's chock-full of reasons to hope for Heaven. I expect struggles and I shouldn't aim towards eliminating them. It's the worry about the struggles that I shouldn't tolerate. And I'm noticing that worry tends to get the best of me when I'm absorbed solely in my own story. Anxiety blooms when I dwell in my own little kingdom. So I naturally find myself fretting when I'm thinking about my version of a perfect life instead of opening my heart to the lives of others. When the cracks in my wall get my attention before the cracks in my relationships, it's clear that my priorities are out of sync.

In thinking about worry this week, I was challenged toward a few antidotes:

1. Choose gratefulness instead. A place of anxiety is the perfect setting to practice intentional gratefulness.

2. Pray. And not just for the need that's worrying me, but also for someone or something else to remove my mind from the worry.

3. Relocate. A walk, a trip to the store, even just a little stroll out onto the patio brings a fresh perspective to a simple worry, redirecting my mind toward peace.

As long as I'm walking life here, there will be things to worry about. But refusing that worry and instead choosing gratefulness and joy is the path of the faithful. I am praying for increased faith to kick worry out of my home this week. And if you are prone to worry, I'm praying for you too.

MidWeek Mini: Coming Up Next

I've been thinking for a while about what to do with this site when 2015 ends. I started Fifty-Two this year with the goal of re-creating a habit of personal journalling and of using writing to bring meaning out of the ordinary days in my life. But having simply explored my own life for a year, I'm now hoping to make this space tell more than just my own story. I want to create a place that encourages an intentional life, inspires the search for simplicity and joy, and guides daily routines of Bible study and focused prayer for everyday Christians who long to see more of Jesus.

For 2016, you can expect weekly posts (and MidWeek Minis) to continue, but rather than aiming primarily to tell my own story, my goal will be to encourage readers to soak up God's Word and to spend focused time in prayer. Each week, we'll read a short passage of Scripture and we'll read it daily, letting it sink deep into our souls. We'll also focus our prayers on a particular person in our individual lives (maybe our moms, our neighbors, or our bosses). Along the way I'll share resources that are helpful to me, give chances for you to share parts of your own stories, and continue to stay honest about the ups and downs life always brings.

While I work toward that transition when 2016 begins, please consider spreading the word about the new Our Fifty-Two! I'm excited about what's coming up and I'd love for lots of you to be excited to start with me when January comes. Follow along on instagram for more sneak peeks about what's ahead. And pray with me that this will be a place of encouragement where together we can cultivate gratefulness, seek simplicity, and delight in the joy of knowing our Lord better each week.

Community: Oct 26 - Nov 1

Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also the interests of others. Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus. 
Phil. 2:4-5

[If you're following along with my reading plan, you know this wasn't part of this week's reading. I went off the plan and read Philippians 2:1-11 this week instead of the John passage.]

Confession: I'm not great with people. I value people and enjoy close friendships, but when it comes to crowds, I get tongue-tied and easily overwhelmed. So after muddling through group gatherings every evening this week, my crowd-shy self is seeking some alone time.

As a lifelong introvert, I'm sometimes guilty of longing for solitude too much. But you don't have to read more than a page or two into the Bible before you see that being alone is not what we were made for. We were made for shared life, for community living, for giving and receiving kindnesses.  And community doesn't just come into play at the women's social or on Small Group nights. Shared living doesn't only occur when a family with a new baby needs meals or when friends buy a house and need help carrying furniture. Rolling through life alongside others is part of God's design. It's why He gave us families and churches and spent so much time giving commands for how to interact with others.  

God knows that focusing on others squashes self-centeredness. Every moment of the day, I'm swirling in my own thoughts: "what's for dinner, did I send that email, I should dust the living room again, I think I'm getting a cold, I wish I had time to repaint my fingernails, I hope Henry has a good nap, did I leave that window open?" So when I hear from others about shopping trips, TV shows, baking disasters, child-rearing struggles, and and fashion shortcuts, I'm reminded that my experiences in life are limited. The content doesn't need to be profound to knock me out of my own internal monologue and into the reality of what other people are living.

Better yet, when I open my home - and my heart - to the ordinary and imperfect lives of others, I find that they are just as needy as I always feel and that we can encourage each other simply by sharing an evening together. Welcoming others and finding ways to serve them allows me a taste of Jesus's own ministry of self-sacrifice. I don't think I'm particularly gifted at showing hospitality, but sharing the simple gift of an open heart is easy. And the reward might be more than just friendship. Being open to people means that God can use them in my life too. So hosting a meal might lead to a new job. Or a cup of coffee could lead to a brand-new ministry. It's almost always through other people that God accomplishes His work among us. Could something amazing start with my act of kindness to someone this week?

Sharing life becomes easier - even for an introvert - when we plant relationships in the soil of prayer. In the last year or two, I've come to realize that prayer (which might just look like sitting) is actually the most powerful thing I can do. Taking my concerns and the needs of others to the Lord in prayer brings peace, confidence, and hope. Creating a habit of praying for the people who are sharing my road through life isn't just an opportunity to see God bring answers. It also brings me closer to them as my heart begins to grow around their lives. It's harder to stay focused on myself when I'm daily thinking about how I can lift others up in prayer.

I am surrounded by examples of this shared living and it's changing how I look at life. My sister-in-law texts me from the grocery store to ask if I need anything. A friend checks in with me on Sunday about birthday cards we discussed on Wednesday. Everybody at Small Group kindly eats slices of a yummy, but horribly deformed, apple cake I baked. A colleague who traveled to Peru for a wedding comes back with a pair gloves for me. Life lived with a thought for others, rather than lived circling my own self, is richer and broader and stronger. When we give, we gain. When we share, we grow. It's a principle I want to teach my son, and it's one I want to live out more fully myself. If I give in too often to my preference for alone time, I'm missing the wonderful gift of a life shared with others. I was made for it. And I'm learning to embrace it.

Sweet and Sour: October 19 - 25

When the Spirit of Truth comes, he will guide you into all truth. 
Jn 16:13

When you're watching an episode or two of The Great British Baking Show every afternoon, you start to hear your life narrated in a refined English accent. You also start to imagine new reality shows like The Great American Laundry Show in which contestants compete at re-whitening a set of soiled cloth diapers, or The Great International Errand Show in which ordinary shoppers from around the world plan out the best possible routes on a busy Saturday in which to accomplish all their necessary errands. These are shows I could win. But alas, there are no prizes for washing three baskets of laundry in one afternoon or completing all morning stops before the toddler has a needs-a-nap breakdown.

On the positive side, reality shows in which people bake sweet desserts topped with glazes and custards and jams and drizzles, is almost as therapeutic as eating said desserts, so the calming effect on ordinary life is surprisingly noticeable.

In the absence of baking shows, you can rely on local Halloween parades to excel at providing abundant tootsie rolls to satisfy a sweet tooth for a few days. And if that still doesn't work, try chocolate chip banana bread or apple pecan cookies, two delicious things I baked this week.

Aside from just the yummy stuff, fall has been sweet to us this week. After Monday's first frost, I braced myself for a frigid week. But it warmed up enough later in the week to rake leaves without a sweatshirt. Nights are still cool, but extra blankets on the bed have kept us toasty at night. I reorganized the kitchen to put things in more practical places. My little sister celebrated a birthday. We hosted friends for Sunday afternoon lunch.

These are sweets, good for the soul. Yet somehow, in the middle of all this, I'm feeling burnt out. End of month means bills are due, tasks at work increasingly fragment my brain, homeowning wearies constantly. The list of things I need to keep in mental order and do on time and successfully remember has seemed so long this week, that I've at times felt hopeless. For me this week, the sweetness was shallow compared to the exhaustion that ran so deep.

I've been encouraged by a few things, though, and I look to them for hope again this week:
1. Meeting the Lord in prayer. Where else but with Him can we find new perspective?
2. The knowledge that someday all that overwhelms me will be gone forever.
3. An intentional restoration of some margin back into my overcrowded life.

If you're also feeling not merely stretched, but snapped, go with confidence to the One who can mend what is broken. Ask for His healing touch of grace and watch the sweetness He will bring back into your soured days.

MidWeek Mini: Apple Pecan Cookies

Does your town have a Halloween Parade? My husband's hometown does, and these were the cookies I baked to take along last night when we camped out on my in-laws' front sidewalk all evening, watching marching bands and firetrucks and collecting candy tossed generously by local business owners. They are also a stellar choice for a Fall Festival, an Autumn Extravaganza, or a Harvest Party. Loaded with crunchy pecans, fresh apple bits, and a quiet hint of Christmas-y sweetness in the sugary glaze, these are the cookies for any and all celebrations this season.

I developed the recipe from a Pecan Oatmeal Cookie recipe in a little dessert book I have, with the apple added in because Henry can say "apple" and suggested we add some.

You Will Need:
1 apple
1/2 C pecans
1 stick butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup lightly packed light brown sugar
1 egg
3/4 C flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/3 C oatmeal

To Make:
Preheat the oven to 350 and prepare two cookie sheets (no need to grease them).

Chop your apple into a small dice. Chop pecans finely. Set these aside.

With a hand mixer, beat 1 stick butter and 1/2 C packed light brown sugar (press it firmly into the measuring cup, but don't pack it excessively).

Beat in 1 egg. Remove beaters from mixing bowl and scrape batter off carefully.

Stir in pecans and apples gently with a wooden spoon.

Using a sifter, sift in 3/4 C flour and 1/2 tsp baking powder into the mixing bowl.

Add 1/3 C oatmeal and stir slowly with a wooden spoon. Do not overmix; it will become extremely sticky. Stop mixing as soon as all dry ingredients are incorporated.

Using a floured hand, carefully form small balls of dough and press gently onto cookie sheets.

Bake for 15 minutes, watching for browning around the edges. Remove from oven and move carefully to wire cooking racks.

When completely cool, you can serve as-is, or add this yummy glaze.

Whisk 1/2 C powdered sugar with 1/2 T milk. Drizzle lightly over cookies. It won't exactly harden, but it will firm a little bit.

The one downside to these cookies is that they do not store very well. In a ziploc bag or an airtight container, they will become quite soft, which is not the preferred texture. The upside to all this is that you are forced to eat them all in one sitting!

Full: October 12 - 18

And you also must testify, for you have been with me from the beginning. 
Jn. 15:27

How full was your calendar this week? Mine was scribbled thick with arrows and asterisks and check marks and X's. Groceries to buy, people to care for, dinners to cook, chores to complete, events to attend. Next week's pages are nearly pure white, but in the next seven days they too will fill up with appointments and lists and plans and reminders. Then I'll turn the page to another blank set of boxes and start over again, filling up time.

This week was defined by fullness, and not just our schedule. The fridge is full (praise the Lord!), the laundry baskets are full of both clean and dirty clothes, our house was full of friends, and the dining room table is full of bits of autumn. It's easy for the heart to be full when so much blessing is obvious.

But my life should be characterized by fullness in another sense too. Am I full of grace? Full of forgiveness? Full of kindness? Generosity? Do I overflow because I'm filled up by an inexhaustible source? Too often, I don't. I'm frequently full of irritation. Worry. Restlessness. Or I'm not filled with anything at all. I'm empty: wearied, complacent.

There's no guarantee in the Bible that we will always feel full. But we are promised that we will always be full. "The Father will give you a Counselor to be with you forever," Jesus promised. "My peace I give you," He said. "Remain in me and I will remain in you," He said. Thankfully, the filling doesn't come from me.

Do you feel empty today? Or filled up with anxiety? There's an overflowing cup of joy available to fill you up. Be willing to come empty and prepare to leave full of all the fruits that come from life in the Holy Spirit.

MidWeek Mini: A Chili Recipe

Evening meals in the fall should be warm and served in bowls. The kind of thing you could eat on the porch while bundled in a cable sweater watching the early sunset. The kind of thing that steams cozily on the table while you scrunch your feet into slippers and listen for the 6:00 jazz to start on the radio. The kind of thing that's so good you're craving it again already by next week.

This chili recipe is one we'll be coming back to frequently this fall. It's hearty, warm, and good for you too. We all love it, even my husband who has never liked chili.

What You Need:
olive oil
1 medium yellow onion
1 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp dried oregano
2 heaping T chili powder
1/8 tsp ground cinnamon
2 bay leaves
1 lb ground turkey
2 T tomato paste
1 one-ounce piece of dark chocolate
1 bottle or can of beer (alternate: 12 oz beef broth)
1 can diced tomatoes (I prefer the petite diced)
1 can black beans
1 can great northern or cannellini beans
1 can whole kernel corn

Your Turn:
Pour a swirl (maybe 1 T) of olive oil in the bottom of a large stock pot over low heat.

Peel and chop 1 onion. Add it to the pot. Cook about 5 minutes, until onion is soft.

Add 1 tsp ground cumin, 1/2 tsp dried oregano, 2 heaping T chili powder, 1/8 tsp cinnamon, and 2 bay leaves. Stir to combine flavors. Cook until fragrant, about 3 more minutes.

Add 1 lb ground turkey and 2 T tomato paste. Stir to break up meat. Cook until meat is no longer pink, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon.

Add 1 oz dark chocolate and 12 oz can or bottle of beer. Stir to combine.

Add 1 can diced tomatoes (petite diced are best). 

Using a large colander, rinse 1 can black beans, 1 can white beans, and 1 can corn. Dump all three cans into the colander and rinse gently in the sink, stirring with your hands. Add this mixture to the stock pot.

Now you can choose your own adventure: If you're in a hurry, cover and simmer on low for about 30-40 minutes. If you have time (and this is what I recommend), dump the whole thing in the crock pot and let it cook on low for 4-5 hours. Be sure to remove bay leaves before serving.

Serve with hot cooked white rice, cornbread, shredded mexican cheese, sour cream, chopped black olives, and hot sauce.

Got an autumn recipe you plan to cook on repeat this season? Share the link!

Unexpected: October 5 - 11

You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last. 
Jn 15:16

We almost got to the end of this very busy week without incident. But at the very end of our very long Saturday, which we spent at school for the homecoming festivities, Pete was playing a game of staff vs alumni volleyball and came down hard on his knee. His good knee. Just a few days ago, he was walking around dressed like a teutonic knight at the Renaissance Faire. Now he's hobbling on crutches.

About three years ago he had surgery to replace the ACL in his right knee, and since then he's favored it, putting more weight and pressure on the left one. On Saturday night, he felt a pop in the left knee, collapsed, and hasn't put his full weight on it since. We took a trip to the urgent care center the next day and the PA there diagnosed a sprain, not a tear, of the knee ligaments, so we are hopeful that we can avoid another surgery.

Sometimes a week hits you with a curve ball and instead of spending Sunday morning in a refreshing Sunday School class, you're spending in the radiology room at Urgent Care. With crutches and advil summing up our weekend, we are not heading into this week the way we expected to.

As I sat in the waiting room, I was reading Margin, which is the book my Bible Study group is doing this quarter. The book encourages readers to put space into our lives, to be careful to live within our limits instead of beyond them. But I applied this section on the pain often caused by culture's progress to the situation in front of me this weekend:

"We once again agree that things do not own us and are not even very important. We once again assert that jobs are only jobs, that cars are only organized piles of metal, that houses will one day fall down - but that people are important beyond description. We once again assert that love stands supreme above all other forces, even to the ends of the universe and beyond."

I am remembering this week that a knee is just a joint, that paperwork is just necessary scribbles, and that though the body inevitably breaks down, the soul is being daily restored. There are trials, but they pale when viewed beside the blessings. There are frustrations, but they fade when considered in the context of all that you've been spared. There is hurt and exhaustion, but they are temporary. The more the heart sees frailty here, the greater our joy as we consider the wholeness of heaven.

Grateful this week for: 
urgent care center
kindnesses of friends
the sweet face of a newborn baby
apples
coupons
students who love our son
sunshiney autumn
playgrounds

Roots from the Wilted: Sept 28 - Oct 4

If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. My Father will love him, and we will come and make our home with him. 
Jn. 14:23

A few weeks ago, I was visiting a friend for the afternoon. She had offered me a houseplant that her home could no longer accommodate, and after catching up a bit, I had loaded the plant into my car and was ready to go. But when I turned the key, my car wouldn't start. The engine didn't even turn over. We expected it would need a tow. While we waited for AAA to show up, we strolled around her yard and she picked me a stalk of sedum, which I had admired. It was already close to dinner time, so her family generously hosted us for pizza, and when we finally left (AAA being able to restart the car), I ended up leaving the little green branch of sedum on the passenger seat of the car when we dropped it off at the shop. A few days later when we picked up the car, the sedum was still looking surprisingly hearty so I brought it home, dropped it in a glass of water, and set it on my windowsill. Now, it's sprouted a shock of white roots at the bottom. It's reaching out for a place to settle for good.

This little growing thing shows me, in a way I can see on my windowsill, the restoring power of Jesus. It has demonstrated, like so many things do, a greater truth about our God. You might have a broken-down car, or a wilting branch, or a flagging spirit, or a wounded heart. But God can make a whole new beginning out of something that looks to you like it's almost dead.

I need to have this faith about more things than just a cut flower in the kitchen. There are some big things that are looking pretty shrivelly right now: the future of Christian education, for example. I've become passionate about the rights of Christian schools to write their own employment and enrollment policies and to be exempt from penalties when they do so. But as I read news like this, I become more and more sure that it's only a matter of time before Christian schools nationwide will be forced to compromise their beliefs, or close their doors for good. And this overwhelms me with fear, sadness, and panic.

Add to this a posse of disrespectful teenage boys at school, the potentially imminent death of a family member who doesn't know Christ, rumors of ISIS radicals sneaking into Europe amongst the refugees, and the exhausting weariness of a plain old head cold, and hopelessness isn't far off.

I need faith that God can take this worry, this bleak future that I've written for the world, and sprout new roots out of it. I need more faith that when I feel abandoned, left on a car seat to wither in the sun, God will bring along a cup of cool water and give me a fresh start. I need the memory of all He has already done to pierce through the discouragement that comes from dwelling on what He hasn't done yet. His sweet Word offers comfort from every page and I've found it a strong tower for me this week.

Is your faith waning? Does something look to you like it has wilted beyond hope? Offer it to the Gardener who makes all things grow. But remember this too: "Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds." Christ promises to bring life, even out of death. So be patient and grateful as you watch to see what He will do. It probably won't be what you expect, but it will be good.

Grateful this week for: 
a free coffee
cloudy skies
John 14
honesty in an email
my husband
apples
Benadryl
coupons
a fleece blanket

Freedom?

I've never been one to care much about politics or news. I've lived in the smiled-upon land of the free and the oh-so-safe home of the brave where the underlying tenets of my faith, the basics at least, have received an agreeing nod for centuries by my culture. So I've never had reason to question the continuance of that freedom. I've foolishly taken it as a given that the laws of my land would never counter the laws of my God.

But lately my stomach turns every time I hear the news. As a Christian in today's world, I find my beliefs, which once informed public policy and law on every level, completely discarded in society. The battle cry of "Equal Rights" has taken their place. You've surely heard the stories of Christian photographers and bakeries, how new laws - and new interpretations of laws - eliminate the freedom of creative professionals to answer to their consciences about what sort of work to accept. And recently the legal changes are spreading wider. Additional legislation threatens to interfere with the decisions being made by churches and Christian schools. Soon it may not be legal to refuse employment or enrollment or membership to a man or woman who's living a lifestyle regarded by the church as sinful, even though our First Amendment prohibits laws that interfere with religious institutions. Now, instead of nodding along with Biblical teaching, or even simply allowing Christians to write their own policies that adhere to Biblical teaching, our culture refuses Christians the right to act in accordance with their beliefs. And ironically, it's all in the name of providing equal rights for all. 

What people want is inclusion. People want rights and they want those rights be identical to the rights of the person next door, no matter the differences - large or small - between them. And though it seems a common-sense thing to desire, it's not been valued historically as much as you might think. As cultures have known for millennia, to maintain order, safety, predictability, and security, a society needs to set boundaries. It's why we have prisons and traffic laws and local courts. There will necessarily be inequalities if a community is to function successfully. But the American culture has made equality so important that it's willing to sacrifice the freedoms of some for the privileges of others. We've put such value on rights that we've failed to see the inevitable ripple effect of breaking our own rules. Like an invisible toxic gas, the idea that everyone deserves the same thing has poisoned minds across the nation.

But behind the smoke screen, there's a quiet and beautiful truth that our culture is missing.

There is a place where equality reigns. There is a place where rights that had been denied are given freely. There is a truth that overrides the law and overrules the strikes against us.

It's the gospel of Jesus Christ. The gospel of Christ offers inclusion. The gospel gives us the rights of God's very children. The gospel of grace gives all of us equality, positions as brothers and sisters of Jesus Christ himself. The gospel stands ready to grant honor and privilege and freedom. This is what people are searching for: Jesus Christ himself and the free gift He offers.

Though this is what we want, we are crippled by our own pride. People cringe at the idea of being forced to change in order to be accepted. And the first thing the gospel does is expose the fact that we don't deserve to be included. Everything we do that opposes God's perfect nature is a stain on our record and there's no rewriting of that Law. So naturally, we're excluded from His favor, and that might be a very unAmerican truth to swallow.

But God is kind. All He requires is humility, the willingness to recognize that we do not deserve anything and that our actions have only condemned us. When we approach Him in this attitude, He gives two things: complete and total grace which accepts us in our rotten but humble state, and the power to change the things about us that made us rotten in the first place. The best part is, He even gives the humility needed to approach Him in the first place.

People want freedom, but they're grasping at such a small version of it. Freedom in this country to get a particular job or to receive lodging at a certain bed and breakfast, despite your non-traditional lifestyle, is a sad and (dare I say) a narrow-minded accomplishment. And perhaps even the freedom of a Christian school to write its own policies and refuse admission to individuals whose lives do not reflect Biblical teaching is a pitiful right to have gained. The freedom offered in Christ, offered by His gospel, is a complete and eternal freedom from all your guilt and failure, from all the things in this world that make you ache and lie awake at night, from the struggle to find meaning, from worry and anxiety and depression, from the oppression of every government on the planet, and from your own self. People want freedom from perceived injustices. But there is a much, much bigger freedom, complete with all the rights you could ever dream of, available to you if you turn to God with a heart of humility. And it includes the best possible injustice: the gift of eternal life, which you could never, ever earn, given by someone who paid for it so you could receive it freely.

_________

If you'd like to share your opinion about this with your lawmakers, use this link to ask them to halt legislation in Pennsylvania that would legally penalize ministries and Christian schools for adhering to their convictions about what the Bible teaches.

What Matters: Sep 21 - 27

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.
Jn. 14:1

I've written about cemeteries a few other times [here and here, at least], so I hope you're not squeamish about them because here comes another post reflecting on a burial ground.

I'd been given some documents about a few ancestors on my mom's side of the family. I'd wanted to check out their burial sites for a while, so this Saturday while Pete was catching up on lesson plans, I took Henry on a little drive (just 25 minutes down the very road we live on) to the cemetery where they're buried. My parents and sister planned to meet us there, so we waited on the playground for an hour or so. Henry loved it and especially loved when the clock tower chimed for noon, followed by a hymn played by the clock tower bells. He made the sign for "more" when it was all over.

When my family arrived, we combed through the cemetery looking for the Dubson stones. It took a while, but we found them: my great-great-great grandparents, their son and his wife, and their infant daughter along with a few other assorted relatives.

I don't know how many ancestors you've visited, or if you find such places meaningful, but the small sum of our lives always stands out sharply when I'm in a cemetery. Whole lives are condensed to names and dates, and even some of those are obscured by lichen. Has your life really mattered when you've breathed your last and your story is reduced to the words that fit on a single stone?

Sometimes clues are nearby. Lena, the daughter of Isaac and Mary who lived just a few months, must have been adored by her dad and mom. Perhaps she was ill for the whole of her short life, or maybe a sickness or accident claimed her suddenly. I don't think I'll ever know. And there is no indication of how her parents mourned her after putting her tiny body in the ground. Another stone I saw, a huge monument probably 12 feet tall, honored the memory of five children of the same couple, all of whom lived less than five years. How does a heart bear all of that? What other aches and sorrows did those hearts hold, hearts that are now dust again?

In the context of all those lives, abbreviated to two sets of four numbers each, the importance of doing something meaningful while you're alive might be a natural conclusion. If you can't be remembered by much more than your dates of birth and death and maybe a short epitaph, then at least do something that will have lasting value. This is partly true.

But what seems more important to me is not the valuable things we do, but the direction our souls are facing. Isaac and Mary lost an infant daughter. Mary watched her husband die and then lived without him for another 40 years. Even Isaac's mother outlived him and had to put her son in the ground just 8 years after burying her husband. And these are only the sadnesses we can discern from a few slabs of granite. If my life follows the pattern of most people, my own sorrows and anxieties will be much the same. I will lie awake at night worrying about my parents as they slowly fail in health. I may host a funeral lunch for my husband. I can't even guarantee that I won't host one for a child. And then there's all the heartache in between. Car accidents and budgets too tight and broken dishes and stomach flu and burned suppers and maybe a lost cell phone.

At the heart of it, our lives are all very much the same. So knowing the details of my ancestors' lives is of little consequence, despite how it interests me. Knowing instead that I had ancestors - or friends, or children and grandchildren - who pointed their souls toward heaven and lived with eternity printed across their vision, that is of value. It's tempting to care about leaving a story worth remembering, but the details of my life will recycle themselves in someone else's story. And those details ultimately become dust along with our bodies.

What's left when we wake up on the other side of the death cot? Not the things we did that were worth the earth remembering, but the things Heaven noticed. The hard, slow ways that our souls began to mirror Christ. The choices and sacrifices that opposed our naturally selfish inclinations. The ways we humbled ourselves and leaned into God's plan instead of scrambling desperately to bring about our own. 

As I walked through the field of death dates this weekend, I was prompted to consider this, to think about what a life really means, what it should mean, and how to live it so that the abbreviated version on a headstone says all that's really needed: the year the Lord placed me here and the year He plucked me back again. I pray that I'll fill the space in between with things that matter in His eyes.

Grateful this week for: 
slow afternoons
overcast skies
Henry standing on a chair at the counter
new friendships
roasted marshmallows
a cardboard playhouse
fleece jacket
crunchy leaves
leftovers

MidWeek Mini: Verses

Our culture's soundtrack is saturated with violence, sex, dirty humor, selfishness, and hunger for power and fame. I admit to appreciating some country radio more often than is good for me, but mostly the content of today's airwaves disgusts me. If you want to fill your head with something other than what our culture has to offer, the Word of God is the best possible option. However, it can be hard to memorize Scripture and even harder to choose to meditate on it when you'd rather switch your brain off and switch the radio on.

I've come back recently to an organization I discovered more than a year ago when a coworker shared a link to their website. The Verses Project creates visual and musical art weekly, helping to facilitate memorization of, or just meditation on, a verse of Scripture. The art, which is quite varied in style, is available to be downloaded and used as a desktop background on a mobile device, tablet, or computer screen. Though I haven't downloaded any for this purpose, they are quite inspiring and help bring the words of the verse to life. The songs, also varied in style, are also available for free download. (Think of that! FREE download!)

Here's one, Psalm 19:7-8, that I really like. Some are more catchy than others, and there are some I don't like very much. But I've got almost 20 of them downloaded into my iTunes and I've been enjoying them while I'm doing laundry, cleaning up from dinner, or working on projects at home. I also plan to burn a collection of them onto a cd for listening in the car. Especially when I have Henry along with me, I feel grimy after listening to a car's-drive of pop radio. Scripture set to music is so much more life-giving!

I'd love to hear your thoughts if you check out this site! And I'm sure The Verses Project would too. You can follow them on facebook or join their email list (sign up right on their homepage) to get the weekly emails with a devotional relating to the new verse.

image from theversesproject.com

This post was not sponsored by The Verses Project. They don't know me. I just love what they're doing! I hope you'll explore the site and find it helpful for you too.

Mess: Sept 14 - 20

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. 
Jn. 13:34

I was standing at the sink washing dishes, thinking about my next few tasks (bathing the toddler, sweeping the floor, and doing a load of laundry) when I realized it was all basically the same thing: cleaning up the messes of this dirty world.

I paid attention all week. It was everywhere. Mess, things gone wrong, disappointments. Things shattered, reduced to crumbs, or just coated in dust. The spider creeping along the edge my living room. The money needs that hound endlessly. The arguments. The culture that's yanking even the most basic morality out by the roots. The grime that we cannot escape, smeared over every situation and decision and relationship.

We drag ourselves through this world, cleaning up messes as we go along, and all the while watching more and more things fall apart.

I see it in myself, too. Just when I think I'm making progress - becoming more patient, learning to listen better, actually remembering what I read in my morning devotions - I see three more areas where I'm utterly failing. I still really hate that person. I remain bitter and jealous about that situation. I entirely lack a heart of faith about that decision. I can't get myself clean enough, even though I sweep up again every day.

Though it appears this way, it's actually not true. Contrary to every single other thing on this planet, which is in a constant state of decay and breakdown, my soul has the option of being in a state of improvement. Of course, this is only because my soul is linked to Christ. With each passing hour, the world slides farther and farther away from the perfection in which it was made. But by God's grace, I am inching closer and closer toward the second perfection, the one that will never end.

This doesn't end the struggle. I still need a broom and a bottle of windex, and bug killer with a 20-foot spray range, and a buffer zone in the checking account, and the humility to apologize because there are still messes to clean up every day. But slowly (so slowly!), I am being made more like Christ and the eternal perfection of Heaven comes closer as He changes me. Stacked between the ordinary moments are the ones where I get to see a hint of this.

So consider this, the next time a bottle of soda splits open on your kitchen floor, or you're stuck on the highway with a shard of glass in your tire, or you're tied to a hospital room with plastic tubes, or you hear about another dirty politician who's laid a trail of lies. Consider that even the most filthy and torn-up parts of this world will someday be made new. Consider that your heart could already be on the upswing, though the earth groans with the waiting. Consider that every opportunity to clean something up is a chance to do in a tiny way what God is doing in a huge way: bringing purity and wholeness to what's defiled and broken. Be grateful to have been given a piece of that work.

Grateful this week for: 
fall leaves on the road
afternoon light
new nail polish
a meal in the crockpot
a good ballpoint pen
a lesson from Romans 6
bargains at the consignment sale
scampering of a baby goat
corn chex

Seasons: Sept 7 - 13

Whoever accepts anyone I send accepts me; and whoever accepts me accepts the one who sent me. 
Jn. 13:20

It's the time of year when each day is a microcosm of the changing season. The mornings are so chilly you need a sweatshirt, but by 10:00 the air is sweltering and you'll find your cheeks pinked by the sun and your shirt sticky with sweat. Fall crawls in, but summer holds on tight.

We enjoyed a hot afternoon at the baby pool this week before Fall finally defeated Summer.

As the week dwindled, the rains moved in, the air cooled, and the mood became decidedly autumnal. The change of a season inspires cleansing and purging and starting over. We're removing the air conditioners from the windows. We're almost ready to tear the wild tomato plants out of the garden. There's a box of fall decorations ready to come down from the attic. I've got aspirations (again) of setting up a meal rotation that will simplify dinner plans and grocery shopping this fall. And I'm already thinking about where to take this blog when these fifty-two weeks are up and 2016 brings us back to another Week One.

About a year ago I was in a Sunday School class where the unchanging nature of God was described. I had never considered this in any detail and since being encouraged to think about it, it's been a frequent source of comfort. When I change my mind, when I learn something new, when I develop a fresh way of doing a normal task, or begin to think differently about an ordinary part of my life, I remember this lesson about God not changing. He never gets a better idea or loses interest in something or becomes aware of a new facet to a difficult situation. If he did, perhaps all of the plants on the planet would be dead because one day God lost his passion for keeping the growing things alive. Or maybe he would suddenly realize that it would be much better if humans had been created to fly and we'd all wake up with the itchy sprouts of wings between our shoulder blades. Or He might decide this world has gotten so muddled up that it would really be better to start over, so Earth would just spiral into the sun while He built a new world elsewhere and set His affections there instead.

Change, often, is to our benefit. The changing of seasons is certainly refreshing. And a change in scenery or in daily routine can be rejuvenating. Our life circumstances shift, our moods and interests vary, our communities of friends ebb and flow. But change at other times is heart-breaking, stressful, discouraging, and even terrifying. We can't escape the fact that change comes, yet our hearts instinctively want something that won't change. God's nature provides a foundation of security as we roll through a life that is largely unpredictable. He doesn't tell us what's next, but He promises to be there and to be the same there as He is here: attentive to our needs, compassionate and forgiving, sovereign, loving, and good. In the flux between seasons, it's comforting to rest in someone who will always be the same.

Grateful this week for: 
skillet sizzles
cool morning air
baby cheeks
tomato vine scent
picnic table
shopping bargains
an unprompted gift from my husband
the sound of a toddler and his daddy, giggling all the way up the stairs
book-reading on the porch swing
jazz on the radio while I clean up from dinner
a new wireless keyboard and mouse
a lost toy, found