New Adventure

I'm part of a new adventure. Details coming soon.

Perfect

Perfect for me, that is. These children, precious gifts from God, continue to challenge and inspire me to be a better person. I don't deserve the joy that they bring into my life every day, but I will accept it for what it is -- a blessed gift.

Jonathan -- 8th grade. Fisher. Hunter. Swimmer. Leader. Knows more of the Bible than his MBI graduate mother. Comedian extrodinaire. And still thinks that "I didn't hear you" is a good excuse!

Andrew -- 7th grader. Bass player. Clarinest. Soccer Star. Great Friend. Posessess a love for life that excites me. Knows more than any of my kids when mom just needs someone to sit next to her. Likes to chat with me on facebook. And uses words like Trousers.

Caleb -- 7th grader. Rock star Clarinet player. Soccer Star. Rapid fast Wit. Smarter than his mother. Super fast reader. Very fast talker. Loyal and trustworthy. Asks hard questions. Has a tender heart and silly spirit. Eats food in the bathroom, too.

Rachel -- 5th grader. Cello player. Tender heart. Cares for the poor and the lonely. Devoted to what is right. More disciplined than I will ever be. Great reader and math student. Surprised us all by getting an A+ in Spelling this fall. Sometimes uses Oreo, the cat, for a pillow. Quickly becoming one of mom's best girl friends.

Love them. All of them. Even when they won't go to bed.

Bedtime Stories

I received the most beautiful gift yesterday. It was a long day. A hard day. I haven't slept much for the past week due to all the pain in my knee. I seem to be one of those strange people for whom narcotics has absolutely no effect. I came home from teaching and an intense therapy session yesterday completely wiped out. I collapsed on the couch and didn't even get up to eat dinner.

Caleb, my dear sweet amazing Caleb, came to me about 8:30 and started reading to me. For the next hour, he read me bedtime stories. I'm not sure how "bedtimeish" they were, as they all involved dangerous and deadly creatures, but none the less I was deeply touched by this thoughtful, loving act.

He's only 12. But he knows how to stop Mommy's moaning. For that hour I felt no pain. Only intense love and bonding with my son.

For the first night I only woke a few times with pain. And I felt rested in the morning. Ready to face a long day of teaching.

And I can't wait to get home, to be with my kids. Caleb did threaten me though, that he was going to have to read me his gun safety book tonight because he needs to study. Maybe I'll stop by the library and pick up this book instead.

Thoughts from the Caribou

Drinking my first carmel cooler of the season. I'm in one of those really reflective, sensitive times of life where everything seems to take on bigger meaning that it should. I'm not sure if that will make sense to anyone but me.

I've been dreaming alot lately . . . about Africa, of all places. Twenty years ago when I first started thinking seriously about mission work I was ready to go anywhere but Africa. I'm not sure why, but Africa never really gripped my heart like Central Asia did.

But these days, Africa is all I can think about. Not sure why. During the holiday season I bought a new calendar. I passed over the adorable Boxer puppy one and went zooming straight into one that shows scenes from Africa. I simply had to have it. It's hanging on the wall of my office.

I am drawn this semester in a way I never had before towards my African students. Many of them are refugees from wars in places like the Sudan or Somalia. One young woman told me last week that she has not seen her parents for TEN years. They sent her to America along with her older sister and younger brother. They raised themselves, here in America.

There's a lot of turmoil right now in our city high schools between the Somali and American born students. So much hatred. So much misunderstanding. It simply breaks my heart to hear the stories my students tell me of what happens in their high schools. The adults in their world don't know what to do -- or aren't willing to do it. I'm not sure which. I feel drawn to do something . . . but what? Could I really be here, in this place, with Africa on my heart to do something in my city, 1000s of miles away from Africa?

I'm thinking. It feels a little dangerous to be thinking the way I am thinking. Could I dare to dream that my heart for missions wasn't completely shattered years ago?

Moms shouldn't climb trees

I know that now.

But on Easter Sunday, bouyed by a sassy new haircut and beautiful 60 degree weather, I climbed anyway. It might also have something to do with the words my twins used to describe me -- "MIDDLE-AGED".

Them's fighting words to me. So climb I did. My first attempt -- oh so very sucessful.







My second attempt . . . successful once again. Note that I am HIGHER than Caleb.

The problem is that while I can actually climb trees with the best of them, I don't do so well going down. I slipped on the way down and fell -- much to the delight of my entire family who was watching.

Now I'm in a brace from thigh to ankle, eating pain killers like they are candy, and using crutches. I also got to spend some quality time alone during my MRI.

I go to the doctor this week to find out what's next.

It hurts for this mom to climb to trees.

But you can bet that once this injury heals I'll be up there again!

Back, at least for now

It's been a rough year. I stopped writing just after Ellie's hotel, when our beloved boxer, Jack, died of unknown causes. We had just spend an unheard of amount of money to save him and he died anyway.

For months I couldn't write, I couldn't talk, and I couldn't see God.

Then I got depressed. More depressed than I have ever been. I don't even like to think back to that darkness.

I stopped talking to everyone. I closed myself off and listened only to the craziness of my mind.

When I finally reached out for help, my trusted therapist said to me, "I think you might be angry that you got depressed again. Does this feel like a failure to you?"

Um. Yeah. A big fat failure. It felt like a failure of grace and of everything that I had been learning.

Now I'm learning to be a bit more gentle with myself and with others. I'm certainly not very good at being nonjudgmental towards myself. It seems that I feel that everyone is worthy of grace and compassion but me.

But I'm learning that when I live with that as my truth, I have only made an idol out of perfection, which is not such a great God to serve.

So I'm back to writing again. At least for now, that is.

Ellie's Hotel and the Catapult

Ellie (aka Rachel) opened up her garage top hotel for business today. Her first two customers had lots of pets join them. She even has service for Jack, the wonderdog -- with two different types of water. I don't understand that, but I guess I don't have to!

Meanwhile, up on the deck on the other side of the yard, Jonathan is building a catapult. It seems to be aimed directly at Ellie's hotel, which concerns me just a bit. There could be a war in a few hours. I might just have to distract them with a meal of peace.

Watching my kids play this summer seems to be more of a joy than it ever has before. Our little family has been through a lot, and my kids have seen and heard more than kids really should. It is such a gift of God's grace to me to be able to watch my kids just be kids. They are playing and creating today to their hearts' content and it is a thing of great beauty to me.

Sure, they are real kids who say "Mom, I'm bored," a little too often and they can be really mean to each other. But they are miracles to me, each and every one of them. They have saved my life, more than once. I am beyond blessed to be able to do life with them.

Pause for a Thunderstorm

As I've looked over my postings for the last few days, I've realized that there is an intensity about them that requires a little break -- both for me and you, my dear readers. So here it is . . . with of course a connection to grace and identity at the end, because I wouldn't be me without that!

Early in our marriage, we took an intensive Russian course in South Carolina. I loved my time there, being in the classroom and spending time with others who were suffering through the beginning stages of Russian learning along with me. But my favorite part of the day were the afternoon thunderstorms. I have never since seen so much lightening or heard such loud thunder. We would often sit outside our dorm room and just marvel at the rain and noise.

Yesterday Rachel came home from school with a book of poetry proudly in her hands. I immediately looked for her poem and am now sharing it with you:

BOOM!
A thunderstorm is coming
I'm scared
It's just a storm
We're fine
I'm still scared
Come here
Ok BANG! Flash! Oh no!
It's just rain
See, we're fine
Jack is not scared
Or the cats
I'm still a little scared
Watch some TV
IT WON'T TURN ON
The powers out
Come color with me
Ok. Flash!
Look, a rainbow
It's over
I'm not scared anymore

I'm still marveling at the insight my daughter has. I'm not sure that she even knows what she has written, or the gift she has given her mother in this piece of writing . What do I love about this?

• She has the freedom to say she's scared, even when others might make fun of her
  
• She looks for ways to distract herself, but none of them work -- except being with others
• She is scared at one of those "just a" things . . . don't we all have them? Things we are afraid of, but think we shouldn't be? Something that will be over with soon?
  
• She remains scared, even when others around her tell her that no one else is . . . and she admits it!
  

As I reflect more about this little bit of third grade writing, I am amazed and humbled by her honesty. It is the kind of honesty that I want to have in my own life. Sometimes, when I am afraid, the cliches don't make me feel better -- but in order to make other people feel better, I pretend they do. But not my Rachel. She hasn't learned to do this yet. I pray she never will. I pray that she will be able to walk in the freedom of her true self, and her true identity in Christ. I pray that she will not feel like she has to go into hiding with her family and friends.

I know that God has put these children into my life, another set of miracles, to help me mature. Thanks Papa!

Don't Quote the Bible to Me!

The first time I walked into a 12 Steps Meeting, I felt like I was in a movie. As I said, "Hi, I'm Melissa," and heard in return, "Hello Melissa," I thought I was going to burst out laughing. It was, in part, a nervous laughter, along with a sense of how incredible it was that I had gotten myself to a place such as this.

When I walked into that meeting, I hated God, I hated the Bible, and I hated anyone who offered to pray for or with me. But at the same time, I was drawn to these things that I hated. I wanted so much to find that God really loved me. So here I was, shaking, ready to swear, and listening to people around me telling the world that they were here at this 12 Step Meeting because they wanted to grow in their Spiritual Life. I found out later that some of the people in the room thought I was a piece of work when my answer to the question of my appearance here went along the lines of, "I don't really know, but I have been spiritually abused and please don't give me any Bible verses." Yeah, I think they were probably thinking I was in the wrong place, too.

How had I gotten here? Well it wasn't an addiction to alcohol or drugs, but rather an addiciton to many other things, including over thinking and loving people to their detriment. In short, I was here because my life was out of control. In the years between kicking out my husband and discovering my son had cancer, my son had gotten better, my husband moved back in, I finished my Master's Degree, I had my dream job, and I had run three Ironman Triathlons. And I had never been more UNHAPPY. Depressed. Anxious. Angry. Scared. Full of Rage. My emotions were coming out all over the place and I was a complete wreck. There was one episode where I broke down in Cub Foods, yelling at my husband for who knows what minor infraction (I couldn't shop there for months). After years of coping fairly well, I was again thinking about suicide all the time. So, I went to the meeting suggested by my therapist.

It was with this group of people that I finally found the Room of Grace. It didn't happen right away, but over time I began to trust the people that I was with each week. By sharing their own stories of brokenness I realized that I was not alone. And by crying and laughing with me as I shared my own, these people shared with me a love that I had been craving. I came to find and know God's love through the love of other broken, deeply hurting people. Yeah, we shared some prayers and some Bible verses, too. But mostly it was through the sharing of our hearts that we found healing.

This group was yet another miracle in my life. Through God's gracious gift, I was able to receive their love. It is difficult to receive love because it requires trust and my trust had been broken. But God enabled me to trust, first others and then eventually him. It is only this received love that has the power to change lives.

Miracle Pictures, Part One

This picture is a miracle. Actually it is many miracles, but that is something you would never see unless you knew the rest of the story. Over the next few posts, I'm going to make an attempt at capturing some of the miraculous nature of this family photo. In order to do that, I have to tell some difficult things about myself and my family. This is the first time I've told these things, in this way, so please excuse the rough edges in it. It is, afterall, only a first draft.

After years of submitting to physical and emotional abuse, I finally got up the nerve to admit to myself and another person what was happening in my home. I say myself, because for the first 12 years of my marriage I couldn't bring myself to call it abuse. I think it goes back to early days of our marriage when I did tell someone in our church, who told me what was happening was normal, especially in marriages with a strong unsubmissive woman! I spent the next 12 years trying to be good enough, trying to submit more . . . and failing misrably. I know now that the natural outcome of this kind of life is going to be depression, but when it first hit me I was really scared.

I had been separated from my husband for about a month when I first began to think of myself as unworthy of life. The thought was fleeting, but it came back. And back. And back. The world seemed black, overwhelming -- almost like a prison. I didn't see how I could possibly be a good enough person, a good enough mom to even deserve to live. And so I wanted to die. Really bad. And then the shaking started. I would sit and shake and shake. I couldn't stop. In order to stop the pain, I started hitting and cutting myself. It was amazing how the appearance of a bruise or blood on my skin would allow me such emotional relief.

I finally was convinced to take meds, but they couldn't start working soon enough. I know I wouldn't be alive today without the people who surrounded me, who watched my kids, who talked to me late at night, who told me they loved me.

And then, just one month after the depression hit me head on, Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer. At the time, it felt like God had hit me in the gut. The wind was knocked out of me and I no longer had the energy to even be depressed. Fatalism hit me, along with a deep abiding sense that if God existed at all, he was NOT good.

But in the background, God was working to show me his love. The overwhelming nature of my life hit everyone around me . . . it was clear that a single mom with four children age five and under could NOT do this on her own, and so I no longer could hide. I could be angry; everyone expected it. I could be scared; it was a natural feeling. Food came out of the woodwork. People came to help work in my business. People cleaned my house. They watched my kids. And I was free to be on the LONG journey of healing.

There is more to this story, as I would get much sicker before I got better. But, in retrospect, although it seems sick to say it, Jonathan's cancer was a way of salvation (albeit a strange one), not only for me, but also for my relationship with God and my husband.

Faith is not always smiling

So, it seems that I now am feeling ready to write about some of the dark days of the past few years. When I was in my teens and 20s I never felt anything like depression. I was a rather happy-go-lucky girl, who saw the good in everything (including a very difficult marriage). I assumed, wrongly, that depression and godliness could not co-exist. So I buried the pain and put on lots of smiles. When I couldn't muster a smile, I stayed home. I became a master at hiding -- from my children, my husband, my family, my coworkers. I'm certain, now, that many of them suspected that all was not right with Melissa, but at the time I was convinced that no one knew. I filled my mind with cliches that I didn't believe and spouted them off all the time in the hopes that eventually I would feel the joy that these cliches seemed to promise. What I didn't realize at the time was that by stuffing all the pain associated with abuse I was receiving, I was laying the foundation for a very dark and difficult mental illness.

Over the next few posts I will explore some of my depression history, what I have learned, and how I think God is continuing to redeem those dark days. I will also look at a very painful time, last November, that I call my Dark Night of the Soul.

For today, I want to leave you with a quote from Ed Welsch's book on Depression:

God says that strong faith can coexist with emotional highs, lows, and everything in between. It is a myth that faith is always smiling. The trust is that faith often feelings like the very ordinary process of dragging one foot in front of the other because we are conscious of God.

If your life feels like this today, please know that I KNOW. I have lived like this for months at a time. I will probably feel like this again. The daily slogging of life, against the ordinary difficulties like broken down cars, just barely not enough money, or even the need to take three kids to three different places with only two adults can be overwhelming to the point of tears. Your issues may be huge, like a sick child or parent. You may be grieving the loss of a friend or family member or a job. You may just be sick of the pressures of a job. Or you may have no idea why you feel like crap. Whatever the source of your pain, God is with you in it. Even if you feel like he isn't. Even if you can't believe. He is standing by your side, his arm around you ... whispering in your ear, I love you child. I love you.

And I don't believe for one minute that God is angry with you, he is not displeased at your lack of faith to get over the icky feelings. Faith is not always smiling.

Yet another post on how much we need each other

Today I'll go back to Susan Howatch and her novel The Heart Breaker. This was a book that I didn't expect to relate to for a number of reasons, but by about half way through I was almost completely undone. If you haven't read Susan Howatch's books, don't start with this one, (I'd start with Glittering Imagines), but if you like her writing, eventually you will end up here.

Here she is quoting from Mud and stars: the report of a Working Party on the Impact of Hospice Experience on the Church's Ministry of Healing:

All of us, carers and cared for, are on a journey whose destination we understand only dimly: We know we are searching for something, yet the nature of the thing we seek eludes us. On this strange journey, in this tantalising search, we only feel lonely and bemused, in need of guidance, encouragement, companionship. Not always knowing what we are asking for, we reach for the help of others.

More than once I have been confused about the path God has led me on. The whys overwhelmed me, making it nearly impossible for me to see God. I was lonely beyond belief and I needed a fellow traveller to come alongside of me and help carry my burdens. Today I have a special gratitude for those who have hitched my wagon to theirs and helped pulled me through the deep muddy pits. I'm certain that at times you wanted to push me back into the muds, but you allowed God's love to flow through you anyway.

And by the way, I still need you and others to join you. And I need to be able to love you back. I may not be stuck, but I will always need to give and receive protective love to help me continue to mature. We all really do need each other, despite anything our American culture teaches us.

My Children are Learning to Protect

The dog picture will make sense at the end. Or maybe it won't. Let's just say that Jack riding in the back of the bike trailer was one of many highlights to this glorious day!

My children know me. They know my sin. They know my weakness. For a long time I tried to hide my imperfection from them as I thought that the only hope for my children to be perfect was for me to provide a perfect model for them. Anyone who has tried to do this knows how perfectly exhausting and ineffective it is. All it takes is a jam jar falling out the fridge to allow those carefully hidden words to come flying out. Sometimes it takes even less than that!

So, today comes yet another confession to you , my dear readers. I struggle mightily with the 10th commandment. Yeah, that one about coveting. The problem with this commandment is that it is awfully sneaky. I don't want a lot of things and most of the time am very happy when my friends get great things. I've rejoiced with incredible jobs found and dream vacations for my friends. BUT, there are some day and times when I am so NOT able to do this. I've been in lovely houses owned by lovely people where all I've wanted to do was run out and cry because I wanted what they had so much and knew that I would never have a house like theirs. I've listened to people list accomplishments and not been able to come even close to rejoicing. I have to admit to having some not so nice thoughts at times.

And yes, my kids know about this. I especially struggle with one person in my life who seems to get everything I think I want. We were at the person's house today and he wanted to show us yet another of his toys for their lake cabin. I cringed inside, knowing that looking at this toy would just wreck my day. As we got back into the car, I was ready with all kinds of critical words about this person and his family. I didn't feel at all about talking to God about this . . . to use a quote I wrote in here eariler this week, I was ready to give the devil a nice long ride.

Jonathan, knowing my distress and weakness in this area, spoke first. His words showed an incredible love to me. He said with absolutely no critisim in his voice (I would know if it was there), "Wow Mom . . . It's like they are building an amusement park up north." I started to smile. He went on to describe this amusement park and what it would look like and how much fun it would be to enjoy playing there this summer. By the time he was done, I was laughing as I enjoyed this picture he was creating. His uncritical humor was like a lifeline out of the jealousy and envy that were seeking to drown me in misery.

And as if by unconscious decree, all four children continued to surround me for the rest of the day with an incredible gift. Their presence. Childish. Free. Loving. Gracious. Laughing. We went on a bike ride that was a comedy of errors from start to finish. Starting with bringing Jack the wonderdog who did NOT want to be in the trailer (what were we thinking?) and ending with Jonathan leaving all his tackle alongside the bike trail and not realizing it until we were home (a place for me to show a little protective love of my own!), the day had more than its share of memories. But, we laughed so hard today. It was a Philippians 4:8 kind of day:

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.

While there were struggles along the way, we all seemed to be able to point ourselves back to living in a place where we could think beautiful things about each other. Our new natures were certainly wooed today. I'm so incredibly blessed to be able to do life with these precious people. I love you Jonathan, Andrew, Caleb, Rachel, and Brit!

Thank you Papa for putting us together in this life.

What is THAT on the Wall?

When Jonathan was two and half years old, I had three boys under the age of three. There is much about that time that I don't remember, but there are a few precious memories that come out at family gatherings and holidays. This is one of them . . .

I had just returned from a retreat. For some reason I didn't consume the bag of Hershey's with almond minitures that I had taken on the trip. In true ADD fashion, I didn't bother to take them downstairs, but rather put them in the closest drawer while I was unpacking, the one in my bedside table.

The next morning I was really tired. The kind of tired that you can only be if you have three kids two and under and you had just been at a retreat where people played Mexican train dominoes until three in the morning.

Naturally, Jonathan was not tired and came into my room as soon as the birds started singing, somewhere around 5am. I told him, rather sleepily, to go back to bed. And he did. As I drifted back to sleep, I thought to myself, "I have the best little boy in the world. He's so obedient. I'm such a great mom."

Yeah right. Now I know better. Jonathan did go back to his room, but he didn't go back to sleep. On his way out of my room, he opened the drawer by my bed and ever so silently removed the bag of chocolates. He took them to his room and ate many of them. At some point he must have remembered what we had been talking about concerning sharing, because he woke up his brothers and began unwrapping the chocolates and passing them through the bars of their cribs. It's just great to see your kids share!

When I woke up 90 minutes later, I walked in their room and saw brown everywhere. On their faces, on the sheets, on the wall, on the floor, on their pjs. Yes, everywhere. I sniffed the room in horror. Surely this couldn't be . . . .? And then I saw the pile of Hershey wrappers. Lots of them. A full bag full, actually. And, in neat little piles on the floor beside Caleb and Andrew's cribs were almonds with all the chocolate sucked off! They still don't like nuts.

And I still love my kids. Jonathan turn 13 this year. He's still a leader, creating fun stories and games for the rest of the family to enjoy. He's a leader at school and home. If something is happening, he's usually the one who started it. He has such a tender heart. As I look at the changes ahead for him, it is my prayer that he grow to really know who he is in Christ. That he will not be afraid of his sin and that he will not go into hiding. That when he feels shame he will have the courage to trust God and others with it. That he will know that his mother loves him when he is good and when he is bad. That my love for him is not conditioned on his performance for me. I want him to know and experience the deep love and grace of God in his daily life.

I hold this prayer for all of my children, but today my heart is full of Jonathan.

Don't give the Devil a Ride

I love this quote from Anne LaMott (found in Grace Eventually)

"I prayed for God to help me find a way out, and what I heard was, 'Call a friend.' But something edgier was speaking more loudly, and I pricked up my ears at the sound, even though an old man at church once told me never to give the devil a ride. Because if he likes the ride, pretty soon he'll want to drive."

I need to call more friends, more often. They are often the way of escape for me. Hiding is the devil's business. I don't want to be in business with him. He likes to take over the business just as much as he likes to drive.

The Field Trip

It's been an exhausting few days. Since God spoke to me at Costco, I've finished grading, attended graduation, hosted a birthday party, attended a going away party, took the dog to the vet, adopted a rat, nursed Andrew through his first migrane headache, and accompanied the sixth graders on their big field trip to the science museum and state capital buiding. Life has gone on and I've had very little time to reflect, much less write about what has been happening. Whenever life gets this way, I get a little ragged around the edges (okay, a lot ragged), so I'm glad to be sitting at my desk today, alone in my office with a bit of time to process life.

But even in the craziness that I get to call my life, God has seen fit to inject some truth and encouragement into my life. Both of these came, from all places, the dreaded field trip. Now I love these sixth graders and I like the science museum. But by the time Monday rolled around, I was so exhausted that I felt like there was just no love inside of me to give. I needed affirmation in the worst way, but couldn't ask for . . . didn't really even know how to ask for it. I probably didn't even know in that moment just how much I really needed to hear an affirming word.

I was standing with the group of girls that I was chaperoning and trying to figure out how on earth I was going to keep track of them. I didn't know them, as my sixth grader is Jonathan . . . and Jonathan has not yet discovered the joy of spending time with girls. I know the boys in his grade, but the girls . . . well they are just as much a mystery to me as they are to Jonathan.

So, Jonathan was in a group with his best friend, whose mother was also along on the trip. I was standing just a bit behind Jonathan and got to overhear him say something that made my day . . . He said to his friend, "Yeah, I just know after today all these kids are going to come up to me and say how much they like my mom, how nice she is, and how fun she is to be with. Everytime kids meet her, they say that." I gasped silently and immediately had the energy to spend with these four delightful young ladies. Somehow hearing truth about myself enabled me to live it. A gift of grace, no doubt. God knew just how much I needed to hear those words in order to be present to the task of the day.

Then later in the day we were touring the capital. It is not the most interesting tour for the kids, and it was very difficult to hear our guide because the capital was so busy yesterday with it being the last day of the legislative meetings. So I was trying to help remind tired kids to be respectful, when I happened to look up and saw the following words written outside the doors to the Minnesota Supreme Court, "Laws can discover sin, but not remove it." The most beautiful thing about my discovery is that Jonathan was standing next to me as I jotted the words down in a book I had with me. He asked why I was writting in my book, and I got the opportunity to talk with him a little bit about how we were not created to deal with our sin and that all of our attempts to do so have been a dismal failure. We need a Savior to deal with our sin, both for the next life AND for this life.

My little family is just as prone to a legalistic way of life as I am. I so long for my children to be freed from the need to perform their way back into God's delight, and realize that they are already there. Their heavenly father delights in them, right now, today. I didn't expect that our trip to the state capital would give me an opportunity once again to share the message of grace with my son.

I am realizing that it is in the ordinaries, the dailies, where God speaks the loudest to me.

God Speaks . . . At Costco?

Before I tell this story, I want you to know that I have debated for several hours about writing this. It was an important event in my life, but it reveals more about me than I think I want others to know. But I feel compelled to tell the story, so I guess I will jump right in. Some of you will respond with "Is that it? Isn't there more? Come on, you've got to have more." And others will say, "Good Golly Miss Molly, I had no idea she could sink that low." But alas, as much as I'd like to, I can't control you response. So, all premable aside . . . this is what happened to me at Costco last night.

It was meant to be a quick trip in and out. I was buying a gift for Brit, who gracious gives me time every Wednesday to go on a date with myself. I knew exactly what I wanted to get him and where it was. But as is common at Costco, those quick trips lead to carts so heavy I can barely push them and rather large sums of money being shelled out. As I grabbed Brit's gift, I thought . . . contact solution, I need that. It's really cheap here and then I won't have to stop at Target. So I rolled my cart over to the pharmacy area. And that is when God spoke to me.

No, I didn't hear his voice booming over the loudspeak saying "Chicken Potpie on sale in the Deli, now. Go fast." In fact I didn't hear an audible voice at all. But I knew it was God.

Before I finish the story, I need to give some background. Almost two years ago I started to really feel the pain of abuse that had been done to me. There were many, many days when I felt like there was no way I could handle anymore. So I began to use Benedryl (*disclaimer at the end*) to get to sleep. And then I would use Benedryl whenever I wanted to hide from my pain. It dulled the pain for me, much like alcohol might do for some people. It was a great place to hide. It's not physically addicting, so I told myself that it was okay. But, like all man made methods of coping with with our sin and pain, it involved hiding. Lots of hiding. I had shame about my pain and I had shame about the manner in which I was dealing with it.

I ran out of Benedryl a few months ago and hadn't bought any to replace it. I was okay. I was facing my pain and God was protecting me in it. But suddenly, I was standing in front of the Benedryl bottles -- those big bottles that have 400 tablets in them that sell for under $4.00. And I picked one up and put it in my cart. And God said to me, "I love you. Do you really need that?"

Me: "Of course I do, I need it to go to sleep."

God: "Do you? You haven't used it for several months. You've been sleeping just fine. I wonder if you are hiding from something Melissa. I love you kid. I love you."

Me: "But you said you'd love me no matter what I do, God, so I'm buying the Benedryl. I need it. I'm really afraid of some stuff that came up today. End of story."

God: "Ok. I do still love you. More than you ever know. But I wonder if you could trust me on this. Can you trust that you are deeply loved? I want so much for you to live out of that place. It's a good place Melissa. I'll protect you Melissa. You don't need to hide anymore. Those bad things that happened to you are in the past. I will give you the deep sleep you long for."

Me: "Thanks. But I think I'll take the Benedryl, just in case."

God: "That's fine. But when you want to talk about this issue, I'm here . . . standing by your side, ready to help you deal with it."

Me: "Great. I'll get back to you on that."

And I walked on and realized that I deeply wanted to trust God with this. I wanted to stop hiding. I wanted to feel the pain and grief that I knew might come in the night, because I wanted so desperately to experience God's love in that. But I felt like I couldn't. So the conversation continued.

Me: "So, if I trust you on this . . . you'll really be there for me?"

God: "I already am. I loved you before you walked into Costco and I'll love you when you walk out, no matter what is in your cart. But I so want you to experience what it feels like to believe what I have said is true about you."

And so the Benedryl went back on the shelf. Sorry to the Costo stockers -- I didn't take it back to where it belonged.

As I walked through the rest of the store, I felt like I had grown up. I was able to believe God and this trust enabled me to say no to a temptation that would have kept me in hiding. In that moment I felt love for God in a way that I had not known possible. He loves me! He protects me! He defends me! He has provided a way of dealing with my sin and shame that actually deals with it, not hides it. And when I am able to trust, I grow. I knew it last night. There was growth and healing in that incidient that enabled me to go home and face some difficult stuff. God's love was flowing through me last night. And it felt better than anything I've ever done to hide my sin and shame.

I am well aware that there will be many more conversations like this as I continue to mature. I know that until the day I die, I will struggle with sin issues. I know that I won't always make the choice to trust. But I also know that I don't need to stay hidden or be afraid of God when I don't make the right choices. I am chosen and deeply loved.

Thank you for the power of your love last night Papa. I love you more today than I ever have.

(*disclaimer* it is not my intention here to say that all sleep aids are ways of hiding. When Jonathan was hospitalized with leukemia, I needed them. They were a gift to me. There are people who have serious issues with sleep. At this point in my life, I do not. I know that my use of Benedryl is a way to hide. So, please . . . don't take on my shame. I don't judge you. Let God speak to you.)

Spiritual Maturity Part Two

I've been thinking quite a bit the past 24 hours about the Barna report I read yesterday. I have realized that the message of grace doesn't sit well with many people. Grace has been abused and I think, not really understood by many in the church. It seems to be a word that we throw around with very little practical meaning.

So, I was listening to a great message by John Lynch which was preached atWoodmen Valley Church on April 26 of this year. I strongly encourage you to find some time to listen to his words. There is no way I can summarize what he has said more beautifully then he preached it. I did take the time to type out one quote, having to do with Spiritual Maturity, since that is what has been on my heart. He says:

Spiritual maturity takes place when we actually learn to be believe what God says is already true about me. Not what someday I might earn or be good enough to get. Put all that death away . . . It isn’t just that we know what the Bible says to be true about us in Christ but that we actually try it on and we wear it and we believe what Christ says is true about us. Godly people actually believe who they are in Christ and they live it out.

This I can do, with help from God and others. I already tried the doing everything the Bible says route. It just made me sick, exhausted, and more than a little depressed. The good news is that we are already righteous and that on my very worst day God is there with his arm around me saying, "I love you Melissa. I love you. You are my beloved daughter. Nothing you can do will make me love you more and nothing you can do will make me love you less. I'll help you deal with the pain and sin in your life. Us. Together. Not you trying to make your way back to me all by yourself. I've never left. I never will. I have chosen you and I will protect you."

Follow the Rules . . . or ELSE!

I just read an interesting study put out by the Barna Group (click here to read it for yourself). The study looks at spiritual maturity and the struggle that Christians have with obtaining it. One of the most striking, but not surprising, results of the study was that the majority of Christians view maturity as keeping the rules. The study reports:

"One of the widely embraced notions about spiritual health is that it means “trying hard to follow the rules described in the Bible” – 81% of self-identified Christians endorsed this statement, and a majority agreed strongly (53%). Even among those individuals defined by their belief that salvation is not earned through “good works,” four out of five born again Christians concurred that spiritual maturity is “trying hard to follow the rules.”

Wow. I had no idea I was in such good company when I lived in the Room of Good intentions, trying with all of my heart to please God. It felt so lonely in there! This is a whole lot of people trying really hard to be accepted by God, who already accepts them and longs to stand with them as they face their sin issues.

Most Teachers Usually Don't Like Me

It's that time of year when I start getting feedback from my students about their experiences in my classroom. I want to share one comment with you today, not to toot my own horn, but illustrate the incredible need we human beings have for loving, true affirmation.

Tammy (not her real name) wrote this to me yesterday:

Thanks for everything you have done for me. You have taught me some stuff that I didn't think I could do. You made me feel comfortable in here. You understand me and most teachers don't. You are one of a kind. I wish there were more people like you. Really I do. I really like you for all the weird times and fun things we did. You made this class way easier for me and most teachers usually don't like me. So thank you again. I will miss you.

I finished reading Tammy's note with tears in my eyes. Yes, she said some really nice things about me. And I think I can accept them as true about me. But what hit me the most was her line that most teachers don't like people like her.

Tammy learns differently than the traditional student (actually, I've yet to find anyone who learns optimally in the traditional way, but that's another post). Her learning issues are strong and go very deep. In grade school she was continually picked on by her peers because she couldn't read well. Her teachers would force her to read aloud in front of the class and when she couldn't perform well the torture continued far beyond the classroom walls. She began to act out -- who wouldn't? And so the very people who could have and should have protected her as she was learning to learn became the enemy.

When she entered my class, I encouraged her to write about her experiences with learning. As she shared with me her anxiety through her writing, I began to write notes back to her, affirming what she was doing well. I pointed out any creative idea. I showed her where her ideas connected in very unique ways. You see, Tammy has an incredible mind. She thinks about life in a way that so many of us would benefit from. But no one had shown this to her. The simple act of showing Tammy where she was doing well freed her up to explore her abilities in other areas. She wrote incredible papers for me . . . filled with the typical spelling and grammar errors that normally would have given her failing grades. In my class, I helped her fix them. I showed her strategies for getting help. I told her that writers who publish books have editors to fix these things and that she could look for editors as well to help her writing be readable to her audience.

But most of all, I loved this young woman. We were able, in our small little class, to create an environment of grace where love could flow and be accepted. This was the victory in that classroom for me. The things that I learned about my students this semester made me love them more, not less. Their weakness, their odd little habits, their frustrating behaviors . . . I loved them for those. And in turn, they trusted me to teach them something.

This is the power of love to heal deep wounds. This is what was given to me by a few dear people. They loved me when others did not. I learned to trust and then I began to mature. It still amazes me how God's love flows out of me. The change in my teaching came not from a clever technique or seminar that I went to. It came from being able to accept the love of God and others.