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The LORD has done it this very day; let us rejoice and be glad. Psalm 118:24

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Bad news first. No Novice Foodie Mission this Friday. I know. I know. We didn't have one last Friday either, but as I mentioned on Facebook, I had the misfortune of being introduced to Indian food. I'm sure the place we tried was marvelous, if you like your meat and vegetables rolled in potpourri and served with yogurt. Alas no review. We're too nice for that.

Today, we've got stuff to do. Jason had to run to Beaumont to grab Hayden's iPhone which had to be fixed. I passed my technology curse on to the kid. Phones, computers,.......those electric sliding doors in Walmart just don't work like they're supposed to in my presence...or in Hayden's. Even when I DON'T drop my phone in the toilet it does weird things. For instance all of my contacts have disappeared and I have to answer my phone old-school style. I have no idea who you are which means I don't know if you're someone I want to talk to or not before I answer. Hayden's phone battery is defective.

C'est la vie (If you don't remember the 80's song, it means "That's just the way it goes".... "That's Life").

 I stayed here this morning. I'm fixing up a double batch of "The Pioneer Woman's" Frito Pie. I won't critique my own food, but I will share a link to the Frito Pie we're having.

Click HERE for the recipe.

 

To get all that we needed to get done this morning we skipped our workout at the gym so no calories were burned today. And then look what Jason found on the way home.
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This is much better than the ten pound box of bologna he brought me on our first anniversary.  The guy has learned.  I can now say he's the complete package.

They're Triple Chocolate Torte cupcakes.


I am so confident of this cupcake that I started writing a blog post about it at first sight.... before I tasted it. Jason had his before lunch.

Pre-Jitters
Pre-Jitters


The guy at Gigi's told Jason that you're supposed to heat it up in the microwave for about 10-15 seconds.  He mentioned ice cream too. How can it not be good?

Did I mention Hayden was having lunch with us today? His cupcake question was "How many calories does it have?". Guessing it had to be about a thousand, I Googled it. This is what the Gigi's website has to say about it.

Triple Chocolate Torte

Rich, dark chocolate cake

with a brownie texture,

baked without flour,

topped with a chocolate ganache rose

and powdered sugar.

Gluten Free Groupies (and people like me who attempt to be Gluten Reduced/Gluten Conscious) ….What, WHAT!!

I looked up a similar flourless cupcake. It had 191 calories. I can handle that. I'll work out tomorrow.

Now. About that cupcake.

What can I say?

It's a beautiful thing. I LOVE the Triple Chocolate Torte cupcake.

(And)….

There is no remedy for love but to love more.

-Henry David Thoreau

I'll do my best!

 

 

 


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Water will gush forth in the wilderness
and streams in the desert.
7 The burning sand will become a pool,
the thirsty ground bubbling springs. Isaiah 35: 6b,7a

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At the risk of sounding cliché, I tell you, I think of you all the time. But in no season do I think of you more than in Fall. For it's this time of year, when leaves start to turn, that reminds me of your bright-eyed faces, you the ones who brought new color to my world. 

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It was five years ago that we were preparing to return to Africa. It would be my second time to visit your home at the orphanage there. I won't go into detail about how my time(s) there were much like a dream that you don't want to wake from. I'll save that for another day.

Today I reminisced the time I received a large brown envelope containing letters from you. I'm so thankful for our friends who served close by, who collected those for me. It was months after that fall visit that I received them.  I remember running into Jason's office after one particularly difficult day and seeing him smile and reach over to pick up an envelope whose contents had traveled the ocean to deliver love to me. I gave him a quick peck and dashed to the car. Amidst a torrential downpour I ran into a convenience store and grabbed treats for the kids to keep them occupied while I pulled out letter after letter from you. The edges of each hand-written note were decorated with flowers and scrolling, carefully penciled with map colors. Within reading the first two sentences my eyes poured somewhat like the rain that fell outside my window. So now, though you may not receive this, I am writing once again to you.

You left an indelible mark on my heart, which is ironic.  Like so many others who've had the privilege to serve in a similar capacity, I wanted to meet you to change you. I wanted to brighten your world with stickers and treats.  I wanted to cure your loneliness with mama-like hugs. I let you wear my sunglasses and made bracelets with you. I played with you with small stones and a tin cup in the sand. We jumped rope with a broken water hose. I played much more intently than I'd played with my own children.

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Remember this clapping/hand-slapping game:

My mother and your mother were washing some clothes.

My mother gave your mother a piece of clothes?

Which color was it?

Red. R-e-d.

Besides having an unforgettable time, I determined that I would carry in my Spirit the grace of God and I decided that I would give it to you. Little did I know, the grace of God was surely already there.

It's in moments of humbling clarity I realize that I was one of a handful of Americans that visited you through the years. Sometimes I wonder if we dazzling people were like sparkly shirts that fade after the wash.

You called me Kristin. You told me I looked like one of your favorite characters on the Spanish soap opera you were fortunate to be able to watch on your three-station television. You asked me if I knew Oprah and Obama. And looking back at what you wrote in your letters and from our conversations, you thought me as one who lives in the place where the God of prosperity resides.


Initially, I saw you as impoverished being that you were nourished with only beans and tea and the fact that you only had one pair of clothes not counting your school uniform. Most of you were motherless and fatherless and for the most part unsupervised except for the one fourteen year old who was in charge of you (at non-school times) and didn't hesitate to climb the tree to find a switch to use on you. You were without possessions not counting the small trunk which held maybe a small stuffed animal, some Obama bubble gum and a letter or two. The red dirt upon which your tired feet tread seemed thirsty.

That description of you sounds so desolate.

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I brought books for you to read and lima beans that I'd hand-lettered so that we could play educational games. A special memory I have is from some of the beans being left out from the plastic game container I'd made for you. I remember coming back the next day, seeing that some of those beans, though unplanted and not watered had sprouted. I don't know how anything grew layed out on that hard, dry ground but those beans did. I remember knowing then that God was at work.  I felt his protection over you. I sensed His love for you. That's something I will never forget. It wasn't evident in material prosperity, but the air was thick with his presence.

I think often how I gave you an incomplete picture of who God is, me and my material wealth- flat character that I was. I think of how my own view of God has been so very short of who He is. Since visiting with you, I have spent time of my own, now and then, in the desert; not like the one in Africa. At times I have a desert soul within me. I have found myself feeling insecure. My soul sometimes feels desolate and wanting. I think all people spend time there.

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In those times I would be remiss not to think back. You helped me have a clearer picture of God.  He is on the mountain, in the valley and He is in the desert too. You've taught me that He's not always seen, but sometimes felt in the depths of seemingly bare places.

unnamed (98) It was through you I realized there will be times He is heard in beautiful melodies with words that aren't understood. 

You taught me that empty hands and full hearts can coincide.  My life is more prosperous for having known you.

The desert and the parched land will be glad;
    the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, 2 it will burst into bloom;
    it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
    the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the Lord,
    the splendor of our God. Isaiah 35:1-2

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With much love,

Kristin

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 Where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them. Matthew 18:20

You may remember we surprised Hallie this past March with a dog. It was on her birthday wish list right between an iphone and makeup. In effort to maintain some girlishness we carefully picked out an innocent-looking terrier mix and put the iphone on a waiting list. To update you, we now often fondly refer to this "gift" as "Bad Girl". It's what I call her when she runs circles through the house refusing to stop, or sit, or stay. It's what she's referred to as I pick up a chewed through hula hoop and as I survey the wood siding on the house that she has feasted on like beef jerky. At least Griffin (our Schnauzer) still has his fifth collar; she chewed the other four off his neck.

Rylie, happy that it's Friday and happy that it's beautiful out, went outside this morning before school. She thought "Bad Girl/Ashlie" was choking on a toy. Being the animal hero she's always aspired to be, Rylie went to help her, and got bit. On this happy, Friday morning Rylie has a puncture wound on her finger. She cried in true Rylie style. For those of you who don't know, that means she cried like the Hollywood camera was rolling, zoomed in on nothing but her sheer traumatized tear-stained face. I, in true mother fashion ran into the kitchen and pulled out one of the baskets containing medicinal products (we have several baskets, being that half of us have several medical conditions including hypochondria). I grabbed some triple antibiotic ointment and some medical tape and fixed her wound straight up. To my surprise that didn't cease the tears. Jason was sitting to her right. She wrapped one arm around Jason's head and the other around mine inviting us to give her a group hug. And just like magic, she was healed.

On the inside anyway.

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Reminds me of an old commercial

I'd like to buy the world a home
And furnish it with love
Grow apple trees and honey bees
And snow white turtle doves.

Chorus:
I'd like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony
I'd like to buy the world a ----
And keep it company
That's the real thing.

First person to guess this commercial gets a free subscription to my blog. (Just kidding. The subscription is always free.)

This song flashed through my mind, mid-group hug with Rylie and her dad as we mourned her dog bite. Huddled together, I think she had us swaying.

I'd like to think that if the each person in the Coke commercial didn't have an ice cold Coke in hand, they'd have an arm wrapped behind the shoulder of the person beside them, Group Hug style.

That's the real thing!

I think "Group Hugs" are underrated.

Hayden used to call them Flamly (family) Hugs. They were an important event in most days of our week.

There's nothing more encouraging than people gathering in together to say "Things are going to be ok", "We are with you",

"We are for you".

I think corporate prayer might just be the most awesome form of a group hug there is. We are gathering together, hearts united. We are saying we are with you. Our hearts hurt for what hurts yours. Other times we huddle in to rejoice together at what God has done, quite like a group hug. But unlike some group hugs, in corporate prayer we invite our God.

We call on Our Father who cares and provides for us.

We call on

Yahweh Shalom- "The Lord is Peace". He comforts our weary souls.

Yahweh Nissi- "The Lord is my Banner" who fights for his people.

{God,} "you have made known to me the paths of life; you will make me full of gladness with your presence". Acts 2:28

Group Hugs are age old. In Acts the people united on a regular basis. The became one in heart.

….They all joined together constantly in prayer, along with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and with his brothers. Acts 1:14

This makes me want to put out an ad in the paper,….. on social media. It makes me want to shout from the rooftop.

Group Hugs Wanted!

Walls down.

Busyness cast aside.

Hearts in close proximity

Vulnerable and committed to each other, bringing glory to God

Afterall, at some point we're going to be spending a lot of time together……….Like forever.

Want to get started this evening?

September 26, Friday at 6:00 pm Triangle Baptist is having a prayer vigil for Saeed Abedini, a pastor who has been imprisoned in Iran for two years for his faith. His wife and two children are here in the States.  This evening we will pray with one heart. Be there as we meet to group hug and lift up Saeed and his family, and the persecuted church. More information on this event is shared on my Facebook wall.

 

 

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1. You buy quinoa to cook for supper without even knowing how to say quinoa.  I know now.  Say it with me, /keen-wa/.

2. You talk with food in your mouth knowing what you have to say can't wait until you swallow.

At least you cover your mouth making the offense slightly less rude.
At least you cover your mouth making the offense slightly less rude.

 

3. You decide to call your mother to check in, but you tap on the Facebook App and find yourself thirty minutes later reading about Adrian Peterson's abusive childhood.

4. You end up buying three wreaths for the front door in a week's time because you forget more than once to measure what will fit between the front door and the screen door, but then again those first two wreaths you bought were so cute and on sale and you had a gift card, so how could you not?.

My three wreaths- Reminds me of The Three Little Bears. One was too big. Another one was too big. And the next one was just right.
My three wreaths- Reminds me of The Three Little Bears. One was too big. Another one was too big. And the next one was just right.

5. You start writing a blog post on impulsivity with only the wreath example in the sauna at Exygon while believing that you may dehydrate......but you have stuff to write so you keep writing.

6. You text your hairdresser hoping that she has an opening in the next thirty minutes because your hair just got bad.

7. You DECIDE you have an anxiety disorder......and THEN you look up the symptoms on webmd.

8. You buy a couple of packages of Oreos because there's a coupon and then forget to use the coupon.

9. You're a channel surfer.

10.You realize on the way to Target that a yellow lampshade would brighten up the living room and that nachos sound good for lunch and you get both while you're out but you forget to get the birthday card that sent you to Target in the first place.

11. You endeavor to have an hour long conversation with your teenage daughter about a healthy body image or the importance of the messages we send on Instagram when she's in the middle of the most dire chapter of her Warriors book (thinking either conversation will do because both are important).

12. You brush your teeth when you go upstairs to get the laundry.

Because clothes and teeth both need to be clean, am I right?
Because clothes and teeth both need to be clean, am I right?

13. You get barbecue sauce at HEB but you don't get anything to put it on.

14. You move the ottoman to sweep under it and end up rearranging the living room.

15. You title your post Ten Signs you might be Impulsive, and then you write fifteen.

Share your own impulsive habits.

If you're feeling impulsive, go on up to the subscribe bar and type in your email so you can get posts.

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So. Jason and I are finally back to having our Friday lunch date. Kathy Bass suggested The Old Orange Cafe last spring. We took her up on that suggestion today.

All I can say is White Balsamic & Bacon Dressing.

Well, I can always say more, but White Balsamic & Bacon Dressing will no doubt be the most important thing I say all day.

The Old Orange Café is found at 914 W Division St. in Orange. There are plenty of great places to eat in here in Nederland, but sometimes we just like to take a short road trip. I might mention that we crossed the "bridges" and I didn't pray this time. I took pictures instead. I'm growing up. Have I mentioned I hate bridges? Sometimes I wish we could get from Point A to Point C without Point B, Point B being the bridge. But like I mentioned, it's Point B that has taught me to pray and gets me to Point C. And now that I'm starting to grow up, I'm learning that Point B, the bridge (though sometimes frightening) is beautiful.

The café is off of Tenth Street. We had to circle the block several times before parking, but you don't need to do that.

Service:

No complaints here. Our glasses were never empty and we were waited on promptly.

Atmosphere:

The building was originally opened in the early 1940's as part of a dairy. The walls are covered in ceramic tile as was required of a dairy in those days. The café has a rustic feel with historic pictures of Orange and of the owners' family. Have I mentioned that I love pictures? It's a small building with high ceilings. It's an any occasion type of place.

Price:

$$ The entrée's range from about $8 to the Catch of the Day being around $20.

Selection:

The menu offers a wide range of offerings. Normally, I'm not a big salad eater, but there were six or more types of salads and every one of them sounded good. They offer sandwiches and burgers; a shrimp burger with a jalepeno cheese bun and spicy mayo caught my eye. There are also several chicken and shrimp entrees. Fresh pies, including buttermilk, are served too but we were too stuffed. In fact, Jason is so stuffed he's not helping me write today. He's stretched out somewhere.

Tastiness:

Jason had the special, Portabella Chicken. When I just asked how he liked it, a voice from the couch said, it was goodness slathered in cream and sautéed onions, topped with avocado. I had the Swiss Bacon Quiche. It was light, tasty and fluffy; everything a good quiche should be. The crust was homemade; I could tell. But the best part was the Shrimp Salad we decided to share. This is where I bring up that White Balsamic & Bacon Dressing again. This is also where my only regret of the day (so far) comes in; sharing the Shrimp Salad with Jason. Because sharing with your husband is not always fifty-fifty. I almost flipped the bowl stabbing a shrimp close to the rim before Jason could get to it. We also both used our finger to get the last taste of dressing that remained in the Dixie dressing cup….and lid. It was that good.

The Old Orange Café was a great outing. I also probably don't have to remind you local folks that Orange is a great city to visit with the Lutcher Theater and the Stark Museum (Disclaimer: Haven't been to either, but they're on the list). A visit to Shangri La Botanical Gardens and Nature Center would also be a nice place to visit after you eat, to walk off some of those candied walnuts. In fact, every fall I understand that the Gardens have a display of scarecrows. The website shows "The Scarecrow Festival" starting on October 8. We've planned on going every year, but haven't made it yet. I've tried to convince Hayden every year since we've been here that's what he wants to do for his birthday (10/30). Because what teenage boy wouldn't want to look at scarecrows with his parents and sisters? Maybe the promise of an accompanying slice of chocolate pie might entice him.

 

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I've always suggested that the setting up of my blog was a conspiracy. I entered the kitchen one day and Jason was on my lap top secretively typing away. Let me even go back and say that it was his idea to get me a laptop. (Is lap top one word or two? See, I have no business owning one.) I sin more while using technology (well, that and driving my car and shopping cart in busy lanes ) than any other time.  Anyway. Jason set up my blog/website, whatever you want to call it. I hadn't asked for it. I made C's on most every college English paper. Still, Jason not only set up my blog, he encouraged me to write. You want to know why I think he did this? Don't get me wrong, he's really sweet and he believes in me and all that jazz....

but the truth is, his man ears can't take all that I have to say.

I have a lot to say; both when things are fine and dandy and when a dark cloud has perched itself right overhead. My therapy, when I'm weary, confused,  angry, when I'm feeling hopeless and even when my heart could burst from excitement, is to talk about it. I will say that I'm an excellent secret keeper, but when it comes to my thoughts and my FEELINGS, I want to share, share share.

Much like outside my window today, my mood is cloudy. Today is Jason's day off. So as he sat beside me in our oversized brown chair earlier, I had the ear I've been waiting for all (busy, long, long) week. I hadn't gotten very far when he said, "You know, it's been a while since you've written anything. You should write." So here I am, obedient wife that I am.

Jason's not the only one whose ear I've near talked off lately. I have good friends, females no doubt, who God shared with me to endure all the words.

Still, there are things, deep things that are better poured out somewhere rather than on human ears. I've been doing a lot of praying. Much of my praying must seem like Hannah in 1 Samuel who prayed so embittered and broken that she was mistaken to be drunk. Some of my prayers are desperate, and they're never thought out. I'm so glad it can be that way with God, unlike texts that I send where I find myself typing....deleting…..typing…..finger-tapping on my forehead, thinking, deleting……....typing......sending……then wish I could go back and delete.

With God, my words and murmurs-good, bad, unintelligible, and even my rare silence is heard and understood.

….the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. Romans 8:26

There are, according to several different sources, 783,137 words in the Bible. Every one of them are spoken to me and to you. They're spoken personally. The words are a beautiful story, they're mystery, and a carefully crafted love letter to each of us. But in addition to all of those words, sometimes God whispers just a word or two, stilling our soul.

This morning those words were "Better things".

As I was getting ready I did what I do every day. I was drying my hair with my right hand, clicking on a news article with my left finger, ready to read another piece that would add to the brokenness I have felt in my heart as of late. I heard, what was like one of those Spirit sighs, say softly "Better things". Set your mind on better things. A verse came to me.  It's a verse I've used in a dozen posts making you think it might be one of the only ones I know, a verse I've read over and over; a verse that is working in me so diligently to guide my life.

…..whatever is true

….…whatever is noble

………whatever is right

…………whatever is pure

…………….whatever is lovely

………………..whatever is admirable

If anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

Think about "Better Things"

I know that while we think about better things, we are merely distracting ourselves from pain and sorrow and the things we just don't understand, but this brokenness and feeling of incompleteness won't always be.

Better things are to come.

There will come a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears

There will be a day when the burdens of this place

Will be no more, we'll see Jesus face to face (Jeremy Camp-There Will be a Day)

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying, for the old order of things has passed away. Revelation 21:4

For the record, my man who conspired against me, is good.  He's very, very good.

And my friends who get phone neck cricks and answer my epically long texts?  Well, they're good too.

 

 

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-There's the cute boy with rolled up jean shorts and a mic. surrounded by four other smooth voices that know how to dance and how to make "Howdy Houston" sound way exciting. And the teenage girls with deafening screams holding up thick Marks-a lot lettered poster boards spelling out "Marry Me Niall" and "I love you Harry". Guess where I was Friday night? Hallie and I lucked into One Direction tickets. I felt as if I'd been transported back to 1988 to The New Kids on the block concert.  (NKOTB  was the boy band of my days.)

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It wasn't so long ago that I don't remember. Those boy bands; a combination of perfect faces and lyrics that make you feel like you're somebody special.

Yes.  New Kids on the block was the boy band of the late eighties and I had a favorite band member. "Mine" was Jordan Knight. He had perfect hair even while rocking it out on stage; hair more perfect than I and my spray bottle of Aussie ever dreamed of constructing with that permed mop of mine. My eighth grade year a friend of mine scored tickets to their concert in Dallas. And she invited me!

I remember seeing a black limousine with tinted windows as we arrived at the concert. I pressed my face close to the window just in case that was them, you know….THEM! I needed them, well Jordan, to be able to see me. If not in the parking lot or shuffling to our seats, I desperately wanted Jordan to see me standing in front of my seat, tiny speck that I'd be- three hundred yards away- amongst forty thousand other tiny specks, singing along to "The Right Stuff".

Because even though he had better hair than I did, and a smooth voice and all the right lines, and millions of fans…..if he knew me…… No. If he'd just see me, he'd know that I was someone special. He'd want to get to know me. He'd think I had nice hair too. And even my shy awkward mumblings and my tendency to avoid eye contact wouldn't keep him from seeing that I was beautiful. That I was special. I had that kind of hope that night.

That same kind of hope was palpable last night.

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I watched my daughter smile in a way that I seldom see. She was in the company of a multitude; bright smiles singing

You're insecure,
Don't know what for,
You're turning heads when you walk through the door,
Don't need make-up,
To cover up,
Being the way that you are is enough,...........
But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell,
You don't know,
Oh, oh,
You don't know you're beautiful,

 

There were so many voices. Deafening voices that drowned out the lyrics meant for them. Still, they listened hard; they listened beyond to the words they so longed to hear. They listened to the words meant for them.

But I tell you. I could have spent the entire night watching a 'somewhere around seventeen-year-old girl' two rows in front of me who graced her brown hot-rolled hair with a daisy crown of sorts. She danced. And she sang. And she danced and she sang some more like there was nobody else in that stadium but her, that rocking headband of hers, and the boy band. At one point, the lights flashed and then it went dark. The band vanished in smoke.  The screaming continued, but I do believe that her dear heart near stopped beating.

Minutes passed. Purposeless minutes. And then the boys were back. She melted. She covered her mouth with her hands and sobbed the happy kind of sob that comes when everything makes sense. She shook. She dissolved. She was once again in their presence.

THAT was enough.

In their presence, she was enough.

Silly as it may seem, this is most every young girl's heart. It may have been winning the affections of  a boy's band member (who turned forty years old in the blink of an eye), or wanting to earn the affections of "this or that boy" at school, or just wanting to be accepted and loved by those around you

when you sing every line right,

or when you sing a different tune,

even when you feel life hasn't given you lines to sing.

School is here again. And I'm like "Daisy" (the headband girl) when the boys disappeared from the stage. I think something wonderful is over.

I've played with my girls. They've had a summer of protection where bad hair days are allowed. They've been loved and doted on by seldom seen family. They've watched age-old sitcoms on Netflix where every problem is solved in twenty-four minutes. I'm nervous for them. I know that's unchristian of me being worried and downright afraid,……but I am.

School is nothing like a boy band concert.

I know a girl's heart; the one that beats in this near four decade old heart and the one I believe beats in the heart of my eight year old, in the heart of my thirteen year old, and I believe beats in the heart of the girl you know too. We want to be loved. In the midst of the crowd, we want to feel both -not alone-, and like we're the only one. We want to be sang to; words that echo who are.

My prayer is that it will be more revealed to my girls, and to "almost had a heart attack 'Daisy" and to the other girls out there,  that they are loved and cherished.

I want them to know, not just in their head, but know in their heart, that they are wonderfully made.

I know there will be days when they dance and sing believing that.

But there will be other days.

Dark days when they feel abandoned. Days when it feels that even "The One Who Loves Them More Than Any Other" has disappeared; HE HAS NOT.  He is still there; not on some distant stage. I pray they will wait for and long for HIS company.  I pray that those days of sadness, their lonliness, their confusion about life and it's struggles are temporary. I pray that it's through these times that they will know him not from a distance. He is near.

I hope that they will really know, I hope YOU really know girls......

Boy bands, as awe inspiring as they are, come and go.

But

The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.

Zephaniah 3:17

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Boy band lovers.

Girls across the globe.

These words are meant for you.

 

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Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers,

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 but whose delight is in the law of the LORD, and who meditates on his law day and night. Psalm 1;1-2

I grew up hearing the word "blessed". I grew up singing it, really, without much understanding as to what the word meant. I've blessed dozens of "sneezers" too. I just thought it was the right thing to do.

I learned somewhere along the way though, that the word "blessed" means "happy", "encouraged".

It's made my reading of the psalms easier.

Blessed is the man-Happy/encouraged is the man.

Psalm 1 tells me-

Happy and encouraged is the man who DOES NOT
walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers.

That's great to know.

Even better, I love how verse one goes from being casually acquainted with sin (walking in step) to something more abiding (sitting in the company).

I can think of times I've spoken to someone in passing. I say "Hey, how have you been?". They respond.  And I make a quick comment about my personal business, ("This summer has been crazy busy").

Then I go.

Sometimes I'll stop and (standing) have a quick conversation with somebody.

But if I intentionally sit down with someone, you can guarantee I'm getting comfy. I'm going to be there a while.

I have to tell you where I've been sitting.

Several months after we moved to Nederland, I bought an oversized comfy brown chair with a matching ottoman for Jason. It was a nice alternative to some of the more unbecoming recliners he'd expressed interest in.

Before I knew it, this chair was the one I'd catch myself sitting in first thing in the morning and last thing before I went upstairs to bed.  Occasionally I fold laundry while I'm sitting there.  Sometimes I settle down in its inviting cushion beside one of my guys, and we talk about our day.

But mostly, I get on my iphone and read.

I skim Facebook paying attention to posts of friends telling funny kid stories.  I stop for a picture of my nephew losing his first tooth. I watch videos of babies with contagious laughs and people who bring Simon Cowell to tears with their unimaginably, unexpected beautiful voices.  And I feel encouraged, happy.......blessed.

Sitting in "that",  is just dandy.

What gets me into trouble are those sensational headlines put out by media outlets.

Allen West Declares Obama An Islamist

10 Celebrities Who Are Openly Bisexual

Comedy great Robin Williams hanged himself at home

Nigeria fears Ebola spread to east by infected nurse

Obama urges police to respect protestors in Ferguson, Missouri

If you've scrolled down the Yahoo News website today, you'll see those articles.  With maddening certainty, I click on the articles and I read them.

News isn't just information.  News has become a platform for political and moral/amoral agenda.  The news lies; maybe not always an outright lie but by omitting important parts of truth. That makes me angry.

Reading of terror and revolting realities wraps me in fear.

I'd say that's wicked company to be sitting with. But daily I find myself walking in that way, reading the garbage.  For those of you who are able to read responsibly, I applaud you.  Really I do.

Psalm 1 goes on to say [Blessed is the one who doesn't] sit in the company of mockers.

For crying out loud, I read biased and scandalous accounts and then I think them over.  All. day. long.....

I get hyperfocused and then down right depressed.  Ask anybody who's had the misfortune of being in my company after said reading.

The news is largely a joy killer and hope stealer.

And I wonder, Where's my happy?

I've decided I'm going on a news fast.  I'm hoping writing my intentions will add some resolve.  I'm in agreement of the importance of being informed of necessary local and world matters; things on which I should pray.  I'm not quite sure how to go about being informed without having a soul sit-down with wicked.

Maybe with less news on my lips I'll have more time to make that question a matter of prayer.

I want to become one whose delight (and focus) is in the law of the LORD, and who meditates on his law day and night. (Psalm 1;2)

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. Philippians 4:8

Say a prayer for me as I learn to better sit in the company of the great Almighty.

 

•

I was told Sunday on the way to church by one of the kids that I was a buzzkill.  I tried to protest and sought defenders, but the two other siblings were silent. Guilty I guess. I'm moody.

My record has been bad this week. I near ruined our annual school shopping trip yesterday. One of the girls complained of being hungry. The other wasn’t happy with the number of stores we had to go to. I lit into them about how good we have it. I explained how we don’t even know what hunger is and how we should be thankful that we’re able to get all of the “things” that we need for school.

I spilled my sorrow recounting what I’d read that morning about Christians in Iraq. I told them how families, the lucky ones, have found themselves homeless having been able to flee ISIS (Islamic State in Iraq and Syria) terrorists. The less fortunate ones’ lives have been snuffed out, as they were unable to escape. All this, simply for their belief in God. A quick guilt trip imparted, I’d straightened up their attitudes and done my holy emoting for the day.

We went back to our shopping.

We bought apple-scented detangler and pink mouthwash with cute “bubble” characters on the label. And after several attempts, we found jeans that don’t look painted on. We tried on sparkly shirts. We had strawberry lemonade and peach tea for lunch with free refills; accompanied with laughter.  I’d almost forgotten how devastated I’d been that morning reading about persecuted Christians in Iraq. 

 

 

Picture credit: nrb.org
Picture credit: nrb.org

Just Saturday I changed my profile picture to the symbol recognized for supporting these Christians.

The symbol is the Arabic letter “N” standing for “Christian” or “Nasrani (Nazarene)”. This symbol is being spray painted red on the doors of Christian homes and businesses in Iraq. The symbol grants militants permission to seize property inside. Thousands have fled, and thousands have been killed. Fathers have been hung, mothers raped before being killed and children have been beheaded. Children’s heads have been placed on sticks in a park in Mosul.

When I think about this I’m downright devastated; sick to my stomach. That gut-felt emotion is fickle though.   I quickly return to mind-numbed distraction. There are things to do.

Boxes of sharpened number two pencils and packs of matching socks have to be bought. Old and ill-fitting clothes have to be taken out of drawers to make room for new school outfits. Eye and dental appointments have to be made. The husband and I need to find time to work off calories by the thousands that were consumed with dips and brownies and too many soft drinks. Back to the gym. Back to school. Back to new Bible studies and a new year of children’s choir and twirling and youth activities.

The world is in peril. But we’re busy.

I changed my profile picture. And I told the kids of the horror in Iraq. I even made sure my sister who called this morning, who doesn’t watch TV knew how bad things are for our Christian brothers and sisters there. I’m even telling you.

I’m heartbroken, for a moment, like I was when I heard that Miriam Ibrahim,a young Sudanese woman, was being sentenced to death for her faith.

-Like I was for Saeed who is unfairly imprisoned in Iran. I still “get sad” when I read pleas from his wife for prayer.

It’s my duty to feel sorrow for such injustice and terror. So I fulfill my duty and then return to my life of prosperity blaming a full schedule for my lack of genuine Christian love. I’m troubled enough with the constant flurry of activity.

Still, I’m burdened with the truth. These Christians, in constant fear of death, don’t need our fleeting pity. They don’t need our likes on Facebook underneath a Christian Post article, updating us on the situation. They don’t need a moment’s sorrow or a heavy sigh when we stumble upon harrowing pictures of lifeless children. They need us to pray.

Pray hard.

Pray constantly.

The senseless and violent killing is hard to fathom because we are so far removed from such a life. That makes it hard to pray. Attempting to imagine what these people are going through is even harder. Thus we distract ourselves with the meaningless tasks of life, like serving the recommended daily allowance of fruit or making sure that our daughters get shoes that won’t earn them disapproving glances during PE.

We ought to live thankful lives for all that God has done for us; not forgetting the grace he has shed on us. We ought to be praying for our children; for endless matters such as the friendships they will make, for anxiety that they will likely endure, for good and understanding teachers.

But we ought to never be too busy to pray for those removed from these sorts of comforts.   Pray obediently. Praying sincerely. Love must be sincere -Romans 12:9

A sincere love surely prays.

Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.

Colossians 4:6

The mountains are shaking
Could this be a great awakening

Break our hearts
With the things that break Yours
Wake us up to see through Your eyes
Break our hearts
With the things that break Yours
And send us out to shine in the darkness

It's time to move outside our comfort zone
To see beyond our churches and our homes
To change the way we think and how we spend
Until we look like Jesus again

 

-song lyrics for Break our Hearts by Vicky Beeching

 

• 2 Comments

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I have admired your portraits for years; especially the grand family photos where every family member smiles vibrantly while wearing matching colors; carefully posed like a pyramid of bright-faced varsity cheerleaders. Professional. Picture perfect. unnamed (74) We've had a couple of family pictures taken by your company as you provide your service at churches making those awesome church directories. Those directories have come in handy when I need an address. Or when I forget what name goes with what face of someone in church.

Anyway, I sat in my formal dining room two nights ago facing our family photo you did back in 2003. You covered up our blemishes. Nobody is complaining about having to take the photo.  Nobody is whining in the photo. No bunny ears. With the aid of your flashing bulb and umbrella, our near perfect skin is practically glowing. I like the 2012 portrait in our entryway even better. I was in a better hair era for one thing. I think I'd better learned by that time about clothing coordination too. We all have smiles on our faces; the proverbial best foot forward.

No one would guess us hooligans.

a6

 Dressed to the nines, your pictures make it look very much like we have it all together. I thank you for that because honestly there are times I want us to appear as the All American family (like on our Christmas cards) and sometimes when I need reassurance that I'm not wrecking things, and….. well, on every Sunday morning.

You have dressed the walls in our home nicely.

 But I must admit. The more time that passes, I'm realizing that it's our blemishes and unposed moments that have invaded the deepest part of my soul.

It's the candid exposure of Hayden's affectionate nature and the pictures of Rylie where even her eyebrows are creased in laughter that fill my heart.

unnamed (75) a3   I love honest illustrations of Hallie's individuality.

a10

 

 

 I love how when facing the camera, Jason pats my lower back rhythmically, somehow pacing himself to correctly time when his eyes should be open. I roll in laughter when he mis-times four pictures in a row. Because these kinds of pictures aren't so serious.

My favorite pictures are becoming the ones where hairs are out of place and kids are caught sharing a sweet moment together.  I like the ones where they're being their mischievous selves too.  Pictures with Cherry Chill dotted noses and baby arms with chubby rolls are the ones I cherish. I love pictures, like the time Hallie got a special gift for her thirteenth birthday; times where we're caught up in a special moment.

a7

a8a5

Likely your portraits will always adorn my walls. They're special. But it's the snapshots of impish grins and sun-kissed babes in bathing suits that will decorate my heart.a9