Unsolicited Advice for Those Who Know They are Right

Whew!  There's like 15 minutes left of Tuesday.  But here it is, this week's unsolicited advice. Enjoy!

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So I'm in this Facebook group for homeschool moms.  It's a Christian group with almost 1000 members.  I've met exactly three of them in real life.  Two live close to me and are among my closest friends.  The other I met when she gifted me with a free clothes dryer.  (More about that in a minute.)

They have kind of been my go-to group when I have questions about just about anything.  Obviously,
they can answer my homeschool questions of all kinds: curriculum, schedules, field trips and all that jazz.  I've seen them discuss recommendations for appliance repair, doctors' offices, dentists, and even church building plans.  When my dryer bit the dust and I asked for recommendations about what brand might be best for me to purchase, a complete stranger offered to give me one she had in her basement - totally for free - because she couldn't use it (she had gas hook-ups and this one was electric) and wanted to give it to someone who could.  Almost weekly they are taking meals to new mommas or people who are sick.  They pray for each other and encourage one another in some great and big ways.  Overall being in the group is very encouraging.

Except when it's not.  Except for the times when I feel demeaned and judged by the well meaning hyper-conservative Jesus loving mommas.  I understand these ladies.  At one point in my life, I would have fit right in with them.  Most of the time, they are not intentionally mean, they're just intolerant of ANYTHING that doesn't match up with their view of God.  Not just things that are clearly laid out in scripture (like, say, the Ten Commandments) but lots of other things too, like Halloween, Santa, and Harry Potter.  They zealously believe that they are right and want everyone around them to see the "truth" that they have seen.  Any divergence from their view is seen as a threat and must be squashed immediately so as not to take root and ruin all things holy.

When I posted a link to an article that summed up my views on Halloween, the backlash was harsh.  We trick-or-treat in my house.  We carve jack-o-lanterns.  We don't give the day up to the devil.  Instead we participate in community events and we build relationships with our neighbors.  There were some in the fb group who respectfully disagreed with my point-of-view.   I had expected that and I can appreciate a good conversation with people who don't make all the same choices I do.  There were a few mommas, however, who could not.  One woman made it pretty clear that by participating in Halloween we were "compromising" our Christian faith.  She then proceeded to imply that because, as a seven-year-old, my daughter had dressed a vampire, she would most certainly grow up to be addicted to porn.  I am not even kidding.  It took a lot of restraint but I think I managed to reply to her firmly but respectfully.  She didn't get why I was offended at her comments.

In December someone asked about Santa.  I know a lot of parents who don't "do Santa."  We do.  In fact, we love Santa.  That doesn't mean we love Jesus any less.  But, oh, the judgement that reigned down on the pro-Santa crowd in the form of comments like, " you mean, do I lie to my kids telling them that the man in the red coat is real and will drop off their packages on Christmas Eve, no." and "No! I don't lie to my kids. We celebrate Jesus." As though those of us who celebrate with Santa leave Jesus totally out of the mix.   While I understand that some parents may feel like they are "lying" to their kids about these things, I think of it more as using our imaginations and playing pretend for a long time. I am okay with you not agreeing with me.  I respect that you have made different choices than we have. Calm, open discussion with reasonable people is a great thing.  Mean spirited, my-way-or-the-highway remarks are not.

Things got really heated when someone posted an old link to a youtube video made by a supposed ex-witch that denounced Harry Potter and all things JK Rowling.  Again, many of the moms were able to have honest, open dialog but there were a few who just couldn't respect that someone could actually have read Harry Potter and still love Jesus.  One woman put herself out there as an expert, who had had personal conversation with the author and with children who became demon possessed after reading the books.  I'm not saying she's lying.  But I will say that I don't believe everything I read on the internet.  This woman in particular made it hard for me to take her seriously because of the way she was bullying people who didn't accept her word as the gospel truth.

I used to be a lot like these well meaning mommas.  Everything in my life was black or white.  Gray was not an option.  Apparently, neither was tact or grace.  In high school, I once broke up with a boy I'd been dating by telling him, with absolutely no warning, "I can't go out with you anymore because you're not a Christian. Sorry."  I'm pretty sure I also mentioned in the same conversation that he was probably going to Hell.  Amazingly, he didn't immediately decide to give his life to Christ.  Go figure.

But that was 20 years ago and as I'm approaching 40, I've learned a few things.  A lot of my knowledge has come the hard way.  I've offended and ostracized.  I've said so many things that I wish I could take back.  My foot has been in my mouth so often that I can distinguish between Adidas and Nikes by taste alone.  I've made choices that were less than stellar.  I've crossed uncrossable lines and shattered unbreakable rules.  In all of that imperfection I've become a wiser woman and I believe, a better friend.  I've learned to love people where they are and not need them to be who they are not.  It's a work in progress and I still struggle with much.

Here's what I wish I would have understood when I was younger.  Take note, you who are certain you are always right.  This list just might save you some heartache and a friendship or two.

1. My way is not always the ONLY way.  Yes, there are absolutes.  I'm not saying there aren't.  But there are a lot of areas that just don't matter that much.  Things that work in my family may create utter chaos for yours.  Our priorities may be miles apart.  This doesn't mean one of us is wrong, only that we are different.  Learning to embrace that instead of fighting it makes life so much easier.

2.  Just because I'm right doesn't mean I have to convince you that you are wrong.  It's not my job to convict you of your sins.  That's what the Holy Spirit is for.  I may share my experiences, but making you feel like less of a person because we disagree will never be a winning situation for either of us.

3.  Grace trumps judgment. Every. Single. Time.  I've had friends tell me of their failures: abortions, affairs, bad parenting, even abuse.  When I have responded with kindness, love, and grace - even in the face of the "big sin" issues - I have not destroyed, but deepened my relationships.  By treating people as fallible human beings, rather than as "sinners," I have been able to show the love of Jesus in a much better way than I had before.  People are more important than things, rules, or how I feel about Santa.

4. Just because people don't know about your sin doesn't mean it doesn't exist.  All of us, every single one, are less than perfect.  Not one of us is fit to "cast the first stone."  (John 8:7)  Some of us are better at hiding our sins than others.  In my experience, the people who work the hardest at hiding their weaknesses are almost always among the very lonely and the very sad.  When I was more worried about what other people thought of me than about getting my life right, I was miserable.  When I quit playing Mary Poppins and admitted that I'm not "practically perfect in every way," my life got a whole lot easier and my relationships went to a whole new level.

5.  Always be real.  As I've gotten older, I've learned to open up and share my failures with trusted friends.  Again, this has only served to strengthen my relationships with others.  I'm not suggesting we go around wearing Scarlet Letters.  There is a time and a place for sharing as well as a time and a place for silence.  Be wise about what you share and with whom.  But always be real.  Pretending to be more than you are only leads to isolation and heartache.  Take it from the girl who spent almost every Friday night of her high school years watching Walker, Texas Ranger with her parents.

6. You can't expect non-Christians to live by Christian standards.  If your bestie doesn't believe in Jesus as Lord, you can't expect her to live a Biblical life.  If your husband isn't a believer, you can't expect him to tithe.  You simply need to set a Godly example and pray for God to work in their lives. Setting them to a standard they don't share isn't realistic and will just cause you unnecessary heartache.

7. Even if you're right, if you're a jerk, no one will care what you have to say.  You could be telling people that they need oxygen to survive but if you're mean no one will care.  They will hate you and everything you stand for.  They will stop listening when you talk and you will lose all credibility.  You will struggle with relationships and wonder why no one wants to sit next to you at lunch.  Jesus said we are to be "salt" to the world.  Notice he didn't say "Be vinegar" or "be sour grapes."  Nobody likes a jerk.  Don't be one.

So, there you go.  That's what I wish I would have understood in my teens and twenties.  Learn now what took me many years to get.  Keep your friends, be salt and light, and quit looking like a jerk on Facebook.

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What is the most important lesson you have learned as you've matured in your faith?  What are you still working on?

And yes, I know that I don't need to interact with jerks online.  It's just that it was easier to make my point using people from Facebook than people I know in real life.  Please don't let the fact that my early illustrations were from online comments take away from the point of the post.  

Raising "Tigger"

Last Sunday I sat in church with my family, quietly debating whether or not to send my son to the nursery.  Our church has special programs for kids on most weekends, but the last one of the month, they call a "Family Sunday" and the kids stay in the main service.  Pastor Steve has often told the congregation that these weeks may be a little noisy, but that we like hearing the noise kids make in church because that means there are kids in our church.  And he really means it.  I know him and I know he means it.  But I also know how loud my little one can be and how hard it is for ME to concentrate with him on my lap.

My oldest two sat at the end of the row, engaged in worship and the sermon.  The youngest, not quite four, was content in his daddy's arms for the entire service.  He sat quietly and wasn't even the littlest bit distracting.  My six and a half year old first grader, though, bounced on my lap the ENTIRE time.  That day his daddy called him "Tigger."  As in "T-I-double grrr-E-R, Tiggers love to bounce!" He kept looking at me with that million dollar smile and asking me to go play in the nursery.

I know the nursery rules.  Heck, I'm the one who made the nursery rules.  It's for kids under three.  On Family Sundays, kids that haven't finished kindergarten yet can go.  Kids older than that are a no-no.  I remember years ago, when I had only my two oldest, who have pretty much always been able to sit quietly when they needed to, when there was a lady who didn't follow the rule.  She had four or five little boys, came to church without her husband, and needed a break.  She dropped them all off in the nursery and I was appalled.  How dare she so blatantly disregard the guidelines I had worked so hard to create?  Now, many years and a bouncy child of my own later, I get it.  And I am so sorry for not reaching out to her with open arms and taking those kids, no matter how old they were, into the nursery with welcome and love.  I remember that I actually sent the oldest back out to sit with her.  It's embarrassing to admit that, shameful, really.  I realize now that she really just needed a little time without the bouncing so that she could focus and worship and praise.  I wish now that I could go to her and apologize.

Nursery workers, children's ministers, school teachers, people behind us in the movie theater and beside us at restaurants and all the rest of you, please give a little grace to mommas who are raising Tiggers.  

It's a hard job.  Stinkin' hard.  It makes you tired in ways you didn't know were possible before.  It makes you wonder about medications and learning styles and if your kid is normal. Tiggers are needier than other kids, at least mine is.  He's the one who really needs me to tuck him into bed each night, after I've given "hugs, kisses, sing us a song and read us a Bible story."  Every single night.  No matter how tired I am.  He's the one who needs me to kiss his ouchies and reassure him.  He's more emotional then his siblings and is quick to laugh or cry.  Total strangers comment on his amazing smile and he makes my world so interesting.  My Tigger keeps me on my toes and brings more to my life than I could have ever imagined.

Last week I didn't send my little Tigger to the nursery.  He sat - no, that's not accurate - he wiggled and bounced and got up and down from my lap about a hundred times during the hour and a half we had service.  He whispered in my ear and he played with my jewelry. He refused to let go of my neck while we were standing up singing, so after the first song, I sat with him on my lap, because standing while holding a slippery, wiggly 60 pound sack of potatoes is nearly impossible.  I have no idea what songs were sung that day (Sorry worship team, I'm sure they were great.) and I only have a vague outline of the sermon but I can still count it as a great day.  Last Sunday, by keeping him with me, I told my little Tigger that he is important enough to be held for the entire service.  That, bouncy as he is, he is still welcome in his momma's arms.  And he will be welcome there for a hundred years and more.

For Real, What Would Jesus Do?

I know, I know.  The whole WWJD thing is so 1998.  But seriously, this is what I'm wrestling with.

What would Jesus do if He were here, in America, today?  What would He think about homosexual priests?  Gay marriage?  Boy Scouts allowing gay members?  Fred Phelps and the WBC?

I am not about to claim that I know the answers to those quesitons.  But I'm weighing what I know and what I believe and what American culture says and what the Bible says and what I just don't know what to do with.  It's all mixed up in my brain and my heart and my soul.

The things I know are few but solid.  The things I believe are many but evolving.  American culture is constantly changing but the Bible never does.

Five Point Calvinism (and Why I Think It's Nuts)

Preface:  This is going to be a lot of doctrine. A lot.  Deep theological stuff that may or may not matter to many of you.  If that's the case, please feel free skip this entirely.  It will likely bore you to death.

The Thief of Joy

I've noticed something about myself that I'm not proud of.  (Okay, that's not entirely accurate.  I've noticed LOTS of things about myself that fall into this category.  But for the sake of today's post, let's just focus on one, shall we?)  Here it is:

It is really hard for me listen to someone speak well of their 
choices without feeling like I have to defend mine.

When my foodie friends talk about eating well, instead of being happy for them, I feel the need to defend my apathy on the issue.  Instead of hearing them say how they feel better when they eat better and how cutting out wheat/dairy/food dyes/whatever has helped their child's ability to focus, I make excuses and can even start to feel like they are attacking me because I feed my kids processed chicken nuggets.  I hear them telling me that I'm a bad mother.  A fat, bad mother.  Let me be clear here, they are saying no such thing.  They aren't talking about me at all.  I'm just narcissistic enough to make it all about me when it's not.

It's bad enough that I feel this way with the foodies but the other day I felt this way when someone was telling me the things she likes about her church.  Instead of hearing how God was working in her life I heard "We do this better than you do.  We are better than you.  You suck and so does your church."  Again, she said no such thing, but I had to bite my lip and force a smile to avoid getting defensive.  I was getting defensive because her church did something well that mine struggles with a little bit.  Um...that hit me like a ton of bricks.  Even as she was talking, a war was waging in my head about how stupid my internal dialogue was.   My church does lots of things well.  What kind of person thinks like that?  Turns out, it's me.  I'm the kind of person who thinks like that.  Boo!  I don't want to be that person.

My response is a direct reflection of my own insecurities.  When I hear "You're a fat, bad mom.  You suck," that voice isn't someone else's, it's my own.  It's me knowing that making better food choices would make for a healthier family.  It's acknowledging that there are issues in my church that are less than perfect; that there are areas in my life that I really do suck at.  But mostly, it's fear.  It's fear that I am a failure.  Fear that someone else is doing it better.  Fear that I am not doing enough.  Fear that I am not enough.

Am I alone in this?  I doubt it.  When people find out that we homeschool, so many of them jump straight to the "I wish I could do that but I'm not smart/patient/you-name-it enough" line.  We don't homeschool because we want others to feel bad about sending their kids to public school.  We homeschool because it's right for our family.  Would I love it if more of our friends shared our vision and journeyed with us on this road called home education?  Of course!  I would welcome them with open arms and support them in all ways I could.  Do I look down on my friends and family that have made a different choice?  Absolutely not, but I'm afraid that sometimes, unintentionally, I have made people feel that way because I have spoken passionately about a choice our family is happy with that has nothing to do with them.

When my friend decided to eat healthier, she did it for her family, not for mine.  When my friend decided to go to a church that values things differently than mine does, she did it for her family, not for mine.  That I somehow make these things about me is ridiculous.  

I read a great quote somewhere. (Probably on Pinterest, because you know, that time-sucker has drawn me in.  I have a great board full of hilariousness.  You can follow me if you've already entered the vortex.  If not, run away, run fast, before Pinterest gets you, too.) 

Here's the thing. Somewhere on the planet, someone is doing it better than I am.  Someone is also doing it worse.  It doesn't matter what "it" is.  I will never, ever, get it all together.  I am not enough.  Alone in my thoughts, I will always be an insecure, fat, bad mom.  Only when I take captive every thought will I be able to live a life that is free from such comparisons. Only then will I be able to live the life I was meant to live.  I have yet to arrive, but it's a journey I've at least started.

Comparison is the thief of joy.  Don't let it steal yours.

But All the Cool Kids are Doing It

Some time ago, I found a blog written by "a Christian Missionary in Costa Rica."  She writes with honesty and passion.  Her thoughts are often deep and challenging. She writes about the need for social justice, her hate for poverty tourism and the need for us to be salt and light to our neighbors.  She talks openly about sex in ways that more Christians need to hear.  She appears to love her husband, her children and her Savior.  More than once I have been moved to tears.  

She also curses like a sailor.  

More than once I've wanted to offer her some Orbitz.  (You know, to clean up a dirty mouth.)  In my lifetime I've been known to drop a bomb or two, especially in tough or painful situations.  I am not claiming to be perfect here.  Neither am I claiming that using multiple cuss words in each of her blog posts makes her less than what she claims.  But for me, it does take away from her message.

It feels a little like she's trying so hard to "reach the world" that she's succumbing to it.  Like she believes that she can't effectively minister to anyone if she's too old school Church Lady.  That all the "cool kids" are doing it, so she better do it, too.  

Is this just me? Am I a total prude?  Is this a cultural thing that I'm unnecessarily turning into a spiritual thing?  What about James 3:10?  "And so blessing and cursing come pouring out of the same mouth. Surely, my brothers and sisters, this is not right!"  Is this what "cursing" means?  It's not like she's using Jesus or God's names in vain.  That's a no-brainer.  (Ten Commandments lay that out in black and white.)  But what about all those other four letter words?  

Why is "poop" okay to say in front of the kids but I have to cross out some of the letters when I write the word $h!t so that no one is offended?  It's okay to say ass when talking about a donkey but not your booty or the idiot who just spilled his beer on you at a ballgame. What's up with that?  

Are we as Christians too rigid in our "rules" on these things?  Or are we too lenient and neglecting the message of Ephesians 4:29.  "Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen."

My gut tells me that Phillipians 4:8 holds the answer.  "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."

What do you think?  

27 Million Souls

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ --Matthew 25:40

Today, in my warm house, in my safe little Midwestern town, my children were fed, bathed and held in the loving arms of their parents.  They can or are learning to read.  Yesterday we spent a couple of hours swimming in a heated, indoor pool.  They will be educated and the possibility held in their little lives is limitless.  Tonight they will snuggle deep under their covers, bellies full and hearts free, safe in their own beds, in their own house, surrounded by the love of their family.

Today, in India, Cambodia, here in the United States of America, and around the world, in not-so-safe neighborhoods, 2,880 children were sold into slavery, many by their own parents.  Many of the parents do this thinking it is the best way of survival for their child.  They are promised better lives, food to eat and a place to sleep.  Never would they imagine that what they are really doing was selling their little one into a life of prostitution or of forced labor.  But they do.  Their lives are so poor and so desperate that they sell them into what they hope is "a better life."  Obviously, not every story begins with such innocence, but enough do that it's worth telling.

Today, this day, I write this, there are over 27 million enslaved people in the world.  Read that again.  27 million.  That is more than during the Roman Empire.  It is more than during the American Civil War.  Slavery here didn't die in 1863.  Today, in 2013, there are over 200,000 people in bondage to slavery right here in the US.  Around 17,000 more will be trafficked into my homeland this year.

Here in the US one in three teenage runaways is lured into prostitution within the first 48 hours they leave home.  The Super Bowl attracts millions of fans to watch the Big Game and thousands more to those enslaved by the sex trade.

Is your heart broken yet?  Because mine is.  As I read through the statistics on this, I can't keep the tears from falling.  I look at my five year old, innocently playing catch or sitting on my lap learning to read, and can't imagine him being beaten for not working hard enough in a sweatshop, or worse, in a brothel.  I watch my beautiful eight year old daughter to whom modesty is so important and I am literally sick to my stomach thinking of the things little slave girls around the world are forced to do.

All of that sucks.  Your heart is breaking, but really, what can you do to stop any of it?  Here's the truth.  You can do a lot.  

You can pray.

You can tell someone.  Share this blog or even better, share the links at the end of it.  Awareness is the first step in any action.  People cannot, will not help if they don't know about this crisis.  End It Movement

You can sponsor a child, literally saving a life.  Provide food, water, education and maybe the family won't feel the need to sell them into "a better life."  World Vision

You can give.  There are a lot of organizations out there that are fighting this.  The links below will lead you to many of them.  Find out which one you can get behind and give.  Not Today Resources

You can fund a school.  Education is a way out for many.  Make it happen for a child who may otherwise not make it at all.

You can be politically active.  Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, non-affiliated.  It doesn't matter.  This should be an issue we all agree on.  In today's America, prostitutes are considered criminals, not victims.  However, the statistics beg to differ. Many are lured into prostitution after running away from abusive situations.  Twelve is the average age for this to begin.  Twelve years old.  Seventh grade.   Veronica's Voice

 “And he will answer, ‘I tell you the truth, when you refused to help the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were refusing to help me.’ 

-- Matthew 25:45

Want more info?  Don't take my word for it.  Check it out yourself.  Follow the links and educate yourself.

Veronica's Voice a Kansas City resource for those leaving life as prostitutes
Not Today Resources a new movie, out today in select cities, that addresses the plight of the Dalit people, the "Untouchables" of India
End It Movement a coalition dedicated to ending global slavery
World Vision a Christian organization dedicated to helping the poor around the world, including those who have been rescued from sexual exploitation

Love, Hate and the Chikin Sandwich

I love Chick-fil-A.  I have since the very first time I heard my Aunt Leslie order a "breaded chicken sandwich with pickles and mustard only" while on a trip to Texas when I was a kid.  At that time, most Chick-fil-A restaurants were still south of the Mason-Dixon line and like Big Red soda and Blue Bell ice cream, I was only privy to their Southern greatness every couple of years during trips to visit my grandparents in the Lone Star State.  

Without a doubt, Chick-fil-A has THE BEST chicken sandwich in America.  And who doesn't love the waffle fries and lemonade?  Those Southern folks also love the sweet tea.  Being born north of the Mason-Dixon, it's not my cup of - well - tea, but since they sell it by the gallon, I'm pretty sure it's a hit with some folks.  It's always "my pleasure" to eat there.  They have great food and great service. 

I loved them WAY before I realized that they were owned by Christians.  In fact, I didn't even realize that until I was an adult and saw that they were giving away Adventures in Odyssey CDs in their kids meals.  Sweet!  Once I realized this (and that they're not open on Sundays, even though they could be making MILLIONS more a year if they were), I realized that it's my duty as a Christian to love Chick-fil-A.  Jon Acuff pretty much said so and he certainly knows about Stuff Christians Like.

Fast-forward to today.  Chick-fil-A has been making headlines, not because they give away thousands of free meals to people in cow costumes, but because one of their owners, who has never hidden his faith or his convictions, told a Baptist newspaper that he supports a "biblical definition of the family unit."

   Some have opposed the company's support of the traditional family. "Well, guilty as charged," said Cathy when asked about the company's position.

"We are very much supportive of the family -- the biblical definition of the family unit. We are a family-owned business, a family-led business, and we are married to our first wives. We give God thanks for that."

Somehow, those tiny little paragraphs at the end of the interview sparked a firestorm of controversy and have somehow made Cathy, and all who agree with him,  now unwelcome by high ranking and high profile politicians in New York City, Chicago and Philadelphia.  

Here's the thing.  This is probably not going to shock those of you who know me, but I personally agree with Cathy. I'm "very much supportive of the...biblical definition of the family unit."  Don't stone me yet, okay, there's more.  I'm a follower of Christ.  You know, Jesus, the guy who when asked, said that the greatest commandments were 

“‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.' The entire law and all the demands of the prophets are based on these two commandments.”

Jesus said I am to love people?  Even *gulp* gay people?  Yep.  In fact, we, the Church, are to strive to be like Christ, welcoming others so that they may know Him as well.  Last week there was a great little church bulletin that said it very well.  In case you missed it, here's what it said.

We extend a special welcome to those who are single, married, divorced, gay, filthy rich, dirt poor, yo no habla Ingles. We extend a special welcome to those who are crying new-borns, skinny as a rail or could afford to lose a few pounds.

We welcome you if you can sing like Andrea Bocelli or like our pastor who can’t carry a note in a bucket. You’re welcome here if you’re “just browsing,” just woke up or just got out of jail. We don’t care if you’re more Catholic than the Pope, or haven’t been in church since little Joey’s Baptism.

We extend a special welcome to those who are over 60 but not grown up yet, and to teenagers who are growing up too fast. We welcome soccer moms, NASCAR dads, starving artists, tree-huggers, latte-sippers, vegetarians, junk-food eaters. We welcome those who are in recovery or still addicted. We welcome you if you’re having problems or you’re down in the dumps or if you don’t like “organized religion,” we’ve been there too.

If you blew all your offering money at the dog track, you’re welcome here. We offer a special welcome to those who think the earth is flat, work too hard, don’t work, can’t spell, or because grandma is in town and wanted to go to church.

We welcome those who are inked, pierced or both. We offer a special welcome to those who could use a prayer right now, had religion shoved down your throat as a kid or got lost in traffic and wound up here by mistake. We welcome tourists, seekers and doubters, bleeding hearts … and you!

I think that for many Christians I know, when it really comes down to it, we want to agree with the above statements but aren't really sure what it looks like to do so.  We know that we're supposed to love our neighbors but are afraid that if we socialize with lesbians or gamblers that we'll be labeled as "wishy-washy" "sinners," or worse yet, "liberals."  At the same time, we're afraid to call sin "sin" for fear that we'll be known as "intolerant," "hate-mongers," "unintelligent" or just plain "un-American."  We want to show love to our neighbors without compromising our beliefs.  How in the world is that possible?  

What I see in the Bible is a God who came down from Heaven with a furious love for his people and a deep desire to have personal, meaningful relationship with them.  The Jesus shown to us in the New Testament called sin "sin" and took his meals with "sinners."  He loved.  He rebuked.  He was personally vested in those around him.  He didn't stand on a corner with a sign condemning anyone.  He was perfect, without sin.

I will never, in this life, be perfect.  My sins are many.  Some are hidden, others are right out there for the world to see.  I will fall many, many more times before my days on this earth are over.  Though imperfect, I am a seeker of Truth, a friend of God, and a lover of his people.  I will continue to do my best to follow his example; building real, meaningful relationships with his creation.  Only then can I truly love.  Only then can I rebuke.  Only when I have a personal, vested interested in others does my opinion on anything matter.  I will not be standing on a corner or in a restaurant condemning anyone.  

When I "eat mor chickin," (and I will be gobbling up breaded chicken sandwiches with pickles and honey mustard whenever I have the chance) there is no "thinly veiled hate" in my action.  There is no "I love you, but..." in my affection for waffle fries.  There is only a longing in my heart to be more like Christ and to somehow reflect the love he has shown me into the lives of those I encounter while on my journey to eternity.  That and a longing for a tall glass of lemonade to wash down the waffle fries.

I'm Still Here

It's been well over a month since I was able to blog anything.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I have a couple of things in the drafts folder that I have yet to finish.  That said, there's just too much on my plate and my mind to even start.  So, in 500 words or less (or more maybe.  I'm not actually going to count), here's my life lately.

A Book, a Cake and a Sunday Morning. aka, I Need a Nap!

April's shaping up to be a busy month.  To start the month, I wrote a book review.  It's awesome (the book, I mean.  The review is probably mediocre at best.).  You should check it out.

On Saturday we hosted an Army themed birthday party for my son (who will tell you that today he is three and a half years old, but will be "six" tomorrow.  So much for homeschool kids being math whizzes!).  For the party, I made a cake.

The Three Little Pigs, Faith House Version

On Sundays my mom and I lead the kids' service during church.  This last week was a lot of fun.  We used the story of the Three Little Pigs as an analogy of building a Christian "Faith" House.  We had some of the kids put on pink noses and used props to build the houses.

Grateful #3

1.  Oh Happy Day

Doesn't her face just say it all?

Today at church we had an AWESOME baptism service.  Originally, there were between 7-10 people who were planning to be baptised.  By the time it was said and done, there were 20.  I was especially moved by the young boy who told us "my parents are getting divorced and I need God to get me through this." 

2.  Sunday Afternoon Naps
My husband let me have a 2+ hour nap today.  It was much needed.  What more is there to say?  Thanks, Babe!

The Gym

A couple of months ago, in a conversation about church leadership, my pastor made an analogy liking being a part of the church to being a part of a gym. It was a good analogy, but it didn't really sink in until I went to my first Zumba class in over a year.

It's been 5 months since baby number 4 was born and my poor body has been abused and neglected. So, I signed up for Tuesday night Zumba class at the gym. An hour a week is better than nothing at all, right?

The first night of class, the instructor, who wears bedazzled "Zumba" shirts in a size extra small, explained the "easy" steps in one of the songs to the class.

From a used-to-be-AG perspective

Growing up in a little Assemblies of God church I learned a lot about being a Christian and a lot about being Pentecostal. Somehow, though, those lines started to blend together to where it was almost impossible to be one (Saved) without being the other (a speaking-in-tongues, filled with the Holy Ghost and Fire saint). There came a point when I just didn't buy into that anymore. Anybody with a psych class under his belt could tell you it had something (okay, a really big something) to do with the fact that my home church went through a big, ugly split about the same time I quit drinking the Kool-Aid.

But even without the split, I was beginning to have my doubts. First there was the whole "Thursday-Night-is-Get-the-Holy-Spirit-Night-or-You're-Not-Really-a-Good-Enough-Christian" thing. Every summer I went to camp and was challenged to live a better life; to be closer to God than ever before. Then on Thursday, the last night, there was always this special emphasis on the Baptism of the Holy Spirit. This meant that you speak in tongues or you don't have it. I saw kids so hungry for God that they faked whatever they thought they needed to do just to feel accepted. I was always the last to leave the tabernacle; I didn't want to miss a single blessing.

After a few years of this, I realized that the gift of tongues wasn't what it was all about. Falling over; being "slain in the Spirit" wasn't it either. Really being filled with the Holy Ghost is about having him in your everyday life, your every thought, your very being. Tongues has nothing to do with this.

I now attend a Wesleyan Church. Although most people wouldn't be totally shocked if someone spoke in tongues during a service, I believe it would probably be out of order to use that gift there. We sing about five songs to open the service. They're somewhat contemporary and we even have drums, guitar, bass and keyboards at most services. The pastor often thanks us "for that good singing" before he begins the message.

The core people at my church truly love God. They love sinners as well as saints, too. In the seven or so years that I've attended, I've learned more about how to show God's love to others in practical ways than I did in my entire first 25 years of church. These people are so real and so forgiving and so caring and so welcoming that I sometimes even see that as a hindrance to things getting done the way I think they should. Through that, God is teaching me patience, humility and that my way isn't always His plan. I love my church.

Alas, there are things about the AG that I miss. Things I miss a lot. As an emotional being, I miss the adrenaline surge that I feel in a dynamic worship service. Growing up, we'd sing for hours; many of them spent dancing, kneeling, bowing before the Throne of God, weeping, or even laughing. Worship was something I did with my entire being. My voice was raised in prayer and song, my hands were lifted in praise, my entire body knelt before the Presence of the Lord. Although I'm not much of a dancer, there were times when I felt like I just needed to move my feet; my body just needed to be in motion because I couldn't contain the enthusiasm I had for my Savior.

Times of prayer were communal. There was never a time when we just listened to the pastor pray. We all were joined in prayer. We all prayed together, often aloud. Many times we would come together around a friend in need and lay hands on each other. The prayers weren't always answered in ways we asked, but we always knew that we weren't alone and that we had each other's backs.

There are many things I appreciate about being in a non-Pentecostal place. Knowing that I don't have to worry about Sister Smith breaking out into tongues or prophecy when I bring a first time guest is nice. Not having to climb over people "slain in the Spirit" and laying all over the front of the church, that's nice, too. The "weird" stuff is not what I miss.

But I miss being challenged. I miss the emotional aspect of worship. I miss the ability to worship with my entire being, not just my voice. I miss the sound of dozens of voices raised together in prayer.

Somewhere there has to be a balance. I don't know how to achieve it yet. Someday I will.