musings from a french fried texan

in or out!

2012-01-30T14:50:00.005+01:00

19 debates in what, a couple of months? is anyone else politically fatigued? as the process marches on from state to state, the battle grows fiercer. each candidate has to explain why he is the best choice for president, and to do that he has to attack, no obliterate, his opponent. when the race began, everyone was somewhat cordial. now it is getting ugly. the verbal jabs are drawing blood.

know what this reminds me of? evangelicals. yep. i just offended maybe all but one of my readers, but please, hear me out.

when we moved back to the states a couple of years ago, i had been away for almost 12. during that time, i didn't try to keep my finger on the pulse of evangelical america. i didn't have time. let's face it, i was pretty busy learning a language and doing everything i could to stay afloat in a different culture. i would hear things from friends about certain leaders or issues but honestly it dripped off me pretty quickly. it just wasn't my world anymore. moving to a country where only 0 .6% of the population claims to be evangelical will really force you to focus on things that matter instead of things that don't. issues like church discipline or women's roles weren't even on the table. we were dealing with things more like...does God exist and does faith even matter?. as you can see the squabbles over in america didn't have much to do with us.

i had no idea just how bad the fighting had gotten. i came back and was shell-shocked. evangelicals weren't just debating issues, they were setting up camps with a sign that said "in or out." you believe in complementarianism or you are OUT. you unquestionably submit to a pastor or you are OUT. to be IN, you have to believe A,B and C. and believe me, the A is not that Jesus is the son of God. A is that Adam was a real person and that Eve was in total submission to him from the beginning.

polarization. division. fighting. all in the name of defending truth.

i can't help but wonder if our fascination with star-studded leaders is part of the problem. we love golden-tongued preacher boys in this country. (ok, to be fair, and a couple of golden-tongues preacher, uh, i mean speaker ladies!) the bolder, more clever, more out spoken the better. and if they happen to dress hip and drink beer then we are really mesmerized. we read their books, even if they can't write to save their lives. we watch them online and download their podcasts. we become followers of men, buying their style of theology hook, line and sinker.

the problem is that to grow bigger and gather more followers, these leaders have to distinguish themselves even more from the others. since they agree on the major issues such as salvation and the trinity, they have to find smaller, tertiary ones that they disagree on. this is how we start fighting about how often women can teach men and in what settings. it used to be that you could just disagree on these types of issues. we would have lively debates but the disagreement didn't lead to people being kicked out of the camp. now it does. if you don't believe that complementarianism is the only way, then you don't believe in the inerrant bible. and we all know what that means. OUT!

it saddens me. the world is watching our political fighting. they hear how we speak to one another. they don't see our squabbles as passionate crusades for defending truth. all they hear is back-biting, sneering and name calling. all they see is pride.

i am wondering how the servant leader, who over two thousand years ago said that the world would know his disciples by their love for one another, would feel about this sibling rivalry? sure families fight. but do families destroy? i don't think so. let's face it, none of us have all our doctrinal ducks in a row. we are all horribly wrong about something. we are fallible. we are human. where is the admission that we could possibly be wrong so what we are arguing over doesn't warrant divorce?

in other words, where is the HUMILITY?

i'm fatigued. i'm tired of the debates, the political infighting. it sure seems like our energy could be better spent turning our focus outward towards kingdom priorities. let's take our tendency to follow charismatic leaders and place that devotion in Christ. that would revolutionize the way we talked to one another, loved each other and gently, when necessary, challenged one another. well, that would revolutionize everything, now wouldn't it?

best transformation of 2011

2012-01-22T16:38:00.005+01:00

one of the reasons we got such a great deal on our first home was because it hadn't been renovated since it was built in the early 90s. it had the same, BEAUTIFUL wallpaper. floral. my favorite. it had puffy, fabric covers for the windows. the angel curtains were definitely a sight to behold. nothing in this house was according to my taste, but then again i'm not a 90 year-old, near blind woman either! (disclaimer: for those of you who like floral wallpaper, or let's be honest, wallpaper at all, i offer my humble apologies.)

so there is no question that the winner of 2011's award for best transformation goes to.......our kitchen!

now before i show pics, you need to know that this amazing change didn't take place overnight. we ripped down wallpaper and then spent the next three months (uhm, i mean scott spent the next 3 months) peeling the adhesive off the wall. THEN we had to spackle the walls. THEN we had to prime the drywall. THEN we had to texture it. this is where things almost went horribly wrong. again scott took the lead on this one, and though it ended beautifully, he nearly threw the hopper threw the window during those first few tense moments. let's just say that it was a good thing that he practiced behind the refrigerator first. THEN, i had to paint the trim. THEN the walls. i learned the hard way about reds (though technically it is called peppery, a nice deep cold orange and red combo). 3 coats in the kitchen before it looked presentable.

all that work. all that time. completely worth it. now i don't feel like i should decorate my kitchen with doilies and fake fruit.

so here it is my friends, the best makeover, transformation of 2011.

before

after

before

after

before

after

One of my biggest laughs of 2011

2012-01-04T17:56:00.004+01:00

i thought i would start the new year with a few reminiscing posts. pondering, enjoying, reflecting and celebrating the past is a way for me to turn my face forward and allow the momentum of what is behind to propel me toward what is ahead. maybe now you can understand a bit why i want to spend a few posts celebrating and reflecting on the past year. let's start with something light, shall we?

wyatt gives me one of my biggest laughs of 2011

it is important to me that my kids love to read. i want them to get lost in other worlds, be challenged by others' thoughts and be stimulated by wisdom from other pilgrims. i want them to enjoy what is current--be thrilled with Percy Jackson and amused by Junny B. Jones--but i also want them to appreciate the richness of Huckleberry Finn and the complexity of a Tale of Two Cities. i want my boys to love reading the way i do. for me, characters i have met in stories have been my teachers, companions, friends and sometimes my adversaries. i grow when i read. i find myself. i find God. i want nothing less for my kids.

to accomplish this goal, the boys and i spend lots of time cuddled up on my bed reading. our most recent adventure was the children's illustrated classic of Moby Dick. both boys have been fascinated with whales for a couple of years. when i summarized the story of the great, white whale, they took an immediate interest and begged me to check it out at the library. night after night, i read to them the thrilling tale of captain ahab and his obsessive pursuit of the elusive moby dick. the boys were captivated. i would hear them yelling to each other from one room to another, "have you seen the white whale?" they loved it. they couldn't wait to find out if ahab would finally get his revenge on moby dick.

when we finished the story, i was intent on having a teaching moment. i wanted to delve into the book's central theme of revenge and its destructive nature. as i closed the book, i looked at both boys and very seriously asked, "now boys, what can we learn from the story of Moby Dick?"

with the most intense look and solemn reply Wyatt said, "to never go whaling."

i lost it. i laughed and laughed and laughed. i guess lesson number one you take away from a story about a giant, white whale that crashes into a ship and kills all but one person is to really think hard before you sign up to go whaling!

my most meaningful moment of 2011

2012-01-03T21:09:00.007+01:00

one of the most difficult aspects of living overseas is not being able to participate in the natural rhythm of your family's life both the joy and the sorrows. sisters have babies and you can't be there to hold them. parents get sick and you can't camp out in their hospital room. friends graduate or get married and everyone but you gets to give them a hug. relatives die and you grieve in a Parisian park instead of at the graveside. it is hard.

this year my uncle passed away. when they diagnosed him pancreatic cancer, I knew he didn't have much time. just a few weeks before he died, i stopped by his house and spent the afternoon with him. i hadn't seen him in years. he looked so different, so frail. i remember him as a hard working man who used to sway while he talked. now he was hunched over and lost in a cloud of morphine. i knew when i said goodbye to him that it would be the last time i saw him.

his cancer was unexpected. my time with him before he went was a gift. what my aunt asked of me before i left was a shock. after a puzzling question about my "minister's papers," she asked if i would officiate at his funeral. she could have asked me to triple jump to the moon and i would have been less surprised. when her request finally found a place to dock, i admit that my first thoughts were panic-filled.

oh my gosh, i have never done a funeral.
what if i mess it up?
what if i start to cry?
has she really thought this through?
why me?

why me? i'm the minister in the family. when my cousin got engaged, he wanted me to perform the ceremony. now that my uncle was dying, they wanted me to officiate. that's why me.

three weeks later my uncle died.

i could tell you about my funeral preparations, my freak out about what to wear, the tire i blew out on my way to austin or the fact that a dallas cowboy legend was in the audience, but those things aren't what was significant to me. the funeral went fine. i didn't stutter or cry or put people to sleep. i am so thankful everyone was pleased with the service. no those things are not what touched me in a place i didn't know needed touching.

i got to be present. not only did my physical body get to be with my family as they grieved but i got to be present in a spiritually and emotionally significant way. i went down two days before the funeral at my family's request. as we sat around a table, i got to listen as they told story after story about my uncle. we cried together. we laughed together. we talked about hope and love and life in God. we reconnected. in mere seconds all the years that i had been away disappeared. i was there. do you have any idea what that means to a person who spent a decade living over there?

i don't live near my family. perhaps i never will. but i can assure you that i will hoard those together-moments in my heart.

i am so thankful for my aunt and cousins. they gave me an extraordinary gift, one of my most treasured of 2011.

with my sister and cousins

in the middle of family

and it begins...

2011-12-02T14:31:00.003+01:00

it hit like the santa anna winds this year.

"mom, why don't i get to play video games as much as i want to like my friends?"
"why can't i have a DS? all my friends have one."
"my friends get to watch as much TV as they want."
"i want to play medal of honor like my friends do."

all this from my 8 year old son. finally, i looked at him and said, "what makes you think i am raising you to be like everyone else?"

i knew this day would come. i have dreaded its arrival. i have tried to ward it off. but it is here. Will has taken a look around him and realized that he is different from other kids his age. for him it feels uncomfortable, like pants that are just a little bit too short. all he wants is to be like everyone else.

i understand the tension. we all do. we have all been there at some point. i didn't get designer clothes; it was hunter's club for me instead of polo. i never got to wear converse tennis shoes, the first time they were in style. i always wanted a big wheel like all the other kids on my block. for a kid, these are big issues. and i'm learning that for a parent they are too.

i'm not trying to be mean or withholding or just tight with money. my aim isn't to make him different just to be different. i am just not content for Will to be like everyone else, not when being Will is so amazing. he loves to read, draw, build legos, play with friends, dress like a cowboy, throw the football, tackle his mom, make people laugh and annoy his brother. i am not willing to trade any of that in so that he can play on a handheld device for hours. well, maybe i would trade in the annoying his brother part.

i want him to see and experience a world of wonder, not blood and profanity via a wii remote. i want him to create and use his imagination, not sit like a zombie in front of a tv. i want him to run, climb, jump, laugh and play so hard that he collapses at night with a smile on his face. i want my kid to be a kid. is that too much to ask?

if i am honest, i have to admit that this is a hard road to walk. sometimes i am tired. sometimes i do let my kids watch too much tv simply because i am too tired to interact with them. my life would be easier if they would just play a video game all day while i did whatever i wanted. but we have such a short window of time to influence our children, to give them a taste of something different, to create space for them to be themselves. my job is to help Will be Will because that is who God made him to be. this is in part what it means to disciple my child, to point him towards the One i do want him to be like--Jesus. (but that is another post entirely!)

so we talk about it. i explain why i haven't bought him a DS and why he can't watch TV for hours and hours. he gives me sad, droopy eyes that tell me "it's not fair". thankfully, he doesn't argue or storm off in a huff. at least not yet. rather, he starts playing, forgetting in mere seconds the injustice of his situation. and let me tell you friends, when i hear that one-of-a-kind laugh and see those eyes light up and that dimple grow in size, i have all the confirmation that i need.

bicultural and proud of it!

2011-11-09T02:29:00.003+01:00

the bicultural interpersonal style: "the bicultural individual feels comfortable in his or her cultural group as well as in the majority culture and can flow into and out of either culture. this person has not rejected his or her culture but may at times FEEL A SENSE OF SPLIT PERSONALITY being torn between the two cultures. recognizing that all cultures have positive features, this person is often found seeking out experiences from many cultures."

that's me. bicultural. some people call it being a third culture person. divided between two cultures, we feel only at home in the third culture we have created that exists somewhere between the two. whether you call it third culture or bicultural, it is me. i am that person. can i tell you how relieved i was to come across the above definition in a textbook? what i am is normal for those who have lived in a different culture. i am not alone. there are others. what i struggle with isn't that unusual.

this feeling of having a split personality. normal.
feeling comfortable in two different cultures. normal.
my fascination with other cultures. normal.
often feeling bored when i am limited to engaging only one culture. normal.

for a bicultural person, i am completely normal. how nice does that feel? oh, it feels goooooodddddd.

i share this with you, my readers, for several reasons. you need to know that i have a split cultural personality. i will react differently to you because of it. need some examples? here you go....

when you ask me if i am glad to be back in the states, i will not be able to give you the answer you expect.
when you crack your overused joke about the frenchies, i will not laugh.
when you extol the virtues of busyness, i will not concur.
when you go into that political mode that only sees the world from an american perspective, my ears will start ringing and my eyes will glaze over.
when you claim that america is a christian country, i will groan, probably out loud.

and you frenchies....

when you call americans oversized children, i will get defensive.
when you preach that american colonization theory, i will roll my eyes.
when you critique our politics, our faith, and our annoying social gregariousness, i will answer you in a loud voice just out of spite.

it is who i am. i am bicultural. i will make no more excuses. so can we all just accept me as the mixed up, bicultural, french fried texan that i am? that will make life easier for everyone.

no title necessary

2011-10-27T19:11:00.004+02:00

now why don't she write?

no i haven't disappeared. yes, i still love writing on my blog. no, i haven't run out of ideas for things to post. i appreciate the concern, the emails, and all the flattery that goes with it. truly i do. it isn't that i ain't writing anymore--though my bad grammar might lead you to believe otherwise--it is that i am writing all the time.

seriously, i write everyday, sometimes all day. send a donation to the campbells. thing is, instead of writing about culture or american evangelicalism or spiritual formation, i'm writing about unethical psychological experiments and counseling theories. i am up to my gills in grad school so when i get a moment that doesn't involve studying or taking care of kids or cleaning the house or cooking meals, i want to relax or do something fun that takes me far, far away from my computer screen.

but i have lots of ideas for great posts. lots of them. want to hear?

the irony of not sleeping well while writing a paper on insomnia.

the absurdity of something that i haven't thought of yet.

the perplexing question of why one step on my staircase is quite a bit smaller than all the others.

mail me a check for $100.

the dilemma of how to keep my kids and dog from tracking mud into our house due to our grassless backyard.

the ever controversial debate of debates and why they start so freakin early.

the depression associated with still wearing shorts at the end of Oct.

send me money today.

the confusion over what journalists consider newsworthy. i've heard a lot about baby lisa but not much about the wall street protests, the fall of Greece and the turkish earthquake.

and finally, to answer the question all of you are asking. mentanna, are you just writing a bunch of nothing just to have something to post so you don't feel guilty?

is is that or am i avoiding writing yet another paper?

or am i conducting a secret experiment on the power of persuasion?

i'll never tell....

step on a crack

2011-10-10T15:22:00.001+02:00

last night Will came ambling down the stairs after we had put him to bed. we were shocked. unlike his brother who finds an excuse every night to get out of bed, Will always stays put once he lays his head down on his clone wars pillow. Scott and I looked at each other in shock. what could be wrong?

"mom. dad. i'm scared."
"of what buddy?"
"bloody Mary."

i could hardly suppress my laughter. no, i am not a cruel mom. i don't mock my children in their fear. it isn't anything like that at all. i was laughing because at age of 7, i was afraid of exactly the same person! yep. bloody Mary. the legend at Puckett Elementary school was that Bloody Mary lived in the girl's bathroom and if you went in there alone, she would show up in the mirror. a little scaredy-cat as a kid, i remember feeling panic every time i went into the bathroom. what if i saw her when i looked in the mirror? what would she look like? who was Bloody Mary anyway?

it amazes me what endures from generation to generation. Bloody Mary lives on in the fearful hearts of elementary school children. her haunting heyday is apparently far from over. but there are other things too. just the other day at the mall, my kids were skipping over cracks so they wouldn't "break their mother's back." they tell the same bad jokes. they taunt each other with the same sing-songy threats.

i guess there really is nothing new under the sun.

except.....

after school last week, i was helping Wyatt with his homework. unprompted, he began telling me about something he did at school that day. it went like this....

"we had our drill today, mom."
"what drill?"
"the school shut down drill."
"what is that?"
"it is where we practicing hiding in our classroom in case a bad person gets in our school and tries to hurt us. i got to hide in the spot behind the door where only one kid can hide. Devon (his best friend) got to hide with three other kids in the closet. we are supposed to stay there with our door locked until the principal tells us it is ok."

my heart broke. my kid was drilling so he would know what to do if a SCHOOL SHOOTER came in and threatened his life. that is NOT THE SAME as when i was a kid. when i was 6, we were doing the duck and cover. i am of the Red Dawn generation and our biggest fear as kids was that the Russians would attack our country with a bomb. our enemy was the big, bad red communists across the ocean. now the enemy is within. now the threat is a gun-toting, mentally deranged american. what is happening in our world?

i sat there at the table listening to my 6-year-old talk so calmly about that drill. he had no idea what he was really practicing for. he doesn't know about school shootings or restaurant shootings or ft. hood shootings or any others that have happened in the past decade. i dread the day when he will fully understand, when he will know that danger is all around him, that the human heart is capable of incalculable evil.

i feel old when i say this, but i wish some things hadn't changed. i wish columbine had never happened. i wish that metal detectors were still only used in airports. i wish that my children's biggest threat was a non-existent british queen ghost from the 16th century.

i wish so many things....

it really wasn't supposed to be like this

2011-09-28T20:16:00.003+02:00

i've been thinking about pain a lot lately. i know, i know. another cheery topic. but it is what is on my mind. PAIN. i have been in some pain recently. my uncle passed away last week. one of my closest friends just moved to california. my old back issues started up again and i haven't had a pain free moment in 3 months.

Pain. i hate it. i really, really hate it.

pain makes me fragile. it keeps me on edge, thins my tough exterior walls. comments have power that they normally don't have. my kids irritate more quickly than usual. my energy to go and do is diminished. pain affects every aspect of my life. it brings out things in me that aren't pretty. and it just makes me mad.

cause here is the truth...

it wasn't supposed to be like this. do you hear me? IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS! uncles were never meant to die. friends were never meant to leave. bodies were never meant to weaken.

God created a garden where life was perfect. there was no pain, no crying, no hurting. relationship between the only man and woman was intimate, fulfilling and without conflict. and to top it all off, they walked with God. i mean literally. they were engaged with the lover of their souls, lacking for nothing. they had no longings. death didn't cross their minds. they didn't fear being left. they didn't worry about their bodies wearing out.

then one day everything changed.

the enemy of our souls, the one who wants our complete destruction slithered up to adam and eve and convinced them that life apart from God was better. he lied by telling them that they could do things their own way, make up their own rules. God wouldn't mind. he would understand. disobey. assert your authority. be your own person.

we have been believing that lie ever since. the consequences are disasterous. relationships are broken. we hurt ourselves and each other. marriages fail. friends betray. and we end up lonely, depressed, disillusioned and hopeless.

IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS!

this is how i know my God is merciful. he didn't condemn us for our choice; he set about to redeem us. he sent his son, who would come and die on our behalf, in order to proclaim once and for all....

IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY!

pain reminds me that this world is not my home. i was made for another place. a place where death doesn't exist. a place where no one that i love leaves. a place where my body will dance and play for eternity.

what's in your dirt?

2011-09-02T22:59:00.003+02:00

i've been thinking about soil lately. yep, soil. have you ever spent much time thinking about what is in your dirt? take a moment and think about that. what are you really walking on? what is your house really built on? what is your grass growing in?

what is in your dirt?

well, let's take a look. there is at least, stones, clay, sand and humus. humus? now don't get that confused with hummus. two very different things! humus, if you recall, is the dead remains of plants and animals that is constantly decomposing. insects, mites, worms and other creepy crawlers love the humus so they are in your dirt too. there is probably more stuff, but i would venture to guess that the majority of the ingredients falls into one of the above categories.

what is amazing to me is that stuff grows in dirt. (ok, i know. i should be precise and say soil. let's just use the terms interchangeably, shall we?) it is full of random things, some of which should be there and some of which should not and yet stuff still grows. even when you are in the middle of a draught, in the middle of central texas, stuff grows.

amazing, isn't it?

soil. i've been thinking of the soil of my soul lately. really i have. i'm weird that way. there are just certain times or markers that cause me to reflect over where i have been and where i am going. in these reflective moments, all i can think about is how my soul has been shaped and formed by decisions, experiences, people and love. my soul is a random collection of sediment; some of it is made of up water, sunshine and lollipops, some of it blood, poop and decay.

there is death in my soil. i have hurt people i love. i have made choices i regret. i have had to die to very selfish parts of me. all of this is my humus. for so long i wanted to rid my soil of its unsavory remains. i wanted my soil to be pure, full of only water and nutrients. if i could have bought a soul filter, i would have sifted out the failure and pain. but the truth is, humus is what enriches the soil. the more it decomposes over time, the more stable the soil becomes, making it able to hold water and sustain life. humus is essential. today's life grows in yesterday's death.

i feel humbled by this truth--that Jesus takes our death and decay and uses it to bring forth life. it doesn't have to be that way. our souls could just be useless junkyards, a testimony to a life apart from him. instead, he chooses to make them into beautiful gardens. merciful redemption. that is the rain that floods my soul. that is what is in my dirt.

walking the rope

2011-08-21T16:22:00.005+02:00

my youngest son has to do eye exercises 6 days a week. one of his eyes doesn’t want to do its job all the time. when it shuts down, so does my little man’s depth perception. it affects everything—his balance, his gross motor skills, his confidence. we have been battling this eye since my son was 2. we may be battling it his entire life.

one of his exercises is what we affectionately calling walking the rope. we unroll about 20 ft. of rope, lay it in a straight line on the floor and then watch as Wyatt tries to walk from one end to the other. when he first started this exercise, he would throw his arms out wildly, bob left and right and eventually fall off the rope. every failed attempt would ignite his frustration. every failed attempt would poke a hole in my heart.

i learned a little trick that helped my little man out. if i stood in front of him at the end of the rope and told him to look at me, he would calm down, find his footing and slowly make his way down the line. oh, he would still fall off some, but something about focusing up instead of at his feet helped him to find his balance.

i felt like my little man this week. i was out of balance, destabilized, uncertain, wobbly. this week i went back to school.

yep, my metaphorical rope is a return to academia after a 16-year hiatus.

on June 30, we became homeowners, and i became a master’s student. life has been a whirlwind ever since. my degree plan required a weeklong, intensive course in aug. i knew it was going to be hard. i didn’t know it was going to throw me completely off balance. i went to walk on the rope and found that all the arm waving in the world wasn’t going to keep me on it.

it was hard. it was uncomfortable. it was destabilizing. it was exactly what i needed in a painful, breaking down kind of way. He is stretching me, preparing me for what is next, forcing me to build some muscle where flab has been dominate. after my first full day of class, i came home and threw a little fit. is this it? did i hear you right? what in the world am i doing here? ahhh, ever gentle and tender with me, my savior looked at me, smiled and gave me the picture of my little man trying to make his way across his literal rope.

look at me. stop looking at your feet.

i can’t see far ahead of me right now. my depth perception is temporarily disengaged. all i can do is trust, put one foot in front of the other and look at the one who has called me on this journey. in looking at him, i have found my center. i have found rest on my rope.

(ok, for all you nosey rosey’s out there. i’m getting my master’s in counseling. it is about time that my competence match my eagerness. go back and read this post and i think you will get a pretty good understanding as to why.)

revolving....again

2011-08-08T15:49:00.003+02:00

i remember having a conversation with a seasoned expat about a year after we moved to france. i had just experienced my first season of “revolving door” grief and needed to hear from a veteran how she had dealt with it all those years. what is revolving door grief? it is the dizzying coming and going of friends and colleagues, many of whom you get very close to only to say goodbye a few months later. friendships in the vagabond world are seasonal. you say hello knowing that the goodbye will come only too soon.

so what was this veteran’s advice to me? “don’t get close to anyone.”

i think we all know what i did with that advice.

when you live overseas you come to understand why the bible refers to other christians as your family. during the ups and downs of culture stress, loneliness and frustration, when you want to never open your mouth again or leave your house, when you wonder why in the hell you ever moved in the first place, the only people who can help you not slide into insanity is your spiritual family. though you fight, though you see things differently, though you might not even like them sometimes, you know that they are there, that they understand what you are going through and that they will walk alongside you through it all.

believers as family is no mystery to me at all.

moving back to the states and trying to readjust to the rhythm of American friendship has been hard for me. i don’t understand scheduling time weeks out into the future just to see a close friend. i’m baffled by the independence and self-sufficiency of the American family unit. i can’t quite grasp why we would want to fill the majority of our days and nights with noise and activity and games and clubs and not with laughter and conversation and the quiet art of being together. i don’t understand close friendship that doesn’t involve a deep understanding of each other’s struggles, hopes and dreams. the French have a small circle of close friends and treat them like family for a lifetime. i understand that now both culturally and spiritually.

for the past year, one of my closest friends has lived down the hall from me. Katie worked with us in france and became a grafted in member of the family during the two years she was on our team. when she moved back to the states, she needed a place to live while she did a temporary job for a Christian ministry. what we thought was a 3-month situation turned into a yearlong adventure. it has been one of the most enriching experiences of my life.

i’ll never forget some of the reactions we got when people heard that she was living with us. isn’t she intruding on time with your family? isn’t it awkward having someone else living with you? our counter-culture decision to stretch our family unit to include someone that didn’t share our genetic makeup baffled many.

doing life with those who don’t have to stay because they need you to make their breakfast or because they took vows and promised never to leave is a life-changing thing. you have someone else daily peeking into your life and seeing if you really live like you say you do. you have someone who will challenge your impatience with your children but then give you a hug and tell you that you are a great mom. you have someone who will listen and wrestle alongside you when you don’t feel like you fit in any culture. you share hopes. you grieve the loss of dreams. you stir each other up to run hard after the One who makes deep, intimate relationship possible.

oh and there is a lot of laughter too. lots of singing and dancing. lots of nights sitting out on the driveway looking at the stars talking about n’importe quoi. lots of spontaneous trips to applebee's.

unfortunately, the door is revolving again. Katie is leaving. i’m excited about her next season of life. i want much for her relationally, professionally and spiritually. i just hate that this next chapter is going to take her so far away. i will miss the day in, day out gift of doing life with her. i will miss the way she loves on my kids. i will miss the way she makes me laugh. i am saying goodbye to a member of my family, one who has walked with me through the most significant times of my life. she has seen me wounded. she has watched me heal. she has been an integral part of it all.

i am so grateful we got to do life together for a short amount of time.

i am so sad to see her go.

moving towards normal

2011-08-01T16:40:00.005+02:00

i have never been what you might describe as normal. i know, i know. there is no such thing as normal. well, let's just say that i have been even less normal than your run of the mill less normal person. what do i mean? well, when you take into account what normal families do, how normal kids grow up, what normal people do for careers, then we can all agree that i just am not normal. what? you want examples?

well. i have never been to the Grand Canyon but i have been, thanks to a dad who traveled much because of his job, to Bali and Egypt and many other countries around the world.

most people took a car when they went to visit family. our family got into my dad's 4-seater plane.

most people, go to school; fall in love; get married; buy a house; have kids. i went to school, fell in love, got engaged, got unengaged, got engaged again, got married and went overseas for 12 years.

the whole house in a neighborhood where couples walk their dogs at night has never been a part of my adult life. rather i have lived in 400 square foot apartments in urban cities across the ocean surrounded by 11 million people speaking a different language. i didn't own my own car. i hung my laundry to dry. i walked to the store daily for my food. that has been my adult life.

normal? i would say not so much.

well, things have changed. two years ago we moved back to texas. you have heard all about the struggle of a girl named Mentanna (not a very normal name either) trying to fit back into a normal american life. well my friends, my patient readers, i have a very large step and milestone to report to you......drum roll please.....

this vagabond has bought a house.

go ahead, pass out. (i just did). gasp. roll your eyes. whatever you need to do. i need to get a paper bag and breathe into it for a moment.

it feels weird. it feels grown up. it feels rooted.

there is an entire story about how all this came to pass. it is one of those "wow God did that?" stories. i want to tell you about it but right now i have boxes to unpack and things to sort. my life is in a crazy spin and i'm not sure when it will slow down again. partly it is because we moved. partly it is because we went on vacation to disney world. partly it is because.....well there is another huge reason but that is another post for another time. i have to keep you guys eager!

so here's to submerging myself more deeply into normal life! and here is a small glimpse into my new digs.

ungrateful me

2011-07-21T19:56:00.003+02:00

i'm raising a couple of ingrates. seriously. oh wipe that astonishment off your face! all parents know it is true. our kids aren't perfect. as a matter of fact, sometimes they are just snot-nosed punks. now don't get me wrong, i love those snotty faced boys of mine but there are moments when i wonder if some body snatcher came and replaced my little angels with demonic spawn.

case in point. we just got back from a family vacation to Disney World. DISNEY WORLD people. now what child wouldn't love to spend 4, fun filled days in an place where all your dreams come true? well. mine. Wyatt turned 6 during our vacation and so on the day of his birthday, Scott and i went to walmart and bought a lego set he had been wanting. wyatt tore open his package and squealed with delight when he saw his police station lego set. scott and i grinned with pride. we had done well. good on us.

fast forward to the next day. we are eating lunch at epcot--hmmmm the pizza really did taste like the celestial one we partook of in naples--and wyatt looked at me and said he wanted to go home. surprised, i asked him why. well, go figure, my little man wanted to play with his lego set. are you kidding me? here we are in a kid's utopia and he wants to go home and put together pieces of plastic?! i explained to him that we were at disney world and that he was supposed to be having a glorious time. i recounted in detail all the fun rides, great food and cool things we had seen. afterward, i smugly looked his way and asked, "so do you still want to go home?" with a whimper and pout, he looked at me defiantly and said,"yes."

ingrate.

and it isn't just wyatt. Will has done it to me before too. i can't tell you how many times i have given my sons a list of all the reasons why they should be happy and thankful. doesn't matter one bit. they will focus on the one thing that didn't go their way and sum it up by saying it was the "worstest day of my life." (yes, i'm working on that little grammar issue). why can't they see that what they DO have far and away outweighs what they DON"T have. crazy, near-sighted kids.

ooohhh, wait a minute. something about that feels familiar. ouch. maybe i don't want to go there.

i have been doing quite a bit of whining myself this past year. i don't want to be here. i want to be in another city. i don't want to live in this house. i want a different one. i don't want to be a stay at home mom. i want to be __________. i wish i were back in france. i don't like crowley. i don't like this church. that friend doesn't understand me anymore. waaaaahhhh. waaahhhh. wahhh.

i'm the world's worst ingrate.

today i had to confess that. i have the one thing in life that matters most. i have Him. i don't have to be in France or any other exciting locale to have Him. I get Him wherever i hang my hat. i may not have this job or that job. i may not have the perfect house or all the things i want. He may not answer prayer like i want him to. sometimes He is quiet. He has led us in some directions that haven't been my number one choice. and every time i complain, every time i whine, every time i moan and groan, i'm saying that i desire something else more than i desire Him.

isn't that what discontentment is really saying? we would be content God if you did _________. if you don't do _______, then we will throw a little fit, stomp around and complain to everyone we know. God fell through. He didn't hold up his end of the bargain. poor us. look how mistreated we are. translation: we want something else more than we want God. let's face it, if we really desired Him above blessings or direction or healing then we wouldn't be little ingrates. we would know that we have the one thing that matters most--Him.

i really do want Him. i want his nearness more than i want a job. i want to hear His voice more than i want to live in France. i want to his pleasure more than i want earthly junk. I want His abundant life-giving love more than i want my own way. He is my life. Everything else is just gravy.

i'm ready to grow up and stop complaining. and let me tell you, i have a lot to be thankful for.....(stayed tuned!)

Will turns 8

2011-06-25T19:46:00.004+02:00

i have an 8 year old. how is that possible? there were moments, like when he would cry everyday from 5-7 pm as a 3 week old, when i thought time had stopped and would never start again. but now i look back and see the truth. the time has sped by, faster than i wished and i already feel many of the mundane memories of everyday life with my boys slipping away. my mental pictures are yellowing a little and that makes me feel a certain desperation to record all that i can. it is one of the reasons i blog you know. this is a place where i store up treasures for my entire family. one day we will all look back on these posts and be glad that some little narcissistic side of me compelled me to write this blog. plus i sucked at scrap booking, so there's that...

to Will on his 8th birthday....

you make me laugh more each day. i love your sense of humor, the way you get your brother to giggling, the way your eyes sparkle when you smile. and that dimple, i drown in it everyday. someday some blessed little girl will take a swim in that dimple and never come out. i tell you that all the time. you just look at me with that "what are you talking about mom" look. but i know. trust me, i know.

i'm thrilled at how much you love to read. you walk from room to room with a book in your hand. words are important and i'm glad that you seem to think so too.

you impress me with how patient you are with your brother. he can be a bit demanding but you respond, most of the time, with gentleness and love.

you are getting to be a bit more of a smart alec but you get that from your dad, so i will let it slide when i can.

you did get grounded for the first time in your life this year. it was one of those moments that made me cry because i knew it wouldn't be the last.

you are starting to notice how you look. it is cute to watch you get dressed up in your cowboy shirts and boots and then ask dad to put gel in your hair. at times like that i think you are already 16.

i love the questions you ask me about God. you don't settle for glib so i have to stay on my toes. though at times i'm at a loss for a way to explain things to you in a way you understand, know that i want more than anything for you to KNOW God and who he has made you to be.

i love you William Austin Campbell. i can't wait for another year with you.

oh and so you don't forget, here is what you did on your birthday this year....

Will picked a bounce house for his birthday. and yes, he asked dad for some hair gel.

well you can't take normal pics at a place called "Going Apes"

Will with his best friend Damien

let the sliding and jumping begin

Will and Joshua

the boys awaiting the cake, birthday (which was Stars Wars for a second year in a row)

legos...all the boy wants...ever...

easing into death

2011-06-13T15:02:00.001+02:00

"ordinary men have not been so much in love with life as is usually supposed: small as their share of it is they have found it too much to bear without reducing a large portion of it as nearly to non-life as they can; we love drugs, sleep, irresponsibility, amusement, are more than half in love with easeful death." c.s. lewis

easeful death. those two words have been haunting me for weeks. if you didn't get a bit of a shiver when you read the above quote then you didn't read it carefully enough. read it again. i dare you.

when have we reduced life to easeful death?

if i'm honest, i often equate life with happiness. when i am throwing a football on the beach or hiking into a canyon or playing with my kids (when they aren't fighting) or having a great conversation with an intimate friend, then i'm living. i sit back in my chair, take a deep breath and feel a sort of satisfaction that says "this is what life is all about." i feel awake, stimulated, alive. the opposite is true when i am unhappy. if my relationships are a struggle, if my kids are driving me insane, if i'm bored, then i feel like i'm not living, like something is missing. in those moments, i do my best to discern why i'm not happy and then go about making whatever adjustments are needed to fix the problem.

sound familiar? i'm guaranteed the pursuit of happiness, right? but what if happiness doesn't equal life?

i don't like pain. do you? i guess there are some wackos out there that relish a bit of physical or emotional pain but not me. i don't like to hurt or feel bad or be unhappy. to avoid anything that resembles pain, i self-medicate usually in the form of distraction or entertainment. no i'm not one to turn to drugs but many things can intoxicate us apart from a pill or bottle. maybe i sit in front of the tv for hours or play a game or read a book. maybe i put my headphones on and blast music through my ears so i can drown out my thoughts. maybe i surround myself with chatter so that i can forget for a moment that i am hurting. in those moments, when i'm avoiding pain or disappointment or disillusionment, i am not living. i have surrendered myself to easeful death.

the truth is i am most alive when i am in touch with my pain and longings. when i'm not "using" to try and cover up my pain, i know the truth: relationships are sometimes painful; life is often hard; people disappoint; dreams die; sin wounds; i fail. life is a messy combination of pain and joy, love and loss, hope and disappointment. pain grows me, strengthens me, deepens my character, increases my love, extends my compassion and points me to the only one who can fill up my emptiness. to submit to easeful death is to miss this transformation and the only One who can bring it about.

i'm worried about my country, my friends, my family, myself. we are so addicted to entertainment and distraction and busyness that we are lulling ourselves to sleep. this is as true inside the church as outside. we don't know our own hearts because we won't be still enough to listen to them. we pursue God and religion as yet another way to be happy, thus using Him and treating him as the ultimate drug. we waste our time in senseless conversation because we are too afraid to be known. we commit ourselves to individualism (read narcissism) because we don't want the accountability that comes with living in community. we pursue success however we define it because we need to feel that we matter, that we have purpose, that something we put our hands to will last.

in trying to live, we are dying.

the real stuff of life is risky and painful. i don't want to walk through life asleep or anesthetized. i'm tired of avoiding and using. i want to embrace life in all its thorny wonder. i want to turn my face towards Him whether it is with tears flowing down my cheeks or a chuckle in my throat. no more of this easeful death for me.

marshmallow art and eternity

2011-05-30T15:40:00.008+02:00

wyatt had a meltdown last night. i would like to say that type of occurrence is unusual for my passionate 5 year-old but it isn't. my little man's feelings are explosive, leaving little doubt for anyone within a 10 mile radius of what is coursing through his heart and mind. he is a mountain storm, quickly drenching those around him with either great joy or great _______.

last night the eruption took place over marshmallow art. to celebrate his 100th day in school, wyatt had to find 100 of something and glue it to a paper. wyatt chose marshmallows. he diligently glued them on, took it to school and proudly displayed his rather albino-esk masterpiece in the hallway of his school. after a few weeks it came home and wyatt promptly taped it to his bedroom wall. since that time, marshmallows have been gradually disappearing. i can't say where they have gone as i have never found one while cleaning or vacuuming. the thought that my children may have been snacking on the 2 month old art project forced me into declaring that it was time for said project to go to its final resting place--the trash.

wyatt looked at me with his big brown eyes, lips quivering and asked for clemency. i shook my head negatively. it was time. i told them they could do whatever they wanted with it before burying it, anything but eat it that is, and they both heartily agreed. it wasn't until after it had been smashed and nearly obliterated that wyatt's eyes began to well up with tears. while humming the tune of star wars under his breath, wyatt carried his marshmallow art to the trash and threw it in.

then came the explosion.

"MY MARSHMALLOW ART.....I DON'T WANT IT TO LEAVE. I WANT IT TO BE WITH ME FOREVER......."

this went on, in varying degrees, for an hour.

i just held my little boy while he cried. i understood. i had been very similar as a kid, getting attached to inanimate objects and grieving their departure. my mom and i even had an ongoing battle over a pair of jeans when i was wyatt's age. she kept putting them in the trash and i kept digging them out and hiding them. grief is grief and i wasn't about to belittle his.

while holding my sobbing child, something awakened in me. i felt a stirring and this thought rose to my consciousness: we are created with a desire for things to last. underneath the marshmallow mourning, there was something in my child that was crying out for eternity. instinctively he knew that we were fashioned by an eternal hand and given an eternal soul, making the desire for things to last as natural as breath itself.

the world is broken and dying. people are broken and dying. yet something in us reaches and grasps for eternity. we long and ache for love that will never die, for fame that will stand the test of time, for a legacy that will endure. this longing is the image of God in us. eternal God made eternal beings who grasp for eternity. the grief of loss we feel on this side of eternity points to that reality. we were made for another place.

after wyatt calmed down a bit, i opened my bible and read this to him. "then i saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth passed away...and i heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'behold, the tabernacle of God is among men, and He will dwell among them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself will be among them, and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will be no longer ANY death; there will be no longer any mourning, or crying or pain; the first things have passed away." (rev. 21:1-4)

someday things will last wyatt. someday.

i know it was just marshmallow art but there is a part of me that believes Jesus hung that on the wall in wyatt's mansion. it just sounds like something He would do.

what is your passion?

2011-05-27T14:52:00.003+02:00

ok, so i'm going to do something a bit different on today's post. i don't think i have ever done this before so it should be fun. i'm going to warn you though. this is a PARTICIPATORY post. now you know since i used caps, and i never use caps, that this is an important element. no more "i'm going to read but not comment" stuff from you guys.

a couple of weeks ago a truly great friend posted a link to an article on her fb about finding your passion. since she never recommends stuff like this, i figured it had to be super good. (can you tell i'm spending lots of time with my kids?) i was right. it was super duper good. the article basically gives three easy steps to discerning your passion. the author, mary demuth, also gives some reasons why we don't pursue our passion. here is her article.....(uhmmm, i'm not sure if this violates any copyright stuff so let me give the link to just cover my bases.)

finding your passion by Mary DeMuth

as a book mentor, I’ve read plenty of passionless prose. And as a fellow pilgrim, I’ve listened to many people who shyly look away when I ask them what their passion is. Why is that? I have a hunch that many of us have a hard time identifying our passion. Why? Several reasons:

Our insecurities define us more than our hidden, suppressed dreams.
We are afraid to boast.
We see the vastness of the world and feel insignificant or overwhelmed to make a difference.
We feel it’s selfish to become introspective.
We’re extremely busy maintaining an overbooked life and don’t have time to reconsider why we’re working ourselves to death.
We think it’s wrong to do what we love.
We feel the sting of rejection the last time we tried operating in our passion, and we’ve let that rejection scare us.
We are afraid if we identify it, we’ll have to do something, to act on it (and that means risking failure).
Which excuses resonate with you? Why?

I don’t write this to impugn, though. I write this to entice and instruct. You can find your passion. In fact, you will find it. Here are three simple steps.

Where does need and joy collide? Theologian Frederick Buechner wrote this: “Vocation is where our greatest passion meets the world’s greatest need.” I would add to that: our ministry is the intersection of our passion and the world’s greatest need. One way to determine your passion, though, is discovering what you believe to be the world’s greatest need. The passion flows from that. For instance, I believe the world’s greatest need is to heal from the past to live freely today. My passion is to write in such a way that I can help people live free.

So, what is the world’s greatest need, according to you? What you hope to do about that gets at your passion.

Do the three-movie exercise. One of the favorite things I do with groups is to do this exercise I learned about on a writer’s loop. Without thinking too much, list your three favorite movies. Here are three of mine:

Star Wars
Lord of the Rings
To Kill a Mockingbird

Now, examine those three movies and determine the common thread that runs through each.

Mine? Outcasts who overcome their past to absolutely change the world.

This statement closely resembles (if not mimics) your passion in this life. Try it. You’ll be stunned at how closely the thread hints at your passion.

Ask others about “one thing.” When I struggled to find my passion, I knew I was too close to myself to identify it. So I emailed several of my friends and posted on my Facebook wall this question: “What is my one thing?” Though I received tons of responses (thankfully), I was surprised at how very similar the responses were. I know this might seem awkward or self-serving, but I found that people were much more open to my request than I initially believed they would be. And they were entirely insightful. Take a risk and ask. What can it hurt?

Your “one thing” answers will strongly indicate your passion.

A final thought: Once you’ve identified your passion, you can begin to reorient your life around it. You can make difficult decisions in order to do the thing God has uniquely created you to do. Just think of how the Kingdom of God would explode if we dared to live from our passion!

ok, this is mentanna again. wasn't that great? i want to hear from you guys? tell me your one thing. or your three favorite movies and the common theme that runs through them. what is your passion? what holds you back? i want to know!

here i will start.

a few of my favorite movies are....

dead poet's society
the king's speech
pride and prejudice

for me the common theme is the power of relationship to bring about change.

i think the world's greatest need is to become. here is what i mean. i believe that God created each one of us to be someone incredibly unique. our experiences, our woundedness and our sin all prevent us from becoming that person. i want to see people set free. i want people to come to know Christ, experience a true taste of life, and then begin the process of becoming who He always intended them to be. relationship with God and others makes that transformation possible. my passion is to interact with people in such a way, either relationally or even here on this blog, that they become who God created for them to be.

now for the honest part--uhmmm clear throat--the reason i don't pursue my passion as fully as i want to sometimes is because i let the dastardly tag team of fear and insecurity stop me. what if i'm not good enough? what if i'm on the wrong track? what if i fail?

so that's me. your turn. what is your passion?

my rare condition

2011-05-16T20:33:00.007+02:00

it starts with a twinge in my subconscious, a needling restlessness. something is amiss. something is stirring. then comes the period of intermittent distraction. i often misdiagnose this stage of my condition with fatigue but when it persists even after a couple of good nights rest then i know my old nemesis has reared its ugly head. it is then that the symptoms become more pronounced--a panicked look in the eye, a wistful expression on my face, dreams of far off places dancing in my head. unable to control it any longer, i give in and the ache hits me like a punch in the gut.

i have been diagnosed with get-out-of-dodge-itis, a rare condition affecting about 2% of the population. if you feel the need to go, to see something new, to hear something different, to taste something succulent--in other words to travel--then you probably have it too. welcome to my restless little world.

my condition flared up recently and thankfully it hit around my birthday so i could, without guilt, ask for a weekend away as my present. i knew what i wanted to do. i just wasn't sure of the where. in my head i saw a small, log cabin surrounded by trees. solitude. quiet. the only sounds being birds chirping and the wind rustling. i wanted to walk on dirt paths and explore bugs and branches with my three men. nature was calling and i was incapable of resisting.

so to celebrate my 41st birthday, i packed up the family and off we went to a little cabin outside of broken bow, oklahoma. it was divine, everything i was hoping it to be. here take a look....

our swing out by the fire pit was one of the boys favorite spots.

Will kept asking me to tell scary stories. uhhhh. yeah. he had to learn really quickly that his mom 1) doesn't know any scary stories and 2) doesn't like scary stories.

the first thing Will said when we got to the cabin was, "mom can we go explore the woods?" exactly the response i was looking for.

we went on a hike that was supposed to take about an hour and took almost 3. one must take time to throw rocks in the water, look at interesting bugs and climb every rock one sees.

wyatt hummed the entire time, a sure sign of complete and total wyatt-happiness.

scott rolled his eyes at first when i mentioned getting away for the weekend but he came around quickly. i think he needed a shot of nature too!

one of the many rock formations that needed climbing.

my little man.

uhmmm adorable.

him too.

every cowpoke needs a little rest...and some doritos.

we rented a canoe and explored the river. scott had fun until he realized that i had brought the camera along! we saw ducks, turtles and cranes. very cool indeed. and no, we didn't tip over. geez scott, always worrying for nothing....

our cabin was well guarded while we were away!

we had a blast. the only downside was the trip was too short. oh well. there's always next year.

happy birthday to me!

thoughts on 41

2011-05-11T15:11:00.004+02:00

(warning this post is completely unedited and the mere ramblings of an old woman.)

so i'm sitting here trying to figure out how i feel about being 41.

41. 41. 41.

nope. nothing. it really isn't penetrating. i don't feel 41. i don't feel old or middle aged. i don't think i look 41. oh or maybe i should actually put my contacts in before i look at myself in the mirror. nah. i'll keep squinting. hard to see wrinkles or gray hair through narrow slits.

i think the overwhelming thing i am feeling this morning is normal... which for me is abnormal.

last year i made a big production of turning 40. i spent months preparing. i went vegetarian for a month. i put myself on a rigid workout program. i studied the number 40 in the bible. i celebrated in unusual, symbolic ways for weeks. turning 40 really was a milestone for me both emotionally and spiritually.

now i'm 41 and the only words coming to mind are "big deal." i don't say that with anger or resentment or even boredom. it just really isn't a big deal.

maybe this sentiment is fitting. this year has been about normalizing for me. this summer will mark a year since our decision to stay in the States. initially i was as up and down emotionally as a toddler learning to walk. lately i have been evening out, getting my feet underneath me, feeling like my legs will actually hold me.

normal. i'm living a normal life, in a normal house in a normal neighborhood with a normal family.

i use to fear normal. i'm drawn to adventure, to different, to unusual. part of that attraction was out of a natural desire to experience new things, visit new places and meet interesting new people. but if i'm honest, part of it was to define me. i was the girl with the unusual name who lived an unusual life. mentanna lives in france. mentanna spent her 39th birthday in venice. mentanna speaks french. ooohhhhhh doesn't all that sound interesting and cool? or does it just sound pretentious and obnoxious?

truth is i'm just me. when you take off all the layers of my carefully constructed image, you find just little old me. instead of being frightening, it is freeing. i don't have to pretend. i don't have to make myself sound more important that i am. i don't have to be what i think you want me to be. i can just sit back, breathe and be myself. granted that can feel messy or uncomfortable sometimes, as vulnerability often is, but at least it is real. no substitutes. no filler. no flashy lures to distract you from the real person.

lest i sound all pop psychological, let me say this. i'm not talking about finding myself in the typical, secular definition of the term. i'm talking about becoming, that process described in the bible as transformation. God made me unique, unlike any other daughter he created and i have spent a lifetime muddling that up. his vision for me and who i could be in him was very different from mine. it just took me awhile to believe that his was the better one.

becoming like him and in the process becoming more myself, that is normative in the life of the kingdom. so i guess being normal and feeling normal isn't such a bad thing after all.

so i'm 41.

and just so you know that doesn't mean that i won't drag out this celebration for a good month at least. some things never change....

sharing a smile

2011-05-04T14:50:00.014+02:00

my kids have really been making me smile lately. cute things they say. funny things they do. so will you indulge me for a moment and allow me to share some of my smiles with you?

my little warriors always on the attack.

Will bravely got his first stitches after an unfortunate slip at the splash pad. (obviously i smiled because he was brave not because he got hurt. what kind of mom do you think i am?)

taking a pirate and a cowboy to Target brought a smile to lots of people's faces!

i finally gave in and bought the boys real cowboy hats. i think they do them justice.

and here is my favorite. i caught the boys in mid song....

ok, admit it. you smiled too, didn't you?

safe?

2011-04-27T14:26:00.004+02:00

in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, where i live, there is a christian radio station that is very well known. it is one of THE stations in the area. it has ads all over town, big billboards, space in the newspaper, that kind of thing. everyone knows their call letters and everyone knows their slogan. want to hear it?

"safe for the whole family."

yep that's it and every time i hear it or read it or see it, i cringe.

the implication is that this is the one station that anyone of any age can listen to and be sure that they will not hear vulgarity, inappropriate lyrics, or raunchy banter between those on the morning team. if you tune into this station, you can be guaranteed a G-rated experience. no need for discernment here. you can't just sit back, relax and be assured that you are in no way being corrupted. it is safe for the entire family.

they spend thousands of dollars, not promoting that their station celebrates Christ, but rather that you won't be harmed spiritually in any way if you tune in.

safety. it is one of the highest unspoken values of the evangelical subculture. in a world where the current of culture is rapidly flowing towards a post-modern secularism, the church is scared to death. our once respected institution has been dismissed in many ways as irrelevant or even worse as belligerent and is now looked upon by the outside world with more skepticism than respect. we are losing our voice, our impact and the simplest solution appears to be retreat. instead of engaging the culture in more appropriate and relevant ways, we are fleeing to the hills, contenting ourselves with the safety we experience within the shelter of the church walls.

do you disagree? oh there are always exceptions, i give you that. but let me ask you this. what drives churches to organize their own fall festivals or sport's leagues? why do churches seem intent on filling up your social schedule? why do we have the shepherd's guide and church schools? could it be in part because this would prevent us from actually having to participate in the world around us with others who may believe differently or not at all? don't these activities and programs protect us from the messiness of the world around us? isn't total immersion in a church culture just a little bit safer?

one step at a time, we pull away and withdraw. granted this retreat might make some things in life easier. we might struggle less, get offended less often, and resist temptation more often but the payoff is costly. we cease being light in darkness. we become like the survivors of the Titanic who had room in their lifeboats but feared their own safety so much that they let others drown all around them.

i wonder what this world would have been like if Jesus had been concerned about safety. think about it.

what if Jesus hadn't hung around prostitutes because he was afraid of his testimony being compromised?
what if Jesus hadn't touched lepers because he was afraid of his own skin falling off?
what if Jesus hadn't taught women because he was afraid of being ostracized by the shakers and movers in his own ethnic religion?
what if Jesus hadn't overturned the tables in the temple to insist that greed be divorced from faith?
what if Jesus hadn't hung out in the taverns and homes of the undesirables because he was afraid that the religious would think he was a party animal?
what if Jesus had just holed up in a cave, led bible studies with his faithful 12 and never taught the crowds the life changing message of the kingdom?
what if Jesus hadn't approached the naked woman caught in adultery and extended his offer of grace and forgiveness for fear that others would accuse him of sexual indecency?
what if Jesus had just walked away from the cross?
what if Jesus had taken a safer route?

no, there was nothing "safe" about Jesus.

if safety wasn't on Jesus's agenda why is it on ours?

the gospel is radical. embracing it means taking risks, getting messy. we will be exposed to death and darkness. we will see and hear things that cause us to shutter. but we will never, never run away and we will never, never give up. rather we press forward. we engage with a hurting world. we realize that we have been forgiven and infused with life and we risk everything to share it with others. we put aside our selfish desires for comfort and convenience and we embrace a love that propels us into lives that are broken and hurting. like Jesus we weep over lostness instead of judging and condemning it. like Jesus, we turn a deaf ear to those legalists whose only concern is their own self-righteousness.

i don't want to be safe. safety is for those that have something to fear and everything to lose.

the truth is if we really start living our lives the way that the Jesus who is sung about on said station did then we would be anything but safe. maybe their slogan should be "radical and unsafe for the whole family."

the lifestyle list

2011-04-20T15:09:00.007+02:00

what does it mean to have a lifestyle that reflects a God-centered, biblically grounded worldview? this is my question for us today. too heavy? well grab a cup of coffee, sit down and think about it with me.

while searching the site of a well-known christian institution, which shall remain nameless, i came across their "lifestyle" statement. to attend said institution, one must sign their consent to abide by certain "biblical standards of conduct." intrigued by what would be included in such a list, i read on and found myself totally flabbergasted. the list consisted of only two requirements. here they are and in the order they were listed....

to abstain from the use of tobacco and alcoholic beverages.
to abstain from sex outside of marriage.

does anyone else get a little uncomfortable with this being the "lifestyle" list for a Christ follower?

I have no issue with number two. Sexual purity is a moral law we see recurring throughout scripture. though we believers fail miserably at times in this area, there is no question that God's ideal for sexual relations is found within the bounds of marriage.

but the first one? really? instead of practicing love, honesty, service, faithfulness, kindness, generosity, compassion, and mercy we are going to make folks commit to abstaining from alcohol? does this somehow distinguish me as a Christian, that i don't drink beer with my pizza?

remind me again where in the Bible i might find this interdiction?

now let me say that i affirm those who have chosen to abstain from alcohol. there are many good reasons to never take a drink. some come from a family where alcohol was abused. others have abused it themselves and wisely stay away. alcohol has caused much havoc in our culture, families and individual lives. if you come up to me and say "i have chosen not to drink," you will get a pat on the back from me.

just don't tell me that the bible dictates that we all must have the same conviction.

as "people of the Book" we are dogmatic about many things and should be. preach the virgin birth, the incarnation, the resurrection. preach that salvation is by faith through Christ alone. on all these tenets you will get a loud amen from me. but when you start beating that book just as vehemently for abstaining from alcohol and tobacco then you will hear nothing but silence from me in return.

i believe scripture encourages all of us to not be controlled by anyone or anything other than Christ. "be not drunk with wine, but be filled with the Spirit." that is the command.

so why do we beat the "no alcohol" drum to death? could it be because we want to deflect attention away from all the other pesky habits that are really controlling us? and let's admit it, we are controlled by many things other than God. for instance, we may be addicted to success and allow it to determine every decision we make. or maybe it is a desire to be loved or admired that drives us. perhaps our own pride and selfishness are the captains of our souls. or how about this pushed under the carpet problem that is literally killing us--obesity.

it is interesting to me that the number two cause of preventable death in this country, obesity, didn't make the lifestyle list. gluttony is a sin according to the bible yet 60 million people in this country are obese. please hear my heart! i'm not condemning those who really struggle with their weight. i am fully aware that obesity is a result of complex issues both emotionally and physically. my heart breaks for those i love who struggle in this area. my point is that while the church is obsessing over what her parishioners are drinking, she is completely silent on what they are eating. the reality is that an occasional glass of wine with dinner won't kill me but the deep fried shrimp platter i'm eating might.

our lifestyles are to flow out of our relationship with God. Jesus has always been more concerned with the things that come out of our heart than the things that we put into our mouth. i want to be moderate in all things so that i steward well the body he has given me, so that i am alert and aware of His presence at all times, so that the world around me can have a better picture of who God is. my earnest desire is that the lifestyle i exhibit is one of joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness and self-control. i want the world to know who i belong to because of the love i have for Him and others, not because i don't drink wine with my dinner. this is the lifestyle standard the bible calls us to. this is the life that is abundant and life-giving.

consume moderately, love liberally. now that sounds like a lifestyle agreement i could sign.

taking off the gloves

2011-04-07T15:31:00.002+02:00

i pushed my way through the ring of jostling bodies. a gathering of elementary school kids in this formation at recess could only mean one thing--a fight. when i got to a place where i could see, i was surprised to see a 3rd grade boy picking on a 2nd grade girl. she looked terrified and he looked mean. i asked a fellow 2nd grader standing next to me what had happened and he just shrugged, never once tearing his eyes away from the drama unfolding before us.

it was then i felt it. something in me began to boil. i knew i had to DO something.

i shoved my way to the center of the ring and without a word pushed the bully away.

HIT HER! HIT HER!

what? where they talking about me? hit me?! but i was the savior, the hero.....

i don't know if i said something brave. i don't even remember if i put my fists up. all i remember is the incredibly stinging sensation that came when he hit me in the nose. my eyes immediately began to water and i stood there stunned. i wasn't surprised that he actually hit me. i was surprised that it hurt as much as it did.

that day i did something i would never do again, i walked away.

i'm a fighter. always have been. my dad taught me at an early age how to throw a punch. he sealed his training with a promise never to punish me for defending myself in a fight. i learned from my self-made dad that you have to fight for what you want and sometimes you are called to fight to protect what is yours. i never heard the word "flight" come out of his mouth. and the word "surrender", well, that was reserved for all the french jokes he would send me years later. the message was clear, in the face of adversity, you harness everything you have and fight.

i'm a big girl now. i don't go around trying to solve my problems by hitting people in the nose, though i have been tempted a time or two. yet one thing hasn't changed, when things get tough, when hard times come, the fighter in me gets her dukes up.

i've been fighting a lot lately. fighting this season of life, where i am and why i am here. fighting my attitude. fighting my emotions. fighting against a dark cloud that seems to appear way too often on my horizon.

i'm exhausted. i'm expending lots of energy. throwing lots of punches. doing lots of dances and getting absolutely nothing accomplished.

in the midst of all my swinging, i'm hearing a voice whisper to me something that is completely counter intuitive.

surrender. stop fighting. this battle is mine. trust me.

what? stop fighting? put my dukes down? what if i get punched in the nose? or worse, what if i get knocked out? i already know what that feels like and i don't like it one bit. at least if i fight i can help to dictate the outcome....i can protect myself...i can...i can...i can....

wait a minute. is this fighting really just about me maintaining control, trying to be the captain of my own fate, trying to be my own savior and hero?

"my grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness."

as much as i don't like it, it seems to be true that life in the Spirit is more about giving up than bowing up.

"most gladly therefore i will rather boast about my weaknesses so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. therefore i am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when i am weak then i am strong."

this panhandle girl has a lot to learn. there is a true savior who is just waiting to stand up to the bully but i have to get out of the way first. i can put my fists down. i can stop fighting. i can embrace my weakness and exchange it for his strength. the battle may not end right away, the outcome may not be what i think best in my limited understanding but one thing is sure, he won't walk away. he will deliver the knockout punch. eventually.

my french fried manifesto

2011-03-28T15:59:00.004+02:00

context changes people's perspective of you. when i lived in france, i was perceived as a bit backward thinking, too conservative both socially and spiritually. i dressed too casually, talked too loudly and ate "n'importe quoi". (let's just say that american culinary habits are not well respected around the world.) when i moved back to texas i was just as suspect. my modified worldview was suspicious to many. did i become a socialist like the frenchies? and what was with all the posts questioning the american church and her methods? my impatience at noise and the continual flurry of activity in american culture was noticed by those closest to me. i know many wondered just what had become of me....

all that to say i get eye rolls in two different cultures. i get skeptically questioned in two different languages. apparently i not only confuse myself but others as well.

so just who am i? who is this crazy french fried texan? maybe this will help.

my french fried texan manifesto

i will not wear makeup everyday and if i do it will be so minimal that you will probably question whether i put it on or not. (sorry Dre.)
i will try and shave regularly but to be honest, sometimes i will forget or just not bother because deep down i really don't think it is very important.
i will not wear a watch.
i will not wear shoes if i don't have to especially in my house.
i will buy organic whenever and wherever possible. and yes, that includes organic mustard!
i will plant a garden and buy local when possible.
if i ever get a chance to own a home, i will compost and possibly have my own chicken.
i will recycle and buy recycled products even if they cost a bit more.
i will get pissed off if you don't recycle.
i will let conviction be what drives my decision making, not price or convenience.
i will preach good stewardship of this planet not because of any green agenda but because it is a sacred trust given to us by our creator God.
i will choose comfort over fashion most days and will trust that my one dress will suffice for most of my formal wear needs.
i will crusade for life both in the womb and in the prison cell. cause let's face it. if God can redeem my heart, He can redeem anyone's.
i will stress personal responsibility but will give liberally as over 2000 verses in the Bible encourage me to do.
i will turn off the TV if a friend shows up on my doorstep.
i will lead a crusade against this insane obsession with putting TV screens everywhere!
i will ask "what do i need" before i ask "what do i want."
i will choose deep, soul stirring conversation over light chit chat every time.
i will hold time around a table with good food and good friends as sacred.
i will enjoy beauty daily.
i will love God and talk about him because you can't really know me and not hear about Him.
i will fight against noise and activity in order to cultivate my soul and i will encourage you to do likewise.
i will continue to struggle with the church and what she should be. i will be wrong at times and hopefully i will humbly confess it.
i will admit that i'm blessed to be living in america.
i will admit that i'm blessed to have lived in france.

this is who i am. i'm not sure if that labels or stereotypes me. in your opinion i may be a neo-hippie, a tree hugger, a liberal or just a little crazy. maybe i am all the above. one thing is certain. i am a french-fried texan!

a call for prayer

2011-03-19T15:31:00.003+01:00

i grew up singing "i'm so glad i'm a part of the family of God." we would hold hands as we sang and everyone would look around with a smile on their face. we were a part of a special club and we knew it. this was our tribe complete with special language, customs and mores.

this idea of family isn't something we Christians made up. it comes from the sacred scriptures themselves. those who believe are referred to as children of God. by joining this mystical family we all become brothers and sisters in christ. He is the head of the family and we are the rugrats that run around his feet, sometimes playing, sometimes fighting.

i have seen the family come together this week.

one of my sisters is gena wilson. i met her over 10 years ago in rainy england. scott and i had been recruited to participate in a summer youth program outside of london for a three week time period and she was helping out too. you can't be in a room with gena and not notice her. she is the kind of person who loves life in an infectious way. her laughter, her humor, her passion for God pour out of who she is and draws you towards her whether you want to be drawn or not. the first night that we stayed up laughing till we cried while driving around suburban england, i knew that we would be friends for life.

since that time, Gena and i have made it a point to carve out time for each other which wasn't easy seeing as she lived in scotland and i lived in france. i waddled her way about 3 months before giving birth one year. i just needed space and calm air to breathe and Gena made that happen. she came for her 35th birthday to Paris cause she wanted to party. and that's just what we did. i'm proud to say that she left with a tattoo designed by yours truly. (aren't you glad you didn't get those asian characters?) we have hiked together. we have slept out under the stars awaiting wimbledon tickets together. we have pondered life overseas together. we have dissected our dreams together. we have prayed together. we have hoped and longed for together.

gena is family.

i know i don't often spotlight people on my blog. i'm doing so for a reason today. my lassie, gena, is in the hospital. she has been for over a week now. i want you to pray for her. i only wish i could have gotten this post together days ago.

gena came to visit. she is in the states for 6 months to finish her degree. while here she started having back pain. the docs, both of them, said it was lower back, muscle spasms so for two weeks she hobbled around and took pain meds. it got worse. finally she was taken to the ER here in ft. worth. after an MRI, the docs found a mass on her spine. on wed, they operated to remove it. currently, she is in the ICU recovering. they did discover that the mass was malignant but the doc feels confident that she got it all. scans of the rest of her body are absent of other masses. it seems that the cancer was contained.

i ask that you pray for my friend. she still has a long road ahead. she will be in ft. worth for a couple more weeks before she can head home. she will have rehab, physical therapy and some radiation treatments in the weeks to come. she needs the support of our prayers.

thanks family. i appreciate it. i really do.

pulling weeds

2011-03-07T16:32:00.005+01:00

as a kid, i spent way too many summers working in the yard. i have only my mom to thank for that--and when i say thank i mean blame. my mom is extremely artistic, especially talented at designing and decorating. yeah, i know, we couldn't be more different. the thing with mom was she always had to change things up, rearrange, redecorate, reinvent our living spaces. this was true even or our landscaping. it seemed that she could never make up her mind as to how she wanted our front yard to look.

one summer she decided that grass was boring, too conventional, so she came up with the idea of putting in ground cover. do you know what ground cover is and how hard it is to plant? i didn't think so. ground cover is a trillion teeny tiny plants joining forces to look like one solid mass of flowering greenery. to get the desired effect, you literally have to plant a trillion of them. it is back-breaking, tedious work as my sister and i discovered that summer. it took hours. it took days. in the 100 degree texas heat.

the next summer she decided that she was going to take out the ground cover--it had been more difficult for her to maintain than she had planned-- and put in rocks. again my sister and i were commissioned--read forced--into helping pull out everyone of those trillion plants we had planted the summer before. back on our knees we went. it took hours. it took days. in the 100 degree texas heat.

the next summer--no i'm not kidding you--my lovely mother decided that she wanted to go back to grass, return our yard to its natural state. you guessed it. dre and i were forced into child labor yet again to remove rocks and get the ground ready to be replanted with grass. say it with me...it took hours. it took days. in the 100 degree texas heat.

my mom's need for variety really screwed up my summers. (love you mom!)

i learned a lot about roots those summers, on my knees, in 100 degree texas heat. planting is all about getting the roots securely in the soil and weeding is all about uprooting them. cause we all know that if you don't get to the root of a weed, it will just grow back stronger. you gotta grab that thing by the thickest part of the stalk and carefully, yet forcefully, pull and tug until you get the entire root. to remove just what is on the surface is a waste of time.

can i be honest with you and say that i'm having a hard time planting and weeding?

like my mom, i have an inner need for variety. i need to shake it up every now and then. i like to move. i like the challenge of a new landscape. i don't mind uprooting and trying out new soil. my heart likes to wander, to journey, and to explore.

yet here i am, being asked to plant, to take root in a place and i find myself fighting against it. what if i plant something here and then can't pull up the roots? what if i have to stick with ground cover the rest of my life? will i be happy with it? will i always wish i had stuck with grass?

i'm realizing that part of the reason i'm having trouble planting is because i haven't weeded yet. my soil has some junk in it. there is pride, the side of me that wants to clinch my fist, stomp my foot and demand my way. then there is distrust, the fear that His plans for me really aren't good or in my best interest.

hellish weeds the both of them.

as my mom would tell you, you can't plant something new till you get rid of the old. so i'm weeding. i'm repenting of my pride and distrust. in the place of those stinky old weeds, He is planting humility and faith, the kind of soil that is rich for growth.

i know many of you can't identify with my vagabond dysfunction. or maybe you can. maybe you feel stuck somewhere. maybe you want to plant grass but don't have the money to get rid of the ground cover. maybe you live with rocks but always dreamt of grass. whatever your situation, i'm sure there are some weeds to be pulled. so get on your knees, endure a bit of heat and rip those suckers out.

if there is anything else i learned from those summers in the hot texas sun, it is that 4 hands are better than 2. let's help each other maintain the soil, shall we?

the baguette nazi

2011-02-28T01:41:00.002+01:00

seinfeld brought to us the wonderful character of the soup nazi. he was mean, abusive even, and would definitely not win any customer service awards. we all found him so funny because most of us know someone exactly like him. i know i did. my soup nazi was a bread nazi and she lived in Nanterre, France.

one of the great things about living in France is the fresh baked bread and pastries. twice a day around 6 am and 4 pm, the entire country is flooded with the irrestabile aroma of fresh baked baguette. it is the french call to prayer, the compelling that draws every man, woman and child into their local boulangerie (bakery shop) to pick up the night's portion of bread. and friend, if you happen to be one of the fortunate ones who gets a baguette fresh out of the oven, one that is almost too hot to hold in your hand, i can promise you that it won't make it home. try as you might, you will eat every last bit of it before you open your front door, even if all you had to do was cross the street. they are just that good.

great. now i'm distracted. all i can think about is fresh baked baguette.

oh yeah, the bread nazi.

in our first home in france, a suburb just outside of Paris called Nanterre, our closest boulangerie was next to the metro station. it was owned and operated by the meanest, scariest looking french woman i have ever met. she was small and stout and had a gigantic nose that covered so much of her face that her eyes looked like they had shrunk in order to accommodate it. her hair, in obvious rebellion, exploded from her head in a million different, frizzy directions. as far as the overall ambiance of the bakery, i would describe it as hostile. she had the wonderful gift of making everyone feel like an intrusion.

now, you "customer is king" americans may be asking why we would put up with such rude behavior. well the answer is simple. they were the best baguettes you have ever tasted in your life. it was worth her abuse to eat her baguette.

our main issue with the baguette nazi was our inability to speak french. we had just landed, unpacked our bags and started french classes when we met the beast. our first attempts to order in french were met with a snarl and an irritated stare. she would look offended that we had even tried to speak her language and then send us on our way mumbling something unintelligible under her breath. (well let's face it, it was probably intelligible, we just didn't know what she was saying.) scott and i learned very early on to never cross her threshold without being fully prepared. we would practice the french necessary to order. we would have exact change in hand. we would do everything possible to avoid the wrath of the bread nazi.

then there was that one fateful saturday.

in newbie fashion, we had arisen early one saturday morning to visit some fascinating Parisian site. we were so eager to get going that we decided to forgo breakfast at home and grab an amazing french creation called un pain au chocolat (think chocolate croissant type pastry) on the way. this required a trip to the bread nazi. when we arrived, we found a really long line of people waiting to be served. boulanger nazi was in a frantic state, darting around snapping at people like a starved piranha. a bit sleepy and lost in thought, i was caught off guard when she asked me what i wanted. suddenly i felt indecisive. did i want a choco suisse or a pain au chocolat? impatience was radiating off her so in a moment of rashness, i ordered both.

oh crap! what had i done? this went against practiced protocall! i had acted hastily and now had no idea how much our order would cost. there was no register to indicate the amount. she wouldn't hand us a receipt with the numbers printed as clear as day on it. nope. i would actually have to understand what she said to me.

time stopped. everything went into slow motion. everything that is except her french.

"dkfjkasdjgkldsjghioaghoignngnangaoi" she barked.

"pardonne? parlez-vous plus doucement, s'il vous plait." (excuse me? please speak slower.) i said with a stutter.

"ksadjflkadjgkjdsgiagiagjpba bhfoghagioauru ghadfpdfih," she growled, her angry fish teeth snapping at us.

scott and i looked at each other in a panic. we froze. the money was in our hands, the food was on the counter and we had no idea how much we owed.

"kdfjklajgkajpgugianingiajigjagj" she roared, gesticulating wildly.

finally from the back of the line, some bilingual frenchman took pity on us and yelled in english. "she wants 42 francs."

with a grateful glance at our french savior, we handed our money to the now enraged nazi, grabbed our pastries, bowed our heads and took the walk of shame out of the shop. it was not our finest moment.

it took me a couple of weeks to find my courage to go back in there after that. i did though. baguettes are an addiction and no one stays clean for long.

about six months after the infamous baguette incident of '99, i walked into the nazi's shop alone. no one was there except the two of us. she took one look at me and broke out into the biggest smile i had ever seen. she began asking me where i was from and why i was there. for the next 10 minutes we had the most pleasant little conversation. (yes it was little. i still didn't know much french.) i walked away that day baffled but pleased. from that moment on, the bread nazi and i were besties. she smiled when she served us and even started speaking more slowly. who would have ever thought?

guess what dear reader? i have no spiritual principle for you. no point. no moral. no musings on life. so why am i telling you this? i'm missing my french home a bit and somehow writing about it has helped relieve the ache.

i'm so gonna be that old lady that who starts every conversation with "did i ever tell you about the time..."

here's to caring

2011-02-21T17:20:00.003+01:00

"if a writer is so cautious that he never writes anything that cannot be criticized, he will never write anything that can be read." thomas merton

i have been the target of some criticism in recent days. for those of you not in the know, my post entitled "a letter" was reprinted on the online version of Relevant magazine. a friend and fellow blogger (here's a shout out to you Jason!) highlighted my letter on his blog and thanks to that guest appearance i was approached by an editor from Relevant. i was thrilled. this post, which had been online for a few weeks, had already attracted some attention. what i thought was just a typical musing on my part had been embraced by a larger community as a testimony of their own experience. we bloggers always get a bit excited when that happens.

after it went online, i followed with interest the comments and discussions happening directly on the site. (for those of you who aren't familiar with Relevant, the articles have a comment section much like a blog.) at first i wasn't sure if i was supposed to interact with the commenters. were readers expecting me to address them directly? i quickly realized that if i did so all i would be doing was defending and justifying. and let's face it, who wants to do that? more importantly, who wants to read that? so i sat back and took on the role of spectator. i listened as readers sorted through my arguments applauding what they liked and criticizing what they didn't.

if anything about the responses caught me off guard it was the disapproval expressed by many that i was critiquing the church at all. apparently there is an entire group of believers out there that think to say anything critical of the church, even if done in a loving manner with redemptive goals in mind, is wrong. i was accused of being a griper, a consumer and a narcissist. these people were wearied of all the negative talk about the church and just wanted it to stop. i have to say, this attitude has caused me to pause and reflect a bit.

i have been out of the country for a decade. i have missed many a trend in the evangelical culture. for years i didn't know what the best selling books were or who was the hottest teacher on the circuit. i was out of the loop. removed. so stepping back into "the conversation" i feel a bit behind, unsure of all the undercurrents beneath recent attitudes. i'm not sure why my letter engendered such controversy. i couldn't tell you why it is verboten to critic the church. all i know is that it caused a stir and for that i am thankful.

thankful you ask? yep. thankful. having lived in a post-christian, secular country for awhile i quickly came to realize that a large portion of this planet could care less about God or the church. in france, if i had even tried to talk about the church, i would have gotten mixed reactions. most likely, they would have politely changed the subject and moved on because in general, they just don't care. the church lost her voice, her influence decades ago and most frenchies wouldn't invest much time or energy in debating what she should or shouldn't be about. most churches can't figure out how to get people in the front door so discussions on how to treat a visitor isn't even on their radar. all the things we wrangle with in evangelical america is about as relevant to the french church culture as the mating rituals of bats.

so i'm grateful that i can write a post about my experiences visiting different churches and have people respond. some get their feelings hurt because they feel like i'm picking on a loved one. others passionately agree, desperately wanting the bride to be more like the bridegroom. either way one thing is sure. we care.

the church still has a voice in this country, a presence. (we can debate in another post whether that is always positive or negative). when secular media makes fun of us by casting the self-righteous, overly dramatic evangelical character in their sit com as the antagonist, it is a compliment. when the stereotypical evangelical appears in films and in literature, it means we are present. we are a force, an influence. the church here hasn't yet become a relic, a museum or a tourist attraction.

so bring it! react. get upset. applaud. boo. agree or disagree. just don't stop caring.

hearing God

2011-02-11T15:13:00.002+01:00

one of my favorite moments of the day is around 730pm each night when my entire family meets on my bed to read the Bible. my boys, all soapy clean and smelling cuddly, pile into our laps eager to hear the night's reading. after i finish, they both complain that the story was too short and ask me to read another one. (as if i don't get that this is more about delaying their bedtime than anything else!) when i decline, as i always do, Wyatt immediately launches into his traditional prayer.

"thank you God for everything you made. amen."

sometimes he sings it. other times he mumbles it. when he is feeling particularly creative, he begins each word with the same syllable and it comes out something like "bank boo Bod bor beverything bo bade. bamen."

their prayers are simple and sweet and like Mary, i treasure them up in my heart.

my husband and i are committed to raising disciples so one night i decided to shake up our little nightly tradition a bit. i thought it might be a good idea to expand a bit their understanding of prayer. so off i go explaining how prayer is both talking and listening to God. i tell my boys that tonight we are going to have a time to just be quiet and see if God has anything to say to us.

we pray. then silence. about 20 seconds later i say "amen." feeling quite satisfied with myself and our teaching moment, i lean down to kiss my children goodnight. before my lips could even pucker, Wyatt let out the loudest cry/scream i have ever heard.

I DIDN'T HEAR ANYTHING!!!!!!!! WAAAAAWAAAAAAAA

shocked, i scurry to his side and immediately start trying to soothe him. "it's ok honey. we don't hear him like you hear me. his voice isn't like ours..." and on and on i went, trying to explain to my distraught child how God speaks. though Wyatt calmed down, he never rediscovered his happy. i walked away that night sure that i had spiritually scarred my child for life.

if i am honest, i would have to admit that i have spent a large portion of my life feeling like Wyatt. i can't tell you how many times i wanted to scream at God--I DIDN'T HEAR ANYTHING!!!!

now like any good, bible believing baptist, i was raised to believe that God communicates mainly through his written word. if you want to hear what God has to say, you can read it for yourself in black and white and sometimes red. i can't tell you how many times i have flipped through those pages just longing for the words to jump to life, to say something to me. oh i knew the information. i could even quote much of it like any ex- Bible Drill state champion. so why did the words seem to stay just that--mere words? why did it seem so long in between those sacred moments when by the grace and power of His Spirit they sprang to life bringing nourishment to my soul?

maybe, just maybe he speaks in other ways too. (for those of you who just freaked out, be assured that i believe that the bible is God's word and anything he says to us will never contract what he has already written down. it is the foundation of our faith and doctrine, our primary source of revelation. more comfortable? can i continue now?) but is it possible that He can speak outside of the confines of his written word? or did he just verbally gush, have men record it and then go radio silent until that moment when we meet him face to face at the pearly gates?

i have come to believe that God is speaking more than i am listening. i admit it took a very broken season of my life for me to slow down enough to actually hear him. and when i did, it was as if the floodgates opened up. he spoke in ways that i was unaccustomed to and like samuel, i needed some spiritually mature friends to encourage me to listen to the voice that was calling my name. i was challenged to read the bible and note all the different ways God spoke to his people. if he spoke that way in the past, could he not do so today?

think about it. he spoke audibly. he even made appearances in human form, walking and talking with his followers (abraham). he took the form of fire and clouds to lead his people. he spoke face to face with moses as a man speaks with his friend. he spoke in thunder and in whirlwinds (Job). he wrote on tablets and on walls. he sent prophets to declare boldly, "thus says the Lord..." he sent angels. he spoke in dreams and visions and often used symbols and imagery to communicate his message in a way his people could see and understand (think rainbows here with me). and for the particularly stubborn, he sent talking asses (poor Balaam). if we can take away anything from our understanding of how God speaks according to the examples given in scripture, it would be that there is no ONE way that God speaks.

Jesus assures us that his sheep know his voice. we may start out like wyatt, not hearing anything, but if we continue to listen, to still ourselves, to pull away from noise and distraction, to be attentive, then we will hear him. his voice is unlike any other. it carries an authoritative weight that not only conveys information but brings transformation. what he speaks, he accomplishes.

there are still times when i sit before Him and he is quiet. i'm ok with that now. i don't throw a fit like i used to. in fact, those times are some of the most intimate that i have with him. like two lovers gazing into each other eyes, we have no need of words. his nearness is my good.

now i just have to figure out how to teach this to my kids without causing meltdowns....

always a child

2011-02-01T21:50:00.004+01:00

sometimes i am amazed by how one sided the parent/child relationship is especially at the ages of my kids now. they are 5 and 7 and believe me when i tell you that i exist, in their eyes, only to serve them. when they are hungry, mom feeds them. when they are cold, mom covers them up or helps them get on that complicated thing called a glove. when they are bored, mom is summoned as a playmate. if i had even just a penny for every time "mom" got yelled through my house, i would be a trillionaire.

let's face it, mentanna doesn't yet exist in their eyes. i am mom. all that they know about me is in direct relation to themselves. they don't know what heartbreaks i have lived through. they don't know what my hopes and dreams are. they don't know the events and experiences that have shaped my life. basically they are still clueless about who their mom really is.

what they do know is that my eyes light up when they walk into a room. they know when i wink and ask them to come sit on my lap that i'm going to wrap them up in a big bear hug and tell them that i love them (as evidenced by the eye roll and the "mom we already know that" response i get each time.) they know that i'm home each day when they walk in the door and that i will be the last person to kiss them goodnight each evening. i am a constant, present and loving force in their lives. to question or doubt that reality isn't even an option in their little kid minds. in their world, the designation that most defines them is that of being my sons.

i have been thinking about this dynamic in my other parental relationship, the one between me and my heavenly father. it seems that the emphasis in evangelical circles is on what we know about God. we attend bible studies, learn about his attributes, memorize biblical history, know who was who in the bible hall of fame yet we often seem incapable of living in the reality of who we are in relation to Him. like orphans, we wander through life trying to find a place to belong, a group to call family, a person to call home. we listen to all the raucous voices around us as they try to convince us that purpose is found in a job or in the arms of a lover. we start to believe that if we were just this or that or had this or that then we would find the happiness we so rightfully deserve. we search to find ourselves, to understand who we really are and all the while we have a father who is vigilantly waiting for our return, ready to run towards us and throw is loving arms around us. oh yes, there is a prodigal in each of us, a rebellious son who believes blessings are his right but relationship with the giver is optional. so off we go, into every pigsty this world has to offer, forgetting a little more each day who we truly are and where we really belong.

we are His children. did you get that? before we are mom or dad or sister or friend or boss or lover, we are beloved child of the King. what that means is no matter how well or how little we know Him--and let's face it we will spend eternity getting to know Him--he adores us. his face lights up when we come into His presence. he is even so pleased to be our dad that he dances over us cause he just can't contain his excitement.

what would our lives look like if we truly believed that? i can guarantee you that we wouldn't waste even one second slopping around in the mud if we knew it to be true. we wouldn't go anywhere else searching for something or someone to define us. why would we? the zealous, all-consuming love we are all searching for is already ours, there in the arms of a savior who died to give it to us.

as we grow up, we will come to know and love all that is true about Him, his omnipotence, his omnipresence, and all the other big theological words that describe him but dad will still top them all. and unlike me, he loves to hear his name cried out every second of every day. he will never grow weary of our childlike dependency upon him.

now that my friends is some good news.

another letter

2011-01-07T14:59:00.006+01:00

dear church,

it's me again. remember? i wrote to you awhile back. i'm the one who is visiting around, trying to find a church home. i was really surprised by how you responded to my last letter. all the hits, emails, and responses from pastors and other church leaders led me to think that maybe there is something about my observations that are helping you and your church. i'm glad for that because i truly love the church and want her to be all that Christ died for her to be. if you are interested, i have a few more things to say.

leadership, i'm concerned you are making promises you can't keep. i love your enthusiasm for your church, the hope you have for all that it can mean to me as a member but the truth is that there are certain things you just can't guarantee. joining your church won't assure my spiritual growth. participating in your congregation isn't the silver bullet i have been looking for to make my spiritual life work. your sermons may be challenging, informational and encouraging but they can't ensure that i will know God better tomorrow. your worship won't necessarily transport me to the throne of God. your children's activities can't assure that my kids will be passionate disciples. and your small groups/sunday school/cells may not provide safe community for me. all these things may be your hope for me and my family, they may even be your prayer, but you can't confidently promise me that your church can deliver on such a heavy, supernatural order. your guarantees come off sounding more arrogant than hopeful and i know that isn't what you intended.

music/worship leader, i can't follow you. i can't sing along. i don't know if you are singing harmony, melody, descant or any other fancy thing. granted i'm musically illiterate and don't know much about music at all. what i do know is that worship music has changed a lot in the past decade and the songs are more complex, less corporately "singable." so when you go all david crowder on me, i can't participate. during those times i feel like you are more concerned with performing than leading. don't get me wrong, i love your voice. i think you and the band are extremely talented but i want to sing along! worship through music is our only time to truly participate in the service so if you take that from us then we truly are nothing but spectators. and let's face it, the worship service today is mainly a spectator sport already.

you should also know that i pick which service i go to based on how you label the service. i appreciate your willingness to give everyone a little bit what they want by creating traditional, contemporary and blended services. it must be a whole lot more work for you. however, i feel like it is a bit misleading to call a service blended when there is only one token hymn thrown in. to me that feels more like a concession than an honest effort to diversify your service.

pastor, first let me say that i wouldn't want your job for the world. all that you have to put up with must cause you ulcers on any given day. people are demanding, whiny and not easily satisfied. i get it. i have been on church staff too. however, i sometimes feel that you can be misleading. no, i'm not talking about how you sometimes speak "ministerially" though that is a problem for many. what i am talking about is how you describe the values and vision of your church. we are listening very carefully to your dreams and how you want to accomplish them. you are the voice of vision for your church and we searchers are looking to see if we will fit into it. be warned. we note when it sounds like you are more concerned with growing a church than pastoring one. we can hear it in your voice when your ambition seems more important than our souls. we notice when you use words like "missional" and "mission minded" and yet having nothing in your bulletin or weekly activities to reflect such an emphasis. most of us are looking for humility in the pulpit, a confessional leader who honestly communicates the realities and struggles of life within the body. remember, we are skeptical enough about church leaders as it is. please don't exaggerate. i would much rather go to a church that is honestly admitting that they aren't all they should be than go to one that brags about being something it isn't.

i have one more thing, dear pastor, and you might not like this one at all. i notice when i see no female participation in your services. if i have been greeted by a male, if a male passes the offering plate, if a male prayers before said offering, if all your announcements are made by a male, if i glance at your bulletin and see only male staff then i begin to ask myself how much room there is for me as a female to really participate in your congregation. granted all the women may be involved in "behind the scenes" ministry, but as a guest i don't know that and if i feel called to do something other than children's ministry, i might wonder if your church really is the place for me. now you may tell me that you believe biblically that this is they way church is to be done. i won't argue with you. just communicate clearly to me what you mean by "valuing women in your congregation" because that could mean a bunch of different things.

finally, congregation, could you please turn and shake my hand during the programed welcome time? i already feel my face flushing a bit when the pastor makes you to say hi to me so when no one actually does it, i feel humiliated. my guess is that you have already greeted the friend sitting next to you. please take a look around and make sure that no visitor is trying to fade into the woodwork. that time is awkward for us. please help us live through it.

oh church, i'm not asking you to be perfect. i think i'm asking for a little more awareness of what you are "advertising." just make sure that you don't over promise and under deliver. that doesn't work in the sales world and it is disastrous in the church. the truth is that the corporate gathering of the church is just a place where we create space for each other to experience God. that is what we need most--Him. i don't want to get in the way of that and i know that you don't either.

your loving sister

searching for the sacred

2010-12-31T21:17:00.006+01:00

normally i adore christmas. for an entire month, i listen to nothing but christmas music. i decorate like a madwoman and i literally skip around as i shop. with giddiness, i anticipate christmas eve when everyone gets to open the amazingly thoughtful gift i have purchased for them. christmas is by far my favorite time of the year.

this year was different. this year i felt the heavy, bah-humbug spirit of scrooge haunting my heart like an uninvited spectre. it puzzled me. it left me a bit rattled. it sent my introspective nature into full whirl.

could my christmas blues be due to the fact that i had just stepped back onto american soil after returning from a very emotional trip to France? or could it be because i hadn't yet bought my first christmas gift and the clock was ticking? perhaps it was because i was suffering from a bit of reverse culture shock. regardless of the reason, my head was spinning and my thoughts were whirling...

is christmas really about spending so much money for stuff we don't really need?
why are people so rude, pushy and grumpy this time of year?
where is Jesus in all of this? i mean really?
how can i teach my kids that christmas is about christ not santa, not gifts, not cookies, not 2 weeks off of school?
how can i learn that lesson myself?

that's when i figured out what my true source of discontent was. my soul was starving to be connected to something more sacred, more simple, more significant. christmas is about God becoming man, the birth of a savior, my Jesus coming to earth so that i could see and know and experience what God is like. the alarm clock of history was set to this moment, the one when Jesus would invade earth and bring with him Light and Life. his coming changed the world. his coming changed me.

i wanted to run away from it all, from the commercialism, the greedy capitalism, the craziness and just go to a place where silence and stillness reigned. so we did just that. we loaded up the Soul and headed to colorado to join my family in our little cabin in the woods. (ok so it isn't so little...)

there i found what i was craving--a sacred stillness. i sat with Him before the fire. i walked with Him through the snowy woods. I found Him in written words. i enjoyed Him in snowball fights and laughter around the table.

now i sit here before my computer screen pondering and praying, wondering what it would look like if i learned to carry that sacred stillness with me into any environment. i don't want to have to flee chaos to find Him, rather i would love to be so awake to the reality of his presence that i would always know He is near, extending his arms in invitation.

until then let me share some sacred moments of this past christmas with you....

merry christmas everyone!

processing, processing

2010-12-16T14:50:00.003+01:00

i have all sorts of things rumbling around inside me. i just got back from packing up my apartment in marseille and want to write about it. i want to try and communicate what went on in my heart and mind and i'm finding it extremely difficult to do so. how do i talk about leaving a country i love after more than a decade? what words can communicate the crazy mixture of sorrow and hope i feel?

so i come humbly before you today. i have no eloquent words to offer, not that my words often fall into that category. i have nothing witty or clever. today you get me. just raw. just processing. just trying to find my way through this maze of emotion.

when i walked into my apartment for the first time in over a year, it felt like a museum to me. nothing had changed. i glanced over at the pictures of my kids hanging on the walls and i felt the tears start to flow. this was their home for a long time. this was our home for a long time. it was time to officially change homes.

the person who set up that apartment over 4 years ago and the person who packed it up are not the same person. the only thing that had changed in that apartment was me.

the sound of the children playing in the school next door accompanied my packing and made me smile.

i laughed when i heard the clicking of the heels overhead. i won't miss apartment life. my new motto is "let the children scream!"

my friend sophie is still one of my best friends. time, distance and language will never change that.

i am convinced that raising my kids in another culture was a gift to them, yet i am so grateful that i don't have to send them to school from 8-4 anymore.

americans really don't know how to bake bread.

paris is the most sensuous city in the world. she makes you want to taste, touch, smell, and hear everything she has to offer. well not everything but you know what i mean.

i may not know where i will be but i am sure it is not where i have been.

Le Mistrial still has a way of sneaking through my ears and chilling my bones.

i'm still french fried. the changes that took place in me are here to stay. i will carry france with me to my grave.

marseille felt like a period. paris felt like a comma.

i cherish the time i spent in france. to quote my favorite author, "it was the best of times. it was the worst of times." under the hand of a master artist, i was chiseled, refined and shaped. what emerged wasn't a different me but rather the real me.

france opened my eyes to so much beauty.

thank you Father. thank you. thank you. thank you.

i surrender all?

2010-11-16T14:31:00.005+01:00

i painted our living room yesterday. i have really only painted one other room in my lifetime and that was a few years ago in marseille so i had completely forgotten how much work it is. i haven't been one to decorate much. our dwellings have always been described as "simple" by our friends and colleagues and i'm okay with that. i'm not a martha stewart kind of person. i don't flip through home design magazines and i don't watch the Nate-something-or-other-show. i am simple and my home reflects that.

so why am i painting now? good question dear reader. the timing is a bit strange for sure. we just arranged with the owners to sign a 6 month lease instead of a year long one. some restlessness in us prevented us from making such a long term commitment. yet, i'm painting. with only 6 months left. after being here a year and a half.

we vagabonds are strange people.

for long time readers, you know that i have written about this before. my greatest question upon moving to marseille was, "should i hang curtains or not?" i explored some of the reasons we vagabonds have trouble laying down roots in that post. don't worry, i'm not into regurgitating old thoughts. something different is happening here, connected maybe but definitely different.

i didn't want to settle here. there i said it. when we left france to take our year out, i saw our time here in crowley as temporary. i didn't hang any pictures. i didn't buy anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. i was financially responsible, always keeping our departure date in mind. we are moving in a year so why bother.

yet here we still are. no one is more surprised than i am. crowley was never on the list of possible stopping points. in the game of life, this space would definitely be the one to avoid, the place where you get stuck until you roll the right number or draw the right card. when we wrote down all the possible locations for the next chapter in our lives, texas wasn't even on the list. and if it had to be the lone star state then maybe austin. but crowley? never. at least that is what we thought.

last week i got one of those spiritual taps on the shoulder. it was you know who. during a time of what i would consider pretty earnest prayer about our future, i heard him whisper to me "do what i have put before you." excuse me? come again? "be where you are. be faithful here." and then the question that seems to run on constant repeat in my life and mind, "am i enough for you even here?"

expulsion of breath. earnest praying ceases. big pouty face appears. deflation. really Jesus? you want me to be faithful here? but i'm in crowley. i'm a stay at home mom. if i'm being honest, i want more.

i'm enough, he answers with a reassuring smile.

so i'm painting. my living room walls are brown. i may buy a carpet and throw pillows today. i don't have any idea what will happen after the lease is up in may but i'm tired of thinking about it. i seem to remember that it says somewhere that we aren't to worry about tomorrow because tomorrow has enough worries of its own. and then there is this little saying that reminds us that we only have today and no assurance of tomorrow.

i guess painting is my act of worship, of surrender. i will be here until he moves me, if he ever does. i will trust that he is enough, that my life isn't defined by where i live or what i do. i will stop looking at what is next and invest in what is now.

he is enough. he has to be.

now will someone help me pick out stuff for my house? i really suck at this....

Sex, Drugs, and Jesus are trying to kill me

2010-11-08T01:00:00.002+01:00

guest blogger: dre spellmann, my sister

Every time I have something rattling around in my brain, I typically call my sister and lay it on her. She often then makes a blog post about it and all is well again. She is much more “spiritual” and articulate than I am. Last week when I called, she said maybe I should write this one.

I am a rather proud child of the 80’s. Unlike Mentanna, I embraced the Aqua Net and shimmery blue eye shadows. (Which are all back in style again, by the way) I recall wearing Reagan campaign buttons through my ears (can you say ouch) and lining up to do my part for “Hands Across America.” Yet, at 42, I look back and realize what a generation of fear we were.

Sex was gonna kill me. I can remember sitting in the middle school auditorium, watching films about the dangers of sex. They showed us pictures of horrific things that befell people who contracted sexually transmitted diseases. It was gorier than a horror flick. Every new slide had several hundred 15 year- olds squirming in their seats and covering their eyes. AIDS was really new and no one was quite sure how you got it. We knew it was from bodily fluids, but no one seemed to know to what extent. You could potentially die from saliva! I was terrified! I stayed a virgin out of fear.

The “War on Drugs” started in the 80’s too. We also got to watch movies about dangers of drug use. Seems I watched a lot of movies in high school, doesn’t it? Again- yucky and gory. I can’t remember which drug it is, but it will turn your tongue black and hairy. That wouldn’t really look good with my blue eye shadow!! Stay away, far, far away!

If AIDS and hairy tongue didn’t kill me, my daddy would have and my mom would have disowned me. Now, I love my parents, but we grew up where you just better line up. There were several lines you didn’t cross with my parents. Don’t drink, don’t do drugs, don’t smoke, don’t get anything less than a “B”, don’t date anyone who isn’t white, don’t get pregnant, don’t talk back, and if you’re not sure about something, just don’t!

Speaking of lining up, I’m pretty sure I thought Jesus was trying to kill me too. Ok, Ok, hold your horses chica – I’m getting to it! I was in a parenting bible study a couple of weeks ago and we began talking about all those revivals we all attended. We commiserated about having to give up a whole week of our life to a revival. Being from the bible belt, it seemed revival was a yearly thing. Every preacher was the same. “Jesus is only going to knock on your door a limited amount of times. If you turn away this time, it may be your last time. Do you dare risk that Jesus won’t ask you to be saved again? What would happen if you were driving home today and you died in a car wreck? Would you go to heaven?” I heard an awful lot about God’s wrath and disappointment, and very little about his love. I am still afraid of going to heaven because I heard in Sunday school that I would love everyone, but I wouldn’t know who had been my parents and family on earth. My nine-year-old brain translated that to being alone in heaven. I cried on my honeymoon and told Eric I didn’t want my own mansion in heaven, I wanted to live in his, because I was afraid of being lonely in heaven. Crazy, I am.

So where does all that leave me as parent now? How has that kind of background shaped who I am today? I still have a great big core of fear inside of me. I still have horrible visions of death and destruction playing in my head, now they just include my own children. What do I want my kids to know about the world around them and their faith?

Simply, I want them to know that no matter what, Jesus loves you. There is nothing you can do, no boundary you can cross, that he will stop loving you. You cannot earn his love. You don’t have to earn his love. His love for you stays the same – no matter what you do. He wants to have a real relationship with you. He wants to be your BFF. He wants to be the first person you would text with good news, to hear what a horrible mom I am for making you clean your room, and what hurts your heart. I think he wants you to bring your friends to that place of joy and peace too. I want your life to reflect that love, joy, peace so that others want to know you and your God.

I want you to wait to have sex because it is so soul-baring and beautiful that I want you to only do that with someone who won’t stomp on it. I realize I can only give you one side of the story. But, when I talk with my friends who didn’t wait, they would all tell you -every time you have sex with someone you are not married to, it changes you. You give a piece of yourself away. That is why I want you to wait.

I want my kids to know that there is nothing we can’t work through. There is nothing I will “kill” you over. Some of those decisions will alter your life forever and I would be sad if you chose them, but I won’t kill you. I won’t disown you. There is nothing you can’t tell me. I don’t care what grades you get as long as you did your best. I don’t care what color or race the kid you want to take to homecoming is if she loves Jesus as much as you do. None of those things are relationship deal breakers to me.

I don’t want you to do drugs though. It changes your brain the very first time you do it. That stuff really can kill you. I’m pretty sure we can fix the hairy tongue these day though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone in real life with the hairy tongue, so we must have already conquered that fear somewhere.

halloween 2010

2010-11-02T22:42:00.004+01:00

my children are obsessed with star wars. hmmmm, wonder how they came by that? anyhoo, as you can imagine, when the question of halloween costumes was posed both boys shouted in unison that they wanted to be clones. i thought it would be fun to join in the festivities and go as princess leia. and who would make a better han solo that scott? well, he would have made a great han if he hadn't had been invited to go to the world series. you gotta give a guy a free pass to go to the world series. so it was the three of us this halloween and as usual, we had a great time!

in honor of our costumes i tried to carve a clone pumpkin. it might have worked if the pumpkins hadn't rotted the very next day!

this was actually mistaken for my actual hair by someone at the cookout.

the cutest bounty hunter and clone in the galaxy.

we cooked out hot dogs at a neighbor's house and then went trick or treating.

the boys and their buddy aries.

a giant shrub scared the boys.

my letter

2010-10-25T14:58:00.006+02:00

dear church members,

i am looking for a church. i'm already a believer so i'm an easy catch. you don't have to convince me that God exists or that it is important to come to church regularly. i'm even one of those in the 20 percentile who will be actively engaged, eager to serve in my giftedness. i really want to find a church home and soon but i confess this search has been harder than i expected. i see so many things that make me want to turn around and walk out the door. oh i know that no church is perfect. i'm not searching for that. i guess i have just been surprised at how awkward it feels to be a visitor and i wonder if you really remember what it feels like to be in my position. so this letter is just to give you a peek into what i have been experiencing as i go from one church to the next. i know those of us who have been in church for a long time forget how hard this searching process can be. so take a moment and hear me out. i think i might have some helpful suggestions for your church.

please don't set up a visitor welcome center and then not welcome guests when they show up there. pick wisely the people who staff that center. i know it is easy to get talking to people you already know but i really think the welcomers should keep themselves available so that they are ready to help a newcomer the moment they show up to ask questions. i mean i'm happy to eavesdrop on your conversation about sally's driver's test for a couple of minutes but after that i get a bit restless. we visitors already feel a bit conspicuous so don't make me wait too long to find out where the sanctuary is and if that coffee you are offering is free or not.

please don't offer me cheesy gifts for coming to visit your church. i don't need starbucks gift cards or fancy pens. and for sure don't offer me a copy of the US Constitution along with a 10 minute diatribe on why i need to vote biblically and morally. your gifts feel like bribery to me. they make me feel like you are selling an image instead of offering a place to belong. i want your authenticity and commitment to Christ to be that which draws me back, not the promise of another book or CD. give me a bible if you want because i might not have one. offer me information on your church to take home and read. but please don't treat me like the only single girl in a room full of ready to marry bachelors. let's just say that i'm more interested in who you are than how you look and i won't walk down the proverbial aisle until i know for sure that we are destined to be together.

please talk to me. don't give me an inquisitive glance and then just walk away. don't forget that we don't know anyone. we feel like we stick out a bit anyway. come up to us and shake our hands. introduce yourselves. ask a few good questions. nothing is worse than spending over an hour surrounded by people and not having anyone say anything to you.

please include on your website what to expect if i come to your church. i need to know how to dress. i need to know if my kids go to the service with me or not. i would like to know most of that before i come so i can be prepared to entertain my kindergartner during your 45 minute sermon.

please don't force me to fill out a visitor's card. don't make me write down any information especially if i have already side stepped your first appeal to get me to do so. i don't want to hurt your feelings so don't make me have to keep coming up with excuses. the truth is that i'm not going to fill out anything until i am sure that your church might be a real option for me.

i know you have a lot to do. i know people are busy on sunday morning trying to get their kids to sunday school on time or trying to get in that last minute conversation before the service begins. i know you want people to join and be a part of your church. i know that you can't always be on your game. i'm just trying to help out, trying to let you know what it feels like to be on the other end or your hospitality.

thanks to all of you who genuinely welcomed us, who walked us to the sanctuary, who actually sat with us and introduced us to others. your kindness ushered us into his presence and for that we are thankful.

i love you church. i really do.

your searching sister....

journey to the land of the buckeye

2010-10-14T23:24:00.010+02:00

you know how sometimes you just want to roll your eyes when someone says something particularly exasperating. i mean you shouldn't cause its rude but sometimes you just can't help but let one fly, especially when the one who is being a bit annoying is your own husband. oh yeah, my hubby has many themes in his conversational repertoire that deserve an eye roll. there is the "golf is so much more difficult than tennis" one. then there is the "men are so oppressed in this nation today" rant. and one of my personal favorites, his "the decade of the 80s was a musical black hole" tirade.

then there is his Ohio chatter.

ohio is so beautiful. they actually have 4 seasons there. you should see the trees in ohio. in my backyard in ohio there was this forest we used to play in. when i was in ohio blah blah blah. the people in ohio blah blah blah.

this particular rambling really got the eye roll because i'm a texan and we all know that texans don't tolerate the extolling of any other state. so not only did he get the eye roll, he got the fiery rebuttal as well. i would tout the benefits of living in a state where all the leaves fall off in one day...if you happen to live in a part of the state that has trees that is. why drag that out? you can bag them all in a weekend and not worry about doing it week after week. so what if you miss brilliant shades of red and orange. color is overrated, right? i would also argue that texas does have 4 seasons with widely varying temperatures. we have warm, hot, super hot and hellishly hot. that's 4. and the people here, well they are just as "salt of the earth" as those midwesterners only with a little more makeup and hairspray.

so what is the big deal about Ohio? i was about to find out.

scott and i alternate years planning our anniversary. this year was my turn. since we were in the states and since i will make any excuse to travel, i decided to surprise my hubby with a trip to Ohio. he hadn't been back there since he moved when he was 15 and so i thought it would be a great thing for us to do together. when i told him of my plan, he got all giddy. now most of you who know scott know that it takes something huge to get him to giddy. he is as even keeled as the horizon in west texas. but this did it. he even said, "money is no object!" what? who are you and what have you done with my husband?

we dumped our kids off with their aunt and flew out on friday afternoon. here is a glimpse of some of what we did...

the first big event on saturday was the Buckeye game. scott grew up going to these with his dad so he was more than little excited about being in the Shoe again. (see what i learned baby!)

we were submerged in a sea of red. i must confess this game day experience was a bit more intense than those during my baylor days.

kegs and eggs: before the game everyone gathers to drink beer. if the game is a noon game, well then one just downs a Bud with their eggs and call it the breakfast of champions.

everyone showed up for the game even the indie fundies. i haven't seen sandwich board evangelism in years. i wish i hadn't seen it saturday. not that fear and condemnation aren't good reasons to become a christian....

oh and this is just me getting attacked by a giant praying mantis on the day we arrived...happens all the time.

after the game we borrowed a car from a friend (shout out to elisabeth!) and drove to scott's old stomping grounds. i saw where he grew up and heard all kinds of stories, some new, some recycled.

scott's childhood home

scott releasing his inner child at the park near his house.

you know how sometimes you remember things to be one way but in reality they are quite different? well this is the legendary spot of scott's jump off the "really, really high dam" near where he grew up. guess what? it was really, really high.

on sunday we drove out into the countryside a bit to admire the foliage. scott was a bit disappointed we missed the pumpkin festival so he decided to make it up to me by taking me to one of the world's top ten, most beautiful campuses--kenyon college.

i have to admit ohio really is beautiful. stepping into the setting of where much of my hubby's story took place was significant to me. i'm glad i got to experience it with him and through his eyes. happy 13th anniversary baby. i love you!

man, this means i can't roll my eyes anymore when he talks about ohio, doesn't it?

pizza rolls and football in texas

2010-09-21T15:31:00.007+02:00

i have had some amazing "mommy of the year" moments. i mean if that were an award, i'm sure i would get it regularly. sometimes i even astound myself with my innate maternal instincts.

need some examples?

i've been known to criticize my kids for not paying attention to me because they were too immersed in a book. yep, top tier parenting there. then there was the time that my kids wanted their dessert, which was fresh fruit i might add, and i responded with, "you have to finish your pizza first."

what???

as is usually the case with me, it takes a minute for my mind to catch up with my words. ohhhhhh, i probably shouldn't care that my kids haven't finished their pizza. i get it....

i remember the first time i caught myself in a "duh" parenting moment of the kind described above. we had been invited to a friend's house for dinner and we brought the kids along because we couldn't find a babysitter. the plan was to feed them early and put them to bed so that we could have an evening entre adults. our friends very graciously offered to heat up some pizza rolls because they assumed that the kids wouldn't like what had been prepared for those of us with actual taste buds. now you have to understand that my kids, french fried as they are, had never had pizza rolls. but who doesn't like pizza rolls right? when i set this veritable kiddie feast in front of them, they both look at me with puzzled expressions and asked what it was. launching into a description of the genius of pizza cocooned within deep fried dough, i assured them that they were in for a treat.

bite. grimace. "we don't like it!"

"SIT DOWN AND EAT YOUR PIZZA ROLLS RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" says 2010's mother of the year.

it took the laughter of my friends to bring me back to my senses. was i really mad that my kids didn't want to eat pizza rolls?

i remembered this incident this past weekend during Will's football game. being a football mom has been a new adventure for me. obviously i didn't play official football when i was young, though i see some girl's playing pee wee football now, and i have to admit that i'm a bit jealous. anyhoo... plus, i grew up with a sister and neither of us wanted to be cheerleaders so we were never around football. i had no idea how big, how important, how time consuming football in texas was. i didn't have a clue what i was getting into. i didn't have a clue what i was getting my son into. let's just say there have been a few surprises along the way....

my son is 7, practices 3 nights a week for an hour and a half and has a game every weekend.
i have to pay to get into the game to watch my own kid play.
i'm the only parent without a jersey with my kid's number on it.
there is no such thing as a tie. even at this young age we have to play overtime.
the coaches, the parents, and the fans all yell, curse and stomp as if every game is the superbowl.
the kids walk off the field to cheerleaders gushing, parents fist pumping and coaches yelling.

watching this frenzied circus this weekend, it hit me. this is a pizza roll.

so much time. so much energy. so much money going into football. what values am i imparting to him? what is he learning when he sees a coach stomp around angrily when he, a 2nd grader, can't make an open field tackle? is this the thing i want my kid to see me go ballistic over, the fact that he can hold a block and take a hit?

we parents have been given a sacred trust in our children. if we are committed disciples of Christ then our greatest duty is to do whatever it takes to help stir up passion for Christ in our children. this is not a passive job. passion for God isn't caught like a virus, it is passed on as a heritage. it requires intentional parenting, a commitment to create space for our children to know and respond to God. for a preciously short amount of time, we get the privilege of teaching them the steps to a different dance, one that is in rhythm with his kingdom. we help train their ears to hear a different voice. we help stir up their heart to respond to a different love. do we spend as much time and energy nurturing our children spiritually as we do academically? are we as willing to coach them to become disciples as we are to become middle linebackers? do we encourage, root for and fist pump their spiritual progress and accomplishments?

football isn't bad. sports aren't evil. i, for one, loved playing on teams as a kid and i think there is much to be gained from the experience. i just can't help but feel that we have placed too much value, not to mention time and finances, onto something that isn't much more than deep fried dough. we parents may be guilty of making a staple of something that was only meant to be an occasional treat.

i know i have a long way to go to be mother of the year. oh who am i kidding? i'll never get any such award. i have my own pizza rolls to watch out for. and i'm not talking about the ones that end up on my hips.

but that's another post, now isn't it?

what's new chez nous...

2010-08-28T17:24:00.008+02:00

after some pretty serious rambling, i feel it is time for a lighter post. i may need that more than any of you! my mind has been in overdrive for months now and could use a little coasting time. how about some pics of what is "new" in our lives? interested?

as you may remember from this post, both boys played soccer last fall. it was a dismal failure on all counts. i know, it was their first foray into team sports but i wouldn't say that they took to it like a duck in water! this year, i suggested they try again. i felt that they would have more confidence the second time around and hopefully more fun. Will said he wanted to play again. he was sure he would get better and maybe even score a goal this year. however, when sign ups rolled around, he said he had changed his mind and didn't want to play. surprised, i asked him why. basically the final answer was that he was afraid to try and not be good. after a long discourse about how we shouldn't let fear dictate our choices, i suggested that he pick a different sport like football or baseball. immediately he chose football. i was shocked. my gentle spirited, not very competative, easily hurt son chose the most violent contact sport available. i shrugged, said ok, got him signed up and took him to practice. so far he loves it. he cried once when he got tackled pretty hard but other than that he is doing well. i think practicing 3 nights a week is ridiculous but apparently football in texas means we get really serious really young.

also new in the Campbell household is youngest son going to big boy school. yep, Wyatt is in kindergarten! he was a bit nervous at first but thankfully there are two kids from our block in his class. his biggest adventure so far was on the second day of school. the teacher was supposed to put him on the bus but forgot and took him outside to the parent pickup spot. after several kids had gotten picked up, she looked over at Wyatt and asked, "Wyatt who is coming to get you?" wyatt looked back at her and very seriously answered, "Bus #3." thankfully a neighbor saw him waiting, told me and i called the school and went to pick him up. other than this little mishap, the first week has been smooth sailing.

finally, the biggest new in my life, other than not moving back to a country where i had lived for the past 10 years and being unemployed for the first time in 25, is my new car. scott and i have been sharing a car for the past year and thanks to our new life, that is no longer an option. i got to pick what i wanted and had a lot of fun doing it. my criteria were good gas mileage, good environmental rating and green as a color option. i found everything i was looking for in the Kia Soul. readers, meet Kermit, the soulmobile.

so that is what's new with the Campbells.

what i'm looking for

2010-08-24T15:54:00.007+02:00

for the past year, we have been living as temporary citizens in this country. from the time we landed, we have had our departure in view. every decision we made had an expiration date on it. we signed a one year lease, a one year phone contract and a one year gym membership. we have been living as visitors on a long term stay and it has affected the way we have approached every aspect of our lives in the past year. church is a great example. we have been happy to park in the visitor parking of several different churches, floating from here to there, never really committing ourselves to any one place. when we decided to stay that changed everything. now we have to move into the permanent resident zone. we have to find a church. we have to find a place to invest.

my understanding of what church is and should be has changed radically over the past decade. it has ceased to be an activity for me or a pool from which i draw my friends. i don't need a church to keep me busy or to give me a spiritual checklist of appropriate behavior. i'm not looking for a certain musical style or Mr. Charisma in the pulpit. i'm not looking for the newest, coolest, hippest thing. i'm looking for a body of believers who want more than anything to be transformed into the image of the one they follow; a body who has come to understand that our journey is long and arduous thus requiring a varied approach to disipleship that draws upon the enormous wealth of christian tradition both past and present. i want a marriage of the strengths found within several different streams of Christianity. is that too much to ask? apparently so.

what is the perfect blend for me? what am i looking for? well, since you asked....

from the quaker tradition i want a church who isn't afraid on occasion to stop the noise, sit together before Him in silence and wait for the Spirit to move someone to speak (even if that person isn't the pastor!)

from the catholic tradition i want more connection to the historic roots of christianity. some liturgy is enriching. the prayers and writings of those who have gone before us draw us into that great cloud of witnesses, spurring us on and challenging us to run harder after Him.

from the charismatic tradition, i want a church who believes that God still interacts with his people in supernatural ways, who knows that his voice extends beyond the pulpit and his movement beyond the pew.

from the emerging tradition, i want a church who challenges me to spend more time outside her walls than within them, who encourages me to be intentionally engaged in the world around me, and who denounces the idea that we should hide from the big, scary, sinful culture around us.

from the monastic tradition i want a full range of spiritual disciplines to be taught, modeled and mentored.

from the evangelical tradition, i want a church who has a high view of the sacred scriptures, teaching them faithfully as the bedrock of faith and practice.

from the Jesus tradition, i want a church who knows that discipleship isn't primarily a program or a sunday school class or a small group gathering but rather an alongside-get real-get your hands dirty walk that requires us investing in one another day in and day out.

i want a church who knows my spiritual condition isn't defined by attendance alone. i want a church who's pastor is more committed to shepherding a church than growing one. i want a church where the words spoken corporately come out of the stillness of time spent before him. i want a church where honesty is a given, where lives in all their messiness are laid open before God and others, starting first and foremost with the leadership. i want a church who is willing to "do" less if it means "being" more. i want a church who uses the giftedness of both genders in whatever positions God calls them to. i want a church who is humble, not bragging about their "correctness", relevant style, size or success.

does such a church exist? or am i doomed to join with U2 and forever sing, "and i still haven't found what i'm looking for...."

eat. pray. love and me

2010-08-15T15:49:00.004+02:00

i watched Oprah for the first time in nearly a decade yesterday. it wasn't intentional. i was folding clothes and decided that i wanted some company for the task so i flipped on the TV. when i saw Julia Roberts was the guest, i knew immediately that the day's topic was the release of her new movie, Eat. Pray. Love. my own unlikely relationship with this book turned movie was enough to make me forget the laundry and actually sit down to watch. over 2 years ago, a friend living in spain gave this book to me. since we expats crave books in english regardless of the subject matter, i eagerly took the book trusting that the intriguing title wouldn't disappoint. for those of you who don't know, the book is the author's memoir of her year abroad in italy, india and indonesia. a journey of self-discovery, she spends 4 months in each country learning how to eat, pray and love. the author's experience is unashamedly spiritual and she fully embraces eastern religion and practices as the foundation of her new philosophy of life. much to my surprise, reading this book stirred up something in me and sent me on a journey, one that led me down an ancient path, ending in a place that was actually a beginning, one i am still learning about today.

now i know that i have just frightened almost every conservative evangelical that reads my blog!

i was fascinated not so much by the content of the book as by the author's stubborn determination to learn the ancient art of meditation at the hand of a guru in india. for 4 months she labors to be still, to empty her mind, to connect with the divine within. her perseverance was humbling to me. i hadn't given 4 consecutive hours, not to mention 4 consecutive months to any of my own personal spiritual disciplines in years. and meditation? well, though it is considered a biblical practice within conservative, protestant christianity, i can't say i really knew much about it.

growing up in the church, i was taught that the standard recipe for spiritual growth was having a daily quiet time, meaning reading the bible and praying, going to church weekly (or 2-3 times a week if you were truly committed), serving others and sharing my faith. our offering envelops even had little boxes we could check saying which of these activities we had participated in during the week. the idea was that if we could tick off every box then we would be well on our way to becoming mature followers of Christ. i threw myself into these practices, longing to be a good christian, one who really knew God and lived well. occasionally i would hear mention of the "lesser" practices such as fasting and meditation. usually these two would be mentioned in passing, tacked on as an after thought to another point that pastor was making. i was never taught how to meditate just challenged to do so. maybe the concept seemed self-explanatory, too obvious to need expounding upon. or maybe, just maybe, no one really knew what to say about it because they weren't practicing it themselves. regardless, i knew i needed to know more.

after i finished Eat Pray Love, i sat down at my computer and googled christian meditation. i scrolled and scrolled looking for an author or site that was familiar to me. finally i landed on an article published by Christianity Today recommending a book by Ruth Haley Barton called An Invitation to Silence and Solitude. since it had won the book of the year under the category of spiritual formation, i feared i couldn't go wrong and ordered it immediately. i knew i was in for some interesting reading but i had no idea that it would radically alter the way i practiced my faith.

this book threw me into new waters. i had ordered the book to learn about meditation and learned right off the bat that this practice went hand in hand with the spiritual disciplines of silence and solitude. uuuhhmmmmm. silence and solitude? spiritual disciplines? that was news to me. these monkish sounding practices weren't on my offering envelope check list. little did i know that our christian heritage was overflowing with teachings and testimonies on the topic. believers throughout the ages have practiced these disciplines and written extensively on them. the question then became "why have i never heard about them?" why did it take a eastern spirituality based memoir to get me asking some of these questions? why is my evangelical clan so silent, no pun intended, on the this subject?

i can only guess why these disciplines are not more widely taught in my circles. maybe it is seen as too catholic, as many of the writers on these disciplines come out of that stream of christianity. maybe it is because in our american, western version of christianity we have emphasized the "do" of faith to the detriment of the "be." maybe it is because the thought of turning off the TV, our ipods or our cell phones and actually seeking to be alone and still and quiet scares us. as a culture, we don't know what to do with silence and as a result we are a restless society both physically and spiritually. being alone can be unnerving, bringing to the surface insecurities, fears and misplaced passions. in the quiet we are vulnerable to him, unable to hide behind activity and noise; we stand naked before him, something we as a spiritually prudish people don't like to do.

regardless, i didn't come to these disciplines looking for the next cool spiritual experience. i came to them like a starving person approaches a banqueting table--greedily hungry. i had no idea how limited my diet had been until i saw the bounty set before me. now, i don't want to give the impression that these spiritual disciplines are somehow superior. rather, like a fine wine perfectly accompanies an exquisite meal, these disciplines perfectly enhance those taught to me so faithfully by my church as a child.

i'm glad my friend gave me this book. i'm glad that God decided to use it to draw me closer to him. my prayer life has expanded and my love has grown. i guess all i need to do now is eat.

the hardest goodbye

2010-08-10T05:04:00.004+02:00

i have been staring at this screen for what seems like hours. i don't know how to write this post. i don't want to write this post.

but i have to. i just have to say it.

we are not going back to france. after two months of agonizing over the decision, we have decided to stay in the states. it is one of the hardest decisions we have ever made as a family.

this feels like a breakup. it is like i had to look two lovers in the face and chose one of them. it wasn't that one was better than the other, they were both faithful and exciting in their own way. they both have been good to me. each one has shaped and influenced me. one has held me for a lifetime, the other for only a decade but each one has loved me well. and i had to choose. how does one make that kind of decision?

we prayed. boy did we pray. we talked. and talked. and talked. pros and cons. passions and practicalities. past and future. giftings and callings. no light dawned. no voice spoke from the heavens. all we had was a sense of an interior shift, something within us that felt inclined differently. this something was enough to cause us to hesitate, to wonder if our time in france was done.

so what are we doing now? we are walking forward, settling into the tension that is a life of faith. we are straining to hear him though he is nearer to us than our own skin. we are throwing ourselves into him, trusting that he is indeed the great treasure worth selling everything to obtain.

we don't know how long this break from france is. it could be a few months. it could be a lifetime. we hope that our time over there isn't done but we rest in the fact that it might be.

people keep asking me if i'm happy with our decision. i don't feel anything akin to happiness right now. what i feel is sadness, a deep, stomach churning grief that sits as loudly in my gut as a double decker taco. i can't imagine not walking to the boulanger for a fresh baguette or not having an apero with friends on a friday night. my heart, which has embraced another culture, language and way of life doesn't know how to say goodbye to that part of itself. no, happiness isn't what i feel right now. all i feel is loss.

for my practical readers i will answer the "what are we doing now question" like this. we are in texas. we are staying in our rent house for now. scott has taken a job with the school district as their network manager. and me, well, for the first time since i was 15, i'm unemployed. i'm mom. i feel something different stirring but i can't yet say what that is. so i sit back and wait. patiently i hope.

we may be grieving right now but we are not wavering. this difficult place is exactly where we need to be. he is about something in all of this, stripping us of what doesn't look like Him and replacing it with what does.

now you know.

garages and community

2010-07-31T15:43:00.004+02:00

when we moved back to texas last july, we found a house in one of those put em fast, cookie cutter neighborhoods. since we had to do everything online from france, we leased our house before we even saw it. we didn't know much about the neighborhood, the schools or even the town. it was a bit of a blind leap but it worked out well for us. we live in an area where many of the homes are subsidized. many would not be able to own their own home if they didn't have this aid from the government. i realized pretty quickly that moving into this neighborhood was going to open my eyes to another cultural reality. you see, some people mistakenly think that you have to get on an airplane and fly across the ocean to encounter a different culture. truth is that sometimes all you have to do is cross the street.

unlike the sterile, middle class white environment in which i grew up, my neighborhood is colorful. everywhere i look i see white, hispanic and african americans mowing their lawns or walking after dinner. kids are everywhere, playing in the streets and riding bikes. except when the temperatures reach into the lower 100s, there are always signs of life around me. for someone who has lived in apartments since she was 15, this type of existence is much more familiar to me. i'm used to hearing neighbors, the laughter of kids at play and the hum of everyday life being lived in close proximity to me. though we all live in independent housing, life here feels more interdependent, more open and i really think it is all thanks to the garage.

i grew up in a neighborhood with alleys. garages were hidden, a functional part of the house meant to store cars and tools. no one left their garage doors open. not so in my new neighborhood. here the garages are in the front since we don't have alleys.
if the occupants are home, the garage door is up. more than that, the garages aren't for cars. most people park on the street or in their driveway because the garage serves a completely different purpose. like the patio of yesteryear, the garages around here are the social space of the house. in the evening when the temperatures cool, people come out and sit in their garages. most have couches or special chairs set up. you even see TVs, hammocks and pool tables. on any given evening there are more people outside hanging out in their garage than there are inside. open garages are a welcome sign advertising the willingness to interact.

every night, i pull out my $6 walmart chair and watch my boys play star wars with a dozen other kids on my block. though i start out with a book in hand, i never end up sitting alone for long. gradually other parents migrate over to my open garage and sit down with me. we all watch while our kids get sweaty, their laughter the background music to our conversation. as the sun starts to set, we fold up our chairs and call the kids to come in. their disappointed looks warm our hearts. it is then that we know they have had a good time, playing hard as kids their age are meant to do.

i like it here. i like the color, the variety, and the movement of my neighborhood. granted a bigger kitchen would be nice or maybe even a yard that doesn't slope and collect water like a raging river when it rains but then again i'm not sure the trade off would be worth it. if i lived in a different neighborhood, i might have to close my garage door, bringing an isolation that no longer feels comfortable to me. so while this middle class girl still parks her car in her garage, she has learned to keep it open and welcome those who wander her way.

and i didn't even have to get on a plane to learn that....

summer vacation!

2010-07-18T16:02:00.008+02:00

i love vacation. i always have. i think that is why living in france agreed with me so much. the frenchies know how to take time off and enjoy it. none of this 2 week business. they will tell you themselves that it takes at least two weeks to relax and forget about work. if you are going to vacation, then do it well, with all your might. hear! hear!

our summer vacation consisted of spending time with my family. we headed to amarillo, saw the clan and then drove on up to colorado to enjoy some time at dad's mountain home. we had a great time!

we were in amarillo over the 4th. dad, who has been working on the spill in the gulf, got to fly home and join us.

"now i know what fire feels like." wyatt after burning himself while lighting a smoke bomb.

4 wheeling is always a good idea.

me and the boys preparing to ride horses.

Will rode all alone and without having his horse led. what a big kid!

wyatt wasn't quite ready to go solo.

gotta love those cloud formations on the plains!

my first morning at dad's cabin, i had coffee with a doe.

a little fishing and hiking with nieces and nephews.

my sister the diva actually likes to fish. who would have thought?

wyatt fishes in his swimsuit. well why not?

the boys love to cuddle with their cousins.

Quinn didn't get a moment of peace.

stitch is the only girl. no cuddle for her!

exploring in Creed.

for wyatt's bday we went to pagosa springs to swim in the hot springs. two things to know. one you have to pay to swim in the hot water which we didn't do. and two, the water is cold and the current is strong! i thought we were both going to go down!

the spellman clan

does it get any more beautiful?

Will turns 7

2010-06-24T15:07:00.005+02:00

William Austin Campbell is now 7 years old.

what a year he has had. seriously, my kid is made of amazing stuff. when we left france last july, he was so sad to leave his friends and the only life he has really known. he knew he would have to start a new school, make new friends and do it all in a different language. granted english is his native tongue but it isn't his social or play language and that does make a difference. even as a 6 year old, he would have to learn different social rules and ways of interacting. yet he was ready for it. my son greets every challenge with a smile.

as many of you who have read my blog for awhile know, Will started school way behind. most of the kids in his class already knew basic reading skills and some were even reading. it was a hard few months. he really struggled but he never gave up. he went to tutoring. he spent some time in the kindergarten class. he studied at home. he worked so hard. by the end of the year, he was reading above level. he joined the ranks of AR, advanced readers, and even now as i write this, he is curled up on the couch reading a book. at his awards banquet, he was named the most improved in his class. yep, i cried. i knew that no one in that entire auditorium had worked as hard and been through as much as my kid. i am so proud.

even more than his accomplishments, i'm proud of who my son is becoming. William means "protector" and that is exactly who he is. he is constantly at his brother's side watching out for him. if he sees that anyone needs help, he is there. he is kind. he is loving. he is helpful. his heart is open and responsive both to others and to God. he laughs easily and he can't imagine someone not wanting to be his friend. i tell you, he's downright amazing.

here are some pics from this year's party. since we were having a water party, we went with a sponge bob theme. it was total, wet chaos but everyone had a great time.

happy birthday son. we love you!

new topic please

2010-06-19T00:11:00.003+02:00

i'm still surprised by some of the conversations i find myself in here in the good ole bible belt. it is interesting that so little has changed in a decade. put me in a room full of evangelical christians and eventually one of the following topics will be discussed.

traditional vs. contemporary services
should christians drink or not?
will there be a rapture?
does God choose us or do we choose him?
what role can a woman play in the church?
what role should politics play in safe guarding christian principles and beliefs?

and on and on it goes. when people discover they have a seminary grad in the room, one who was even a minister in a church, well then things get really interesting. people turn to me and ask my opinion on these conservative hot topics. do i have thoughts? have i had these conversations before? do i have strong opinions? yep. do i care? nope.

i guess part of the problem is that i have been living in a country for the past decade that doesn't, in general, believe that God even exists. to the frenchies, i'm a walking anomaly, a throw back to another era when unenlightened people still went to church and clung to their faith in God. if they had their way, i would be put in a museum so that people could come and meet an actual practicing christian, one who still prays, reads her bible and shares her faith.

in france, i don't have the occasion to talk about whether or not a church should sing primarily hymns or choruses. most churches can't even afford a full time pastor. the worship portion of the service at the first church i went to in france consisted of a teenager playing a trumpet while the congregation tried to sing along. no choir. no drums. no hip looking worship leader with his trendy glasses and trimmed goatee. and alcohol. obviously not an issue in france. our first year in paris we helped set up for the french baptist convention. my job was to set the tables and for every bottle of water, i set out two bottles of wine. ( i think our french brothers and sisters would warn us americans that alcohol isn't our enemy, food is. ahhh but who takes gluttony seriously, right?)

the truth is that tertiary issues like those listed above only get air time in God haunted areas (thanks Flannery for letting me borrow your phrase). there is no time to fight, argue or divide over whether one uses an organ or a guitar. the evangelical population in france, about .5% of the population, is just trying to figure out how to effectively live out their faith in a culture that could care less about God.

i guess that has french fried me a bit. believe in the rapture if you want to. read the Left Behind series. attend all the workshops. go to a church that has your musical preference. Lord knows there are enough for you to choose from. drink or don't drink. let women teach or don't. just realize that outside your bible study group is a world of people who are asking a ton of questions and none of them have to do with whether or not a christian should enjoy a glass of wine with dinner or not.

i would love to see a church full of people as passionate about reaching out to their lost neighbor as they are about attending the next tea party meeting. let's gather together and spend our time talking about how to live passionately and intentionally. let's talk about the cosmic drama that we get to be a part of as believers. let's talk about who God has made us to be and how that reality can impact everyone we come into contact with. now that folks would be some stimulating conversation.

coffee anyone?

the mercy of brokenness

2010-06-18T02:36:00.006+02:00

i'm starting to believe that change isn't possible about apart from brokenness. that may be obvious to many of you but it hasn't always been to me. raised in the texas panhandle, i was indoctrinated with a heavy dose of what i will call cowboy theology. if you sinned, you dusted yourself off, got back on your horse and tried harder to stay on the next time. this cowboy-up mentality would would prove effective for a season. maybe you would stay on for a week or if you were really trying hard and disciplined, a month. inevitably, something would happen, a moment of weakness, fatigue or frustration and the next thing you know, you are on the ground again covered in dust, if not something much worse. with each successive failure a residue of discouragement would remain, creating doubt that transformation was indeed possible.

"white knuckling it" is a sucky theology of sanctification. will power alone will never reach into the deep places of our heart and afford the change that we so desperately long for. something is missing and i believe that something is brokenness.

brokenness isn't a cheery theme. not many mega-pastors turned author are writing about dark nights of the soul and confession of sin. i have begun to wonder if we really understand those concepts anymore and believe me when i tell you, i'm including myself in this "we." it seems that we have embraced many counterfeits to brokenness and allowed those frauds to prevent the Spirit from doing the deep work of regeneration.

to many, brokenness is grief. sin has consequences that at times can be very painful. whether brought about by our own hand or by that of another, we can be wounded, hurt and brought low by the effect of sin in our lives. this pain brings grief. the problem is we can be sad about our sin without being broken by it.

to others, brokenness is simply acknowledgement of a problem or area of sinfulness in their lives. as americans we are good at locating the problem and believing that the battle is won simply by being able to name our enemy. after 20 years of self-help indoctrination, we can self-diagnosis as well as Dr. Phil himself. my generation in particular is one of the first to be what many would term self-aware. we analyze our relationships, talk about family of origin dysfunctions, and label our issues all in an effort to figure out why we are so screwed up. we talk and analyze and read books and seek out counselors but after we are done, we walk away intact, unchanged, still stuck in the mire of our inner mess.

brokenness is a Godly sorrow over the things that separate us from God and others. it is more than just a "forgive me God for i have sinned" prayer. it is a desperation in our inner person that cries out for God to remove anything that offends him and others. it is a supernatural natural understanding that the sin in our life is killing us and damaging others. it is a heart wrenching sorrow that flows from knowing that our sin has built a barrier between us and the lover of our soul. this brokenness leads us to repentance. it forces us to stop thinking about all that we believe we deserve and start thanking him for his undeserved mercy. we stop demanding that God make our dreams come true and start asking what role we play in His cosmic drama. we stop housing, caressing and grooming our pet sins and start recognizing them for the life-threatening carnivores that they are. the result? grace-filled moment by grace-filled moment we are transformed.

how i long to see those who call themselves believers being shaped into his image! i long for it personally. i long for it corporately. my prayer, dear friends is that you would start to see brokenness as a gift not a punishment, a severe mercy that opens the door to what our heart longs for most--Him.

2010-06-03T05:36:00.007+02:00

preschool graduation.

when i heard that they were going to have a graduation for Wyatt's pre-k class complete with cap and gown, i inwardly groaned. it seemed like a not so clever lure to get parents to spend more money. first came the formal graduation pictures, then the fee for cap and gown cleaning. all this to celebrate the fact that my kid can now promote to yet another level in school that isn't mandatory. i wasn't buying it. this excessive nonsense would not make me its next victim.

then i saw my adorable 4-year-old in his cap and gown smiling as wide as the big mouth frog himself and i melted. gone were my snarpy comments. silenced was my rant on useless ceremonies at parental expense. i got sucked in. there was no stopping it. the vortex of parental pride reduced me to a goofy smiling, picture taking, video rolling stepford mom.

how could i not be proud? last year my little man was in a french preschool trying to learn a language at 3 that i could barely learn at 30. this year he was thrown into a completely different environment and i wasn't sure whether he would sink or swim. it took almost the entire year for him to really engage and play with the other kids. his shell was hard and obstinate, not cracking until the very end. so when Wyatt grabbed his diploma, flashed a big smile and took an unrehearsed bow that sent the crowd into a fit of laughter, i felt my heart swell and my eyes tear up. my little man was growing up. he had done more than learn his letters and sounds, he had successfully acclimated from one culture to another. big stuff for a little man.

so i proudly present to you, my faithful readers, Wyatt Dean Campbell, graduate of The First Methodist Preschool of Crowley Texas.

let's give him a hand....

walking down the aisle

giving a hug, getting a diploma

right before the bow

Wyatt and his teacher Mrs. Alice

Wyatt should have gotten the award for the best enunciator!

from 4 wheels to 2

2010-05-21T14:58:00.005+02:00

for months we have been telling Will that it is time to take the training wheels off his bike. he kept telling us that he didn't want to so we didn't force the issue. since i couldn't find my parenting manual, i wasn't sure at what age most parents taught their kid's to ride without training wheels. we decided upon the "we'll wait until he is ready" approach. the problem was he wasn't getting ready. all the other kids on the block where riding just on two wheels. we thought that might put a little "getty up" in his want to but we were wrong. our son, Will Campbell, was perfectly content to ride on four wheels.

last week dad took things into his own hands. he took the training wheels off and told Will that today was the day he would take a big step into manhood. Will wasn't so sure. he said he didn't want to but Scott wasn't budging. so, the whole family--mom with camera in hand-- made their way out to the driveway. Scott loaded Will onto his bike, grabbed the back of his seat, whispered instructions and off they went. running and running Scott instructed our son on steering and stability. then he let go. somehow Will became suddenly drunk and wobbled to the ground in a dramatic crash.

"see i told you i couldn't do it!" the tears starting flowing.
"yes, you can son."

and it would start again. back and forth they went, Scott letting go and Will crumbling to the ground.

"i don't want to do this anymore."
"we are going to keep at it son."
"let's just sell my bike. i don't want it."

just as we were all about to give up, Will did something incredible. he didn't fall down the second Scott let go. for just a moment he got a taste of what it was like to ride a bike. i screamed. Scott slapped him on the back and encouraged him to go again. little by little, Will began to ride his bike.

we are so proud of him! now if we can only figure out why he still wants to sell his bike!

40

2010-05-11T15:26:00.003+02:00

well it is here. today is the day. i'm 40.

can i just admit that it is weird to think of myself as a 40 year old? i don't feel 40. i hope i don't look 40. i am pretty sure i don't act 40. but 40 i am, whether i want to be or not.

for months i have been setting goals towards this day. i went vegetarian for a month to see if eliminating meat really would give me more energy. when my back was ready and able, i set in motion a workout plan, a 30 day program created by my hero, Jillian Michaels, with the aim of toning up and losing those last few nasty pounds. and though i won't share everything with you from the spiritual goals category, i will say that studying the number 40 in the Bible was one of them.

now before you start groaning and rolling your eyes at my seemingly "canned" choice of bible study topics, let me say that i chose this for some pretty significant reasons. when i thought of the number 40, my mind went to three events in the Bible: the number of days it rained during the flood, the number of years the Israelites wandered around the wilderness and the number of days Jesus spent in the desert being tempted by the devil. immediately i sensed a theme. 40 seemed to signify a period of trial, testing, hardship and even death. happy stuff, eh? one would think that i were intentionally trying to depress myself by choosing this topic, but instead this study had the exact opposite effect. let me see if i can explain why.

a rainbow, the symbol of new life and a new covenant, followed the 40 days of rain.
after 40 years in the wilderness, God's people settled in a land of promise, one flowing with milk and honey.
Jesus began his universe altering ministry after 40 days of no food or water and the constant enticing to evil by the enemy.

each period of trial was followed by a season of new life. all the years preceding that 40 year mark were preparation for what was to follow. Jesus even spent 40 days with his disciples after his resurrection teaching them about the kingdom, preparing them for their incredible role in building His church.

i'm entering a new season of life. i'm as sure about that as i am about how gray my hair is getting. i've felt the continuous rain sent by a gracious Father to wipe away the sins that were destroying me. i've walked in the desert, a severe mercy allowed by the one who wants to purify the motives and desires of my heart. i've died to false ways of thinking and living. oh and just so you know, i haven't always done this willingly. like the Israelites, i've ranted and demanded to know why God led me out of Egypt, my comfortable imprisonment in order to perish in the wilderness. like Elijah, who after a great conquest on mount carmel against the prophets of Baal fell into a scared depression, i have walked 40 days in search of His voice, one that was found not in the fire or the earthquake but in the stillness of a quiet moment. i enter my 40s perhaps a bit battered and bruised but most assuredly different, more me than i have ever been before.

i'm not saying this next decade will be easy sailing. i have cities left to conquer, demons yet to cast out and hard work yet to accomplish. but i'm not discouraged, not in the least. in my heart i feel something powerful stirring--hope. not a hope for blessings. not a hope for an easy life. not a hope that all my dreams will come true. no, i have hope that he who began a good work in me will complete it, in his timing and for his glory. He is my promised land and i can't wait to eat and drink all that He has for me.

my back may hurt. my hair may gray. the wrinkles may take over. but my friends, i can say with full assurance that it is well with my soul.

Jillianology

2010-05-03T15:29:00.008+02:00

i love The Biggest Loser. i watched it for the first time last season and was mesmerized by the real life tales of overweight people trying to change their lives for the better. people come on the show weighing anywhere from 300-500 pounds and after several months of daily workouts and dieting, walk away half the person they were before...literally! it is reality TV at its best, inspiring and entertaining.

Jillian has got to be my favorite person on the show. you just never know what is going to come out of her mouth. perched high upon a treadmill, her menacing glance is enough to get even the weariest contestant to step it up a few notches. she can break anyone, even the 500 pound italian, and the funny thing is that she does it on purpose. yep. like a cowboy trying to break a bronco, Jillian exhausts and exasperates the contestants to their breaking point. when she gets them to cry and walk out the door then she knows she has them right where she wants them.

as a trainer, wanna-be-psychologist and former obese person herself, Jillian knows that the weight is only a part of the problem. with a "don't mess with me" approach, she gets in the tear stained face of her newest conquest and asks this question, "how did you get this way?" she isn't asking how many big macs the person has had in their lifetime. no she is digging for the cause, the reason why a person would let himself gain 300 pounds. until the contestant answers that question, he will never truly win the battle against his weight.

sometimes i wonder if we haven't really learned this a christians. we are normally pretty content just addressing the externals.
instead of delving deep into the matters of the heart, we have become behavior management experts. with a biblical clipboard in hand, we go around weighing each other, pointing out all the things we need to do or not do to achieve the ideal weight. spiritual disciplines are low in calories so we prescribe a daily dose of bible study and prayer. church is the best gym around so we encourage everyone to attend at least 3 times a week for an hour workout. we print out a list of high fat, high calorie foods and warn everyone that consuming these products might lead to lead to unhealthy weight gain. in the swirl of all our good intentions, we forget to address the one thing that truly matters--"how did i get this way?"

simmering below the surface of any given behavior is a longing. we are driven by our wants, needs and desires. Andre Louf in his book Teach Us to Pray says this, "we must beware of the strange and confused world inside us with which every desire arising within us must dispatch a sentinel to put the question, 'who are you, where do you come from, which side are you on?' they mean that each and every desire must be subjected to a crisis, a judgment."

how often do we peel back the layers and ask ourselves these hard questions? when was the last time a true friend, a spiritual Jillian, got in your face and asked what was really going on in your heart?

an honest look at our heart unveils the true source and object of our desires. this glance produces a brokenness in us, a realization that we are far from being who God created us to be...

we see our obsession with physical beauty as a desire to be loved wildly.
we understand that our shameless self promoting is simply a longing to be valued.
we are aware that our unquenchable thirst to surf forbidden sites late at night is a desperate yearning to feel anything but numb.

in those moments of raw honesty, if we are quiet and still enough, we can hear his whisper.

my love is unconditional.
you have value because i made you and love you.
true passion is found in me alone.

as we orient our hearts towards him something amazing happens, we are transformed. our behavior changes, not because we have willed it to be so, but because our heart has been infiltrated with a passion for Him. a greater love now rules us, funneling our longings in their proper direction.

the contestants on the biggest loser aren't only there to lose weight and look better. they are there to save their lives. addressing the causes of their weight gain and then changing their ways gives them a new lease on life. i don't know about you but i'm tired of being spiritually obese. i'm tired of getting plastic surgery when a heart transplant is called for.

so bring it Jillian. this girl is ready to get in shape.

a beautiful collision

2010-04-25T16:14:00.004+02:00

when cultures collide, mentanna gets very confused. it isn't pretty but hopefully it is amusing. on the 1st of april, our closest french friends came for a visit. for the first time since we became french fried, we actually had our french life invade our american one here on texas soil. maybe that doesn't seem weird to you. maybe the concept of feeling like one has two lives is foreign to you, but as one of those people who claim two countries as home, i can assure you that it is a bit disorienting when one life steps into the other.

the most obvious cultural confusion came in the form of language. when i am with sophie and gildas, i speak french. always have. so when they were here, i spoke french. TO EVERYONE. the cashier at Kohl's looked at me quizzically when i asked him something in french. american friends here laughed when i tried to translate for them and instead repeated IN FRENCH what the frenchies had just said. it was comical. my brain didn't know which track to stay on and as a result, derailed more than once.

i was also surprised at how much their presence affected my perspective. for my loyal readers, you know that i often talk about my french fried perspective on life in america. living overseas does change how we view our home culture. i see things here differently now. the lenses through which i experience the world have been altered. what surprised me the most was how much stronger the lens became by the physical presence of my french friends. it is as if i had superhero vision for two weeks, the ability to see my culture as an actual french person would. the cars got bigger. the continual noise got louder. the friendliness of my neighbors seemed more hospitable. portions in restaurants seemed even bigger. clothes seemed cheaper. everything seemed newer and better cared for. everything seemed easier, more efficient and totally kid friendly.

i had fun noticing their reactions to things and quizzing them on their impressions. my "barbara walters" question asking was in high gear. here are some of the things that made me chuckle.

**they marveled at chucky cheese. to have a restaurant designed especially for kids was a true wonder for them.
**our street market was comical in light of what they have in france. i think the one we went to had about 6 vendors. in france, markets expand over blocks and blocks.
**sophie was shocked that we never observed any silence during our church services. think about it. even when we pray we have music playing in the background.
**"a la vache" was all gildas could say about "the biggest loser." it wasn't just the size of the contestants but their willingness to allow the world to watch their struggle with weight that rocked his french mind.
**they kept asking if we had this kind of cheese or that kind of cheese and where the cheese counter was. my response was always the same. "the cheddar is right over there."

we had such a great time. i loved showing them my world, where i came from. i wonder if it explained "me" more to them. i wonder if it gives them better perspective on who we are and why. i know i loved being able to share american me with them. i am so grateful that they came.

removing the rocks

2010-04-16T21:12:00.004+02:00

this past monday as we were getting ready to put our kids to bed Wyatt looked at me and said, "mom, i have a rock in my ear." a rock in your ear? i grabbed a flashlight, peered down his ear canal and sure enough there was a small brown rock lodged inside. i couldn't believe it. i would never have seen it if he hadn't have said something to me. after a seemingly endless number of questions, i learned that he had put the rock in his ear during nap time at school. he had found it beside his sleep mat and decided that it needed to live in his ear. apparently he had done this before, given homeless rocks a place to stay, but he had always been able to get them out. not this time.

of course i packed him up and drove him to the ER. we waited for over 3 hours before we saw the doctor. (just so you know, mondays are the busiest days in an ER. wish i had known that before i went!) when he finally came in and took a look, he said that he could get it out no problem. well no problem until Wyatt went into full panic mode. i would like to say that my son was brave and never flinched but the truth is when he saw the long tweezers the dr. was going to use to remove the rock, he started kicking and screaming. arms were flayling. head was shaking. tears were flowing. the dr. said he was going to leave, give me a chance to calm him down and then return to get the rock out.

i pulled out everything i had. i told him it wouldn't hurt, that it would only take 10 seconds, that if he could be still for just that long then it would all be over. i promised him ice cream. i said i would buy him a star wars toy. i told him that a jedi would be brave. i took his little face in mine, looked into his frightened eyes and promised him that it would be all right, that he could trust me, that i really was doing what was best for him.

the doc came back and so did Wyatt's total panic. with 3 doctors assisting, we all held him down and tried to remove the rock. it was not to be. Wyatt was moving, crying and screaming so much that the doctor scraped the inside of his ear causing it to bleed. when Wyatt felt real pain for the first time, he went into full hysteria.

i drove him home with a rock still in his ear. he fell asleep immediately in the car-it was past midnight-and i started crying as i drove. they were tears of stress and of sadness over seeing my boy in pain. but there was something else stirring around in me, a deeper grief. i had felt so powerless. there was nothing i could do to convince my child, who i love with my entire being, that all he had to do was be still for that rock to come out. i had begged, pleaded and bribed. nothing had worked. what hurt the worst was the realization that even my relationship with him wasn't enough to convince him that i was really doing what was in his best interest. his fear completely took over. he couldn't see past it. no amount of love or promises could persuade him to trust me.

even as i write this my heart is stirred. i am grieving the fact that fear has been a constant companion of mine since my early childhood. i have let it control me, rob me of faith, prevent me from taking risks. i have put rocks in my ears, dulled my ability to hear my loving parent who whispers that it will be all right if i would only be still and trust. instead i have kicked and screamed and insisted that my fear is reality, that i know better. pain and fear have even caused me to question my heavenly father's heart. does he care that i am hurting? is he here? why does he allow it?

my heart doesn't wonder that anymore. my experiences with him over the past couple of years have been radically altering the way i see Him and that night in the emergency room sealed it for me. even as an imperfect mom, one who sometimes wishes her kids would go to bed at noon so that she can do what she wants to do, i love my children fiercely. my heart was breaking that night. i was crying with my child, hating the pain he was causing himself by his refusal to trust. and most of all, i grieved that my child wouldn't trust in my heart for him.

i guess we all put rocks in our ears. we do all kinds of crazy things to try to get life to work for us. we try to find meaning in jobs, relationships, quick pleasures or whatever our candy of choice is. our perspective is as limited as our understanding. we arrogantly assume we know what is best and kick and scream when God tries to tell us anything different. but the truth is that we have a perfect Father, who with a heart of ferocious love is allowing things into our lives so that we will fall into Him. he is not unaffected by our pain. he hates the rock and wants it out. he hurts more than we ever could because only He knows all that is truly at stake.

this morning we took Wyatt back to the hospital. they gave him some gas, put him to sleep and in 2 minutes got the rock out. there was no permanent damage, just a little bruising. he woke up groggy but happy. i requested to keep the rock, mainly because that little piece of earth is now worth about $300. but i want to keep it for another reason too. it is now a memorial for me, a reminder of his passionate love for his children.

my pile of stones

2010-04-01T18:50:00.006+02:00

i love the story of the crossing of the Jordan by the people of Israel. Moses is gone, dead and buried. an entire generation has passed away after spending 40 humbling years walking around the desert due to their lack of trust in God. Joshua, Moses' protege, is now leading the pack, the children of those who came out of slavery in Egypt. they are a river away from a promise. Moses had his Red Sea and now Joshua has his Jordan. another crossing, another miracle. God's instructions are clear. send the ark with the priests first and watch Him clear the way. i imagine the priests were hesitant at first. theirs was a step of faith. yet the exact moment their sandals left the bank of the river and touched down into the bed, the water of the Jordan stopped flowing. though it is hard to picture mentally what this must have looked like, the Bible tells us that the waters stood as in a heap. water in a heap. only God could come up with that.

as you know, the people hurry across and no one drowns, giving us yet another successful israelite crossing. a cool story to be sure but the miracle isn't my favorite part. no, what happens afterwards intrigues me most. God tells Joshua to do something odd. he tells him to appoint 12 men, one from each tribe, to go and gather 12 stones from the middle of the Jordan. they are to take some of those stones and build an altar in the middle of the Jordan on the exact spot where the priests stood with the ark. the rest of the stones are to be taken to Gilgal where yet another altar is to be erected. the reason was symbolic. those stones would serve as a sign, as a memorial of the day when God held back the waters so that his people could enter the promised land. they would be a reminder, not only to those who crossed, but to future generations as well. the altar's purpose was to elicit the question, "what do these stones mean to you?"

i love that story. it resonates with me on a deep level. i'm not sure if it is because of my personality makeup or because of my life experience or just because i am a bit insane, but i find myself looking for ways to symbolically celebrate the working of God in my own life. i want to mark sacred moments with stones of my own. i want to set them up and allow their very presence to prompt others to ask, "what do these stones mean to you?"

granted i don't build actual altars. you won't find any stone pilings in my backyard. my symbols are personal expressions, sometimes hidden, sometimes obvious and could very well remain obscure if i chose to allow them to be so. yes, we have our own way of celebrating things, God and me, but they usually take the form of some type of artistic expression. i have painted on canvases symbols of His inner workings in me. this blog has often served as a medium for telling of his movement in my life. words themselves become worship, stones that i stack upon one another as i attempt to build a written picture of who He is and what He has done. even seemingly mundane actions like growing my hair out can be an expression of an inner reality.

perhaps my favorite symbol, sign and memorial is my newest tattoo. on my right hand ring finger is the hebrew word for mercy. i have learned much of his mercy in this last season of my life.i would like to say that i learned of it the easy way but the truth is that i had to be broken before i saw it clearly. his merciful shattering of my pride brought me to my knees and it was there that i encountered him. it was there that i was transformed. it was there that i understood that He was the fulfillment of the deep longings of my heart.

hosea 2:19 says, "I (God) will betroth you to Me forever; yes, i will betroth you to Me in righteousness and in justice, in mercy and in compassion."

as God began doing a healing work in me, i felt compelled to find a way to commemorate his mercy. when the idea of a tattoo came to me, i knew instantly that this would be my pile of stones, my altar to mark my holy encounter with Him. the above verse served as my inspiration and guided what my tattoo would be and where i would wear it on my body. even now i can see the hebrew letters as i type. i see this sign and my heart is strengthened. when i am tempted to look backwards, when i hear lying whispers, when i forget who i am, i only have to glance down at my hand. my memorial is there, a permanent reminder of what is true.

my tattoo is in no way hidden. people notice it all the time. some raise an eyebrow and look at me suspiciously; after all, how can a good little baptist girl have a tattoo? others are inquisitive. "what do these stones mean to you?" they ask. it is then that i have an opportunity to share with others how God has intervened on my behalf. like the stones of the Jordan, my tattoo stands as a testimony so "that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty...."

worship has many expressions. it doesn't matter if yours is to sing or paint or dance or cook. what matters is that you worship Him. gather some stones. build an altar. remember. celebrate.

spring break baby!

2010-03-22T02:18:00.010+01:00

spring break this year was a family affair. scott's folks rented a condo in gulfport, mississippi and invited the kids and grand kids to join them. it would be the first time we had vacationed with scott's family.

scott, gepaw, memaw and tambri

scott's sister, tambri drove down friday night with our nieces, stevie and cierra. we left early the next morning and drove to louisanna with the goal of spending sunday in new orleans.

new orleans, i had actually been there one time before. scott and i had just started dating and we were making the big haul from texas to florida to spend time with his family. i had never met them. as a matter of a fact, i hadn't even committed to being his girlfriend yet. on our way back to texas, we stopped off in new orleans. over dinner, this commitment phob finally conceded that we were a couple. on that humid night in august, i started dating my husband.

fast forward 17 years. same city. same couple. different me. this time i wasn't looking at him wondering if this thing was going to work out. i wasn't fearful or anxious. i was grateful. sitting across from my husband with a kid on either side of me, i was filled with something much deeper than happiness. i was filled with joy. our journey hasn't been what i expected. that 23-year-old couldn't have foreseen a move across the ocean, or giving birth in a french hospital or walking through some dark, pain filled times. no, i had no idea what was in store. but if i had to do it all over again, if i could rewind and go back to that moment where i said yes to scott, i wouldn't change a thing. i have made a lot of bad decisions in my lifetime but choosing to intertwine my life together with his was not one of them.

wow, this was just supposed to be a family vacation post. i sure didn't mean to get all sappy. cut to pictures! quick!

you know i couldn't resist taking a pic of this and sharing it with you.

bourbon street

is he cool or what?

tambri, what do you see?

a family in feathers. my kind of portrait.

that night we headed to Gulfport, mississippi where we met up with Memaw and Gepaw. the schedule for the week was to just relax and enjoy being together. our condo sat across the street from a white sand beach. granted it was man made but it still possessed a soul filling beauty. we spent our days playing in the sand, swimming in the indoor pool and walking along the beach.

the boys enjoyed covering me with sand.

sponge bob swim trunks. i couldn't resist.

stevie spent the week taking pictures. i had to get a pic of that!

this chase scene went on for over an hour.

scott lovin on his mama.

cierra stopped diggin her hole long enough to get buried.

buried alive!

the best part of the trip was getting to spend time with family and i don't just mean my little family of four. one of the things we give up by choosing to live overseas is time with extended family. my nieces are growing up. stevie is already driving. i have missed so much. it is good to sit down and get to know them, to watch cierra knit, to admire stevie's pictures. i'm a distant aunt, a distant sister-in-law, a distant daughter-in-law. the time i get to be "close" is precious to me. i am grateful for the head of the clan that made it possible. thanks Memaw and Gepaw. it was a great week.

in love with oscar

2010-03-10T15:30:00.003+01:00

i love the oscars. always have and probably always will. i love them so much that even while in france i made every effort to watch them. now you have no idea just how hard that was. think back to a time when one couldn't stream tv live from the internet. you with me? i actually had to find it on a french station and then stay up all night to watch it thanks to that nasty 7 hour time difference. unfortunately, the only station that plays the oscars is canal plus which is the frenchie version of HBO. we couldn't afford to pay the monthly fees for one night of indulgence. it just didn't make sense, to my hubby that is.

my first couple of years in france, i had a friend that would loan me his canal plus box for the night. i would pack it up, take it home and trust my techno geek hubby to get it all set up for me. when my friend left france, i found myself up a creek. one year i actually rented a hotel room with some friends just so we could watch it. we sat up all night, crammed ourselves on one very uncomfortable bed and watched the show on a nine inch screen. pathetic but fun. the only annoying thing about watching it in another country is the dubbing. since it is a live broadcast the only way to dub it into french is to literally translate simulataneously which means talking over the host and other celebrities. it is like listening to a radio station that isn't coming in very well. you can hear some english but mostly you hear a bad french translation, one where the poor translator is trying to make american humor understandable to a french crowd. it was frustrating but year after year i put up with it out of my love to oscar.

finally technology caught up with my needs. live streaming came to town and i got to watch my precious oscars in english without any french commentary. i still had to stay up all night but at least i got to watch the red carpet and hear the actual jokes and speeches.

i have made sacrifices for oscar. he should know that. my commitment has been firm.

why do i love him so? such a good question you ask. could it be that i was a film major with dreams of owning one of those gold little statuettes one day? maybe. could it be that i love trying to pick who gets what award? maybe. could it be just a good excuse to see lots of movies in february in preparation for the ceremonies? maybe. regardless of the reasons i find myself infatuated with oscar. though his show is always long and sometimes tedious, though he anger me with his political and self-indulgent speeches, though he often chooses the wrong host, i remain ever faithful.

this year i got to watch oscar in the states. i didn't have to stay up till 2am. i didn't have to watch him alone with a computer on my lap. instead i went to an oscar party. i ate the most amazing chicken enchiladas. i sat with other die hard fans, fellow film majors even and laughed and critiqued and applauded. we talked film. we talked merit. we talked about how ridiculous it was that Avatar was even nominated. and the best part? watching "liberal" hollywood finally award a woman the best director award. all the female film majors in the room cheered. in that moment we all envisioned ourselves there, in her place, taking a hold of little oscar. a vicarious moment to be sure but a satisfying one as well.

so here's to oscar, my golden love. i'll see you next year...

how not to be a dead sicilian

2010-03-01T17:32:00.002+01:00

where's the poison? i began asking myself that question as i searched the pros and cons of eating organically. if you remember from this post, i decided awhile back to do all i could to make sure that my kids were eating as healthily as possible. since then, i have been researching both sides of the argument and let's face it, each camp has an agenda. i finally got to the point where i asked this simple question, "where is the poison?"

common sense was given to us by God to make good decisions. our Sicilian friend didn't have much of it. he lost the wager. he drank the poison. i decided in my quest to eat healthy that the one thing i didn't want to happen was for my family to become a group of dead Sicilians. i don't want them to choose the right cup; i want them to get as far away from the poison as possible. common sense, not science gave me the answer.

888 million pounds of pesticides are applied to crops each year in the US. that is about 3 pounds per person. the EPA and FDA regulate what is known as tolerance levels in our foods. basically that means that they determine the amount of pesticide residue that can safely be found in or on our food and not harm us. decisions about these safety levels depend on the type of pesticide used. you can actually go to the EPA website and see how pesticides are regulated. one thing the EPA is not denying is that we do consume some of this residue. we can't wash or peel all the toxins away. many of the pesticides are absorbed into the fruit or vegetable itself. and you know what is baffling to me? some of those pesticides are used only so that the fruit will look appetizing. yep, sometimes poison is applied so that those apples in the produce section will look shiny and unblemished.

again i am no Einstein but i am thinking no poison is better than trace amounts of poison.

children are especially sensitive to pesticides. pesticides have been linked to slow cognitive development, cancer, bad hormone function and neurological problems. the truth is that their little bodies can't fight the toxins as well as ours can. so explain to me why we would ever want to put poison in our children? but you say it is only trace amounts. well, let me get you a glass of water and i will put a trace amount of poison in it. would you drink it?

organic farming is a good alternative. if pesticides are used at all, they are all natural, usually made out of plant oils. this means that synthetic pesticides are not used. the environment is spared, no poison leaks into the air or water and everyone benefits. the choice seems obvious to me. i will buy organic fruits and vegetables if at all possible.

i'm not a fanatic. i know that just living on this planet means we will consume and be exposed to all kinds of toxins. they are in the air all around us. such is the price we pay for progress. but i can make choices too. i can do all that is within my power to protect my family from unnecessary exposure. all it costs me is some extra time in the kitchen and a few more dollars from my wallet. that seems to be a small price to pay to not end up like a dead Sicilian.

amen?

2010-02-22T16:12:00.003+01:00

yesterday i heard a good, old fashioned revival style preacher. i was totally unprepared for it too. the church itself screamed contemporary and trendy. it had a coffee bar and lounge, state of the art media equipment and stadium like seating in the intentionally unfinished and modern looking auditorium. after the worship band finished, i was prepared for a conversational speaker with dockers and a nice button down to come and deliver the sermon. wrong. mr. fire and brimstone himself got up to preach and instantly i was transported back to the days when my church held a yearly revival.

now let me say, i don't mind more traditional preaching styles. i know it bothers some people when a preacher yells and gets all red-faced. that doesn't disturb me in the least. i am not offended when a more prophetic preacher really gets up in my face and challenges me. my guess is we all need a bit more of that in our lives. but, and you knew there was one coming right? but there was something this preacher was doing that set my teeth on edge, that almost propelled me out of my seat and through the nearest door. let me just give you some examples....

"atheists are either stupid or ignorant or both."
"i listened to this moron on the radio the other day."
"she should be called ellen degenerate."
"those harvard idiots want us to believe...."

this was the tone of his sermon which was entitled "the wrath of God." i felt the wrath believe me! i felt it against anyone and anything that was outside the believing circle. at first i was dumbfounded. is jesus not clear on the sermon on the mount that we are not to call anyone a "good for nothing" or a "fool?" name calling is what one does to devalue a person. the reason i don't want my kids to call someone stupid is not because "stupid" is a bad word but because they don't assign value to someone when they do it. we are to value those whom God has made both in word and deed.

as i sat in that auditorium i realized that something much deeper was bothering me. with each jab at secular society, with each joke about evolutionists, with each caddy remark about intellectuals, the audience clapped and cheered. i haven't heard that many "amens" in a long time.

"our nation is going to hell in a hand basket. (yep he really said it)!" AMEN.
"those who say there is no God are fools!" AMEN.
"people will one day reap what they sow." AMEN.

amen? let it be so? i just wanted to scream "NO, DON"T LET IT BE SO!" my heart wasn't rejoicing. my heart was breaking. we are surrounded by people who are walking in darkness, who are broken and hurting. they are without Him, without peace, without hope, without the joy that comes from knowing Him. that should bring us to our knees in tears not to our feet in applause.

jesus' first sermon came from the book of isaiah. he stood and read these words...
the spirit of the lord is upon me because he anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor. he has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the favorable year of the lord."

apart from him we are poor, captive, blind and oppressed. his message was one of freedom. he didn't call the woman at the well a slut nor did he call Zacchaeus a thief. instead he reached out his hand of mercy and offered them words of life. when Jesus looked out over the city of Jerusalem and saw that they were like sheep without a shepherd, he felt compassion. is that what we feel when we look out over our city, over those who live and believe differently?

yesterday the preacher emphasized time and again that God had stepped back from the world and let his wrath come down on unrighteousness. romans chapter one does indeed talk about that but thankfully the book doesn't end there. i serve a God who stepped forward, who stepped smack down in the middle of our most shameful depravity in the person of his son. Jesus came to set us free from the things that were destroying us, to offer us life. that is the message the world needs to hear. that is the message that has been given to the church.

"therefore we are ambassadors for christ, as though God were making an appeal through us; we BEG you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God." 2 corinthians 5:20.

now that is worthy of an AMEN!

the church she is a changing

2010-02-15T15:16:00.005+01:00

i have lived outside the US for over 10 years now. for years, with the exception of a 3 month stint 4 years ago, we only came back to visit for a couple of weeks over christmas. we pop in from time to time and with each visit we notice the way american culture is slowly changing. like the proverbial frog who doesn't notice that the water is slowly getting warmer, we often don't notice the subtle changes taking place around us in our home culture. what is noticeably different to me when i visit may not be so different to the one living in it. when i stare in amazement at a bunch of ladies in red hats, the rest of you just shrug. it isn't new or different to you.

some of the biggest changes i have noticed involve the church. now i have posted much on the church since my arrival back in the states but be patient, this post may not be going in the direction you think it is. this post is about the subtle changes i have noticed within the church, the evangelical church that is. these changes are not one of doctrine, they are ones of style. personally, i like the changes but i admit that it is a personal preference and not necessarily "better."

my favorite change is the dressing down of church. hallelujah! no more hose! no more buying a whole line of clothes that i only wear once a week. i love it. even the pastor is dressing down in most churches. everything is casual and comfortable. the thing i like most about this is that anyone could feel welcome given this dress code--the poor, the rich, the fashionable, the fashion challenged. all are welcome! i believe this sends out an important message, that the Lord looks at the heart and not at what we are sporting on our feet. what a beautiful message and how desperately the world needs to hear it!

another change i have noticed seems to be the decline of the worship wars. it seems most churches have found their musical comfort zone. some have multiple services offering different musical styles. others have zeroed in on one and just let the chips fall where they may. people go where they feel comfortable and the figthting over whether or not to use an electric guitar during worship seems to be a thing of the past.

also in the worship arena, i have noticed that there appears to be more freedom to physically worship as one desires. when i was a kid clapping was suspect in a baptist church. later, the big issue was whether one could raise their hands in worship or not. all that seems to be null and void now. one sees a little bit of everything in most churches. liberating!

i have also been pleasantly surprised by the greater percentage of women on church staff. before woman served almost exclusively as children and preschool ministers. now i see women serving as worship leaders, creative arts ministers, counselors and administrative pastors. we all know that gets a fist pump from me, the local christian feminist.

other changes...

guests aren't singled out in services anymore. whew. as a guest in over a dozen churches in the past couple of months, let me tell you how relieved i am.

announcements are rarely made from the pulpit anymore. thank goodness. we can all read, right?

oh i like this one. guests get gifts. i love free gifts.

higher accountability in children's ministry. i love the care and attention given to assuring that our kids are safe and not allowed to be picked up by just anyone.

well that is all i have for now. musing from the french fried texan on the changes within evangelical churches over the past 10 years. anyone have others to add?

snow days in the south

2010-02-13T15:34:00.003+01:00

i love to watch people panic when it starts to snow. when i first moved to central texas from the panhandle, i was shocked by how just a small flurry of snow could get people all riled up. at the first hint of ice or accumulation, the city would shut down. i remember during one such "winter storm" getting in my car and driving to the store thinking to myself "this is nothing. what is every one's problem?" but then i understood. driving right next to me was a typical ft. worthian. her eyes were wide with fear. her hands were gripping the wheel like it was about to fly off. i could see her shaking from 12 feet away. i watched as her car would leap forward and then stop suddenly. she had no idea how to use her breaks on slippery roads. when she finally swerved, i decided that for my own safety, for my survival actually, i had better get back home. she was only one of many. everyone around me was infected with "the panic."

people here have no idea how to drive in "winter weather."

yesterday, we had a snow day. we got over 6 inches, a record for this part of the state. a fan of snow days myself, i was excited, the thoughts of movies, hot chocolate and snow ball fights swirling around in my head. i got the boys all suited up and out we went to build the neighborhood's biggest snowman. the entire block was swarming with kids. everyone was enjoying the snow. the bigger kids were pelting each other with snow balls. the small ones were laying face down gorging themselves on a snowy feast. all the parents were out, mug in hand, watching and taking pictures. when i started to roll the snow for the base of my snowman, all the kids came running. everyone wanted to help. that's when i noticed it. every child with the exception of mine had socks on their hands. that's right. cotton sport socks. no gloves. just socks. and they were dangling from their hands in a soppy, wet mess. amazed, i asked each of them if they were cold. through shivering, blue lips everyone of them answered no.

people here have no idea how to dress for "winter weather."

today the snow is almost gone. it melted so fast that it left nothing but dirty slush everywhere. tomorrow our temperatures will once again be in the 50s and yesterday's blizzard will become a faint memory. but watching those kids play with socks on their hands, well that is something i will always remember with a smile.

creating space

2010-02-01T20:19:00.004+01:00

this past saturday was the last chance for my boys to sign up for spring soccer. as you may remember, they played last fall and, well let's just say it didn't go quite as we had expected it to. both boys said that they didn't want to play again. in that moment i felt something rise within me, an unidentifiable emotion that coaxed me to argue with my boys and convince them that playing soccer at ages 4 and 6 truly is the best thing for them. i suppressed the urge and quietly, though not without some misgiving, accepted their decision.

that pull, that urge, that emotion that arose within me was something akin to compulsion. i felt like my boys needed to be involved in soccer, that they needed to learn to compete on a team, play well with others and challenge themselves physically. they have reached that age where there is some expectation that they are going to be involved in and join stuff. life is supposed to get busy. schedules are supposed to be full. how can i be a soccer mom if my kids aren't playing soccer? isn't this the time of my life when i become the family chauffeur driving my kids from one event to another?

the problem is that i can't seem to hush the whisper that is beckoning me to ask this question: "who do you want your boys to become?" when i am honest, when i take time to really contemplate this question, my answer is unequivocal. i want my boys to love God with all their heart, mind, soul and strength and to love their neighbors as themselves. i want my boys to BE passionate disciples of Christ. i want them to have a vibrant faith that infiltrates every facet of their lives. that is WHO i want my boys to be.

there is no question that my kids are growing up in a hectic, noisy, ever-changing environment. i read the other day that children of this generation will be exposed to more information by the time they are 18 then i will be in a lifetime. their brains are working harder, taking in and processing more information than any generation before them. specialists are asking if this is one of the reasons for an increase in depression among youth today. are they overexposed? too stimulated? too busy?

thomas merton said that hurry is the enemy of any saint or artist. we all make choices of what we do with our time. in a sense we pay into what we value with the minutes of our day. an artist will spend many solitary hours painting a masterpiece. an athlete will train to prepare his body for competition. a writer will fight against a blank screen to birth a fictional reality. the question for me as a mom is, what choices will i make to help my sons become WHO God wants them to be?

i feel a different compulsion today. within my heart is a drive to create space for my children, space for them to experience God. i don't want to keep my kids so busy that they don't hear Him. i don't want to fill their schedules to such excess that they become addicted to activity. i never want my kids to run from a quiet moment. instead, i want to instill within them a patience in stillness, a readiness to hear his voice and an eagerness to wait for Him. how can i do this? by building in times of quiet and rest, by regulating the amount of time they spend doing and going, by just turning off the tv and most of all by modeling it myself.

maybe next year the boys will want to play a sport and if so, i will be happy to accommodate them. i would love for them to be great athletes, scholars or artists. like any mom, i want much for my children just not at any cost. i refuse to sacrifice the things that matter most for the things that matter least especially where my children are concerned.

they weren't that good at soccer anyway....

parents, children and food

2010-01-26T15:08:00.005+01:00

i have always been a bit of a health nut. growing up in a family where two of the members struggled with their weight, i was constantly aware of diets, what one should or should not eat and the emotional pain that comes from being overweight. nutrition was a constant topic at our dinner table. being more on the athletic side and more genetically like my dad's side of the family, i didn't struggle with weight issues but that didn't mean i was immune to the obsession. i'm constantly watching what i eat, reading about the newest trends in health and physical fitness and checking my status on the scale. being fit is important to me. granted i don't always live what i believe, meaning i like a butterfinger as much as the next person, but in general, i do my best to eat healthy and get exercise.

when i became a mom, i suddenly took charge not only of my own eating habits but those of my children as well. i felt the weight of that immensely. i saw the pain those in my family went through being overweight. i didn't want that to be my kids' experience. i didn't want them to be teased or feel unsure of themselves. initially my conviction to feed them well had more to do with their self-esteem than health. in the past few months, that conviction has changed.

over the holidays i watched a documentary called Food Inc., i won't go into all the gory details but suffice it to say that i came away horrified by the way our food was mass produced. the conditions of the animals, what they were fed, the unnatural antibodies and genetically modified substances used made me wonder how in the world any of us could eat what was sitting on our grocery shelves and not die. immediately converted, i made the unilateral decision to go organic.

then i saw how much more it cost to buy organic and i slowed down a bit. before i made such a financial investment, i needed to be sure that i wasn't just buying into some one's agenda. i began to do some research on my own. what were the benefits of organic vs non organic? what did it mean that a food was organic? how harmful are pesticides in our food? does it really matter what chickens and cows eat? are diseases and cancers caused by the types of food we put into our bodies?

as one might expect, i found answers all along the spectrum. statistics can be made to say almost anything. my decision came down to one thing--my conviction.

as the mom, i am the gatekeeper of my family's food. i buy the groceries and cook the meals. with the exception of a meal out here or there, i control what my children eat. and that my friends is a huge responsibility! the reality is, whether we want to hear it or not, that as moms (and is some cases dads) a family's health is in large part our responsibility. statistics do show that children tend to model their parents. the majority of obese children have obese parents. children that are obese by the time they are 6 will most likely be obese their entire life. we have a great influence over the health of our children. so why do we feed them things that put them at risk for significant health problems?

did you know that 1/3 of all children are overweight? of that group, 1/4 are considered obese. i saw yesterday on fox news that 1 in 6 children have high cholesterol. children with high cholesterol? we are setting our kids up for early heart disease, diabetes and overall bad health. and parents the blame begins with us!

my objective here is not to come off sounding judgmental and accusatory. i know there are other factors that contribute to weight problems. there is genetic disposition. some people have legitimate physical conditions that contribute to their weight. we are given a body at birth that we didn't chose and yet we are called by God to be good stewards of it. and the reality is that for a time, i am called to be a good steward of my children's health as well. this means i can't let cost and ease determine what i feed my kids. of course it is tempting to drive through mcdonalds for dinner. it's fast. it's cheap. life is busy. i get it. but is efficiency to be valued more than health? do i choose to feed my family what is cheap over what is nutritional?

our bodies are the very temple of God. we are to honor that temple. these shells of ours are important and not because we need to buy into the hollywood lie that only thin people are beautiful. our bodies are valuable because God made them and everything we need to be about in this life happens within the context of them.

so come on parents, let's do what we can to give our children the gift of health.

the power of a spoken word

2010-01-19T15:57:00.005+01:00

words have power. we know that. most of us have overdosed on information, on words, on images. we are overstimulated junkies who awake every morning looking for a new hit. with words bombarding us at every turn, one could argue that we need less words not more. or maybe the problem lies in our choice of words. or maybe i am just typing more useless words....

God spoke this creation into existence. he didn't think it into being. he didn't wave his hand and bring it all about. he spoke. "let there be light!" and there was light. later in the new testament we learn that all creation is held together by the power of this word.

yes, there is power in a spoken word.

what words bring life? are there certain words that when spoken hold incredible power? i have been thinking about this a lot lately. i'm at a place in my personal spiritual journey where i am realizing the truth of this like never before. words are powerful and when used wisely bring healing, freedom, and life.

most of us who have spent anytime at all in sunday school have learned that the tongue is a powerful weapon. it can be used to hurt and tear down. all of us have been teased and know the hurt it can bring. we even learn that instead of saying harmful things we should say encouraging things. none of this is new to us. this is old hat, sunday school 101.

could there be more that we have missed?

what about the power of confession? and by confession, i mean when we literally speak out loud to another person the struggles and sins of our heart. how often is that taught? well, we aren't catholic you may say. our confession is for God's ears alone. i think James would beg to differ with you.

"confess your sins one to another." james 5:16

our western individualism, not scripture, often dictates how we live. as a result, we hide from each other. we remain closet sinners who struggle on our own with the habits that are killing us little by little each day. we would rather pretend everything is fine instead of admitting to someone that we are drowning in our own depravity.

the way of the disciple is not a silent path. Jesus calls us to live out loud. he designed the christian life to be both individual AND communal. pride has no place in our journey. there is only one who wants us to keep quiet, who whispers in our ear that our failings are nobody's business but our own. he is identified as our enemy, the one who comes to kill, steal and destroy.

confession, even for protestants is meant to be a way of life. speaking words out loud to others is powerful. by saying to others what we struggle with, we invite them in and give them authority to speak truth into our lives. we give up the power that our shame and guilt have over us. we identify the lies we have bought into and free ourselves in the process. and don't forget this beautiful result! when we stop hiding, when we stand naked before God and others, we allow ourselves to be loved unconditionally. we taste in a small way through others the way that He loves us.

so why do we not practice confession? pride. we care too much what others think of us. we want people to love the image we have worked so hard to create. we fear how others will respond. we allow our insecurities to drive our actions. confession requires humility. we must acknowledge that we are really poor in spirit, that our flesh is weak and our will traitorous. we have to get to the place where His opinion of us is really the only one that matters.

there is a path that awaits us and it is opened by the power of a spoken word.

now that sounds familiar

2010-01-09T17:02:00.005+01:00

authors note: you will see much capitalization in this post. much of this was written in word while waiting for my plane in dfw. don't think i have converted. i will return to my lazy, non-capitalizing self in my next post...

i talked to my sister the other day and she requested that I blog about the movie avatar. she was frustrated by the pagan, mother earth religion that the film supported. if a similar movie with a christian perspective had been made, then her argument was that everyone would have been up in arms about it. she claimed that when christians make movies with distinctly christian themes then they are accused of beating people over the head with their message. however, if the religion is something other than christianity then the filmmakers are either left alone or patted on the back.

after our conversation, i let my mind wander around the topic a bit. of course i landed somewhere other than where my sister wanted me to go. she is upset because she believes people are prejudiced against Christianity in particular. i got upset not because an overtly christian film would catch more slack than a new age one but because a christian film of that caliber would never be made.

as a whole, we as christians don’t believe in fighting the war of ideas. we prefer to react, to protest against political issues such as abortion and gay marriage. the battle for validating a christian mentality or mindset isn’t even on our radar screen. if it were then we would be much more engaged in media. we would be writing quality screenplays and encouraging talented filmmakers to take them on. the problem is that to play ball on a hollywood level takes money, large amounts of money and by in large most christians don’t believe it is a wise investment. we would rather spend our millions on new buildings or other more local, tangible products. making a film seems like a waste of money in comparison, a fruitless endeavor with no eternal benefits.

i disagree.

think of the movie avatar. what was the film’s message, or should i say messages for there were several? one message hit upon the vanity of pursing wealth at any cost. the bad guys in the film are willing to wipe out an entire tribe in order to obtain a rock that is worth millions. in their attempt to possess everything we watch them lose their soul. we are reminded that the pursuit of wealth is as useless as trying to capture the wind. those who give their life to it miss the reason for their existence and as a result live empty, meaningless lives.

that message sounds familiar.

then we learn in the film that The People are worshippers of mother earth, of nature, of the energy that connects all of life together. as a result, they have a love for nature that compels them to care for it, to be good stewards and caretakers. hmmm the call to care for creation out of respect for the creator, now that message sounds familiar.

The main protagonist experiences a conversion, a rebirth in the film. He comes to The People as a skeptic with the goal of learning about them in order to exploit them. He is assigned to learn the ways of The People by walking alongside the chief’s daughter who is a spiritual shaman of the tribe. He becomes her disciple. She teaches him the language, the customs, the beliefs and the faith of her tribe. As time goes on, as he connects more with the tribe, as he puts into practice that which he is learning, he becomes a believer. He takes an existential leap of faith and discovers that true reality lies in the spiritual realm and not merely in the physical one. He becomes so convinced that he dies to his human self in order to be reborn into his avatar self.

That message sounds familiar.

So maybe the problems isn’t that we don’t have a message; maybe our problem is the way in which we share our message. Why does james Cameron get away with it when we as christians don’t? because the man knows how to tell a story. We as christians have forgotten the power of story. Instead of being storytellers, we have become door-to-door salesmen. we peddle our beliefs trying to convince people to adhere to a set list of doctrines instead of inviting them into our communities where they can hear our story and taste and see that our God is good.

We forget that every story has a beginning, middle and end. To often our story starts and stops with the cross. We take the climax of our story and make it the entire plot. We don’t start with creation when we tell the story of our God. we start with the fall. We fast forward to the cross and then wonder why those outside the faith can’t see their place, their role in the cosmic story. They end up seeing our faith as merely a set of rules to live by instead of a relationship to be entered into. They don’t believe they are characters in God’s story, integral ones, so faith becomes irrelevant and uninteresting.

Maybe we need to start telling the story of God in creative, imaginative ways. Our stories would celebrate a personal God who creates, who longs to be in relationship with his creation. It would chronicle our own miserable attempts to be our own gods, to exploit nature and others for our own personal gain. It would highlight the beauty of a small community of believers who take in seekers and walk alongside them, patiently and lovingly explaining and modeling their beliefs, customs and convictions. The story would climax with said seeker experiencing an epiphany, one where he finally comes to understand his reason for existing. It would become everything to him, so much so that he would die to himself to obtain it.

that is THE story, the one that the masses need to hear. The good news of our story is that the central character isn’t a tree or a floating jellyfish-like god. ours is the god/man who became flesh to die on our behalf. We have a God who longs to do more than keep nature in balance. He wants to love us and transform us into all he originally meant for us to be.
The story can be told in many ways; it is limited only by the finiteness of our imaginations. The beautiful thing is that the plot has as many different turns and twists as people who have lived it. we all have a story to tell. Ours may not make it to the silver screen but it is a life-giving story that needs to be shared.

Let’s be storytellers. The world is dying to hear a good story. Hmmm being a storyteller, now that sounds familiar.

welcome 2010

2010-01-03T16:35:00.007+01:00

i don't typically get excited about new years. to me it is an anti-climatic holiday. we get together with folks to wait until midnight when we count down and yell happy new year and kiss. granted the kissing part is fun but in general, new years is just not that great.

well this year was different.

a friend of ours, who thanks to his great connections at a rather large church where is he the teaching pastor, secured a night away at a house outside of dallas. when he texted us and another couple to see if we were interested in staying in a house outside of dallas owned by a member of his congregation, i was immediately interested. obviously the house would be big enough to hold 6 adults and 8 kids. the biggest plus would be that all the adults could stay up talking after the kids went to bed. since we would be spending the night, we wouldn't have to rouse sleeping kids at midnight and cart them home. it seemed like a wonderful idea for parents of young kids, a great way to bring in the new year.

now when wes said a house outside of town, i was not expecting this...

so yeah it was a cowboy mansion. i have never seen so much cowhide in a house in my life! it was an amazing place. we w definitely weren't slumming. leslie made some amazing fajitas. i complimented her menu with some queso and we all ate and talked while the kids played and amused themselves.

wes, again due to some great connections, had gotten us hooked up with enough fireworks to usher in the new year in style. problem was it was raining and super cold. but did we let that stop us? not at all. we set off fireworks till we couldn't feel our toes. the kids loved it, well almost all the kids! we didn't get them all set off so we finished some of them the next morning.

it was a great way to bring in the new year. i guess any chance to spend an evening with good friends is one to be seized. and if you get to do it in a cowhide covered, horn filled haven then all the better!

happy new year!

the holidays in review

2009-12-26T18:06:00.016+01:00

today i sit in a cabin surrounded by snow, catching my breath for the first time in over a month. life has been buzzing by and i have felt like an out of shape runner trying to keep up with the pace of a leader who remains illusively out of sight. gasping for air, i finally reach the finish line and collapse. i can finally rest. it is a good thing. a good thing indeed.

the race began just before thanksgiving when i hurt my back during an indoor soccer game. after a trip to the emergency room, i was assigned to three days of bed rest. our trip to amarillo for thanksgiving was cancelled. no way i could ride in a car. it seemed that we were going to be alone on our first holiday back in the states. or so we thought. my sister rounded up the troops and the next day her family and my mom were on the way to crowley to spend thanksgiving with us.

the day after my family left, scott boarded a plane for france. katie graced me with her presence for a couple of days and then my in-laws drove in to take care of the boys while i joined hubbie in france.

back in france. we trained to marseille to see friends. since we had someone living in our apartment, we stayed with sophie and gildas. i can't describe how strange it felt to be a visitor in our own city, to visit our "home" and see others living there! surreal would be a good word. totally and completely surreal. but what a gift it was to have 4 days to reconnect with friends, to catch up, to just be together.

next, scott and i trained back to paris for a meeting. being there was everything i hoped it would be. i wandered around my old neighborhood. i ate at my favorite restaurants. i took time to be. until the meetings started that is. but even while working, i enjoyed being in my favorite city with some fun collegues. after being gone two weeks, scott headed home and i stayed on a couple of extra days to hang out with my friend elizabeth. when we weren't huddled inside a cafe trying to warm our frozen bones, we strolled around the city, just soaking in its beauty. that couple of days were a gift and i am glad to have spent them with such a great friend.

by the time i got home, christmas was in full swing. we had school programs and parties, shopping to do, christmas trees to decorate, parties to attend. not a moment to stop. not a moment to breathe.

packing the car to the gills, we drove to amarillo to spend the night with my mom. we exchanged gifts and spent a nice evening together.

the next morning we continued our trek to colorado, to dad's new place in the mountains. such beauty. we met up with my sister and her family to spend christmas. much fun ensued. sledding. hiking in snow shoes. hot tubs. skiing.

today i lay in my bed and type. i hear noises below but i know there is no urgency in them. my presence is not required. i can finally slow down and stop. the stillness and beauty of my surroundings feed me in a way that nothing else can. i let this moment of solitude nourish me. i feast on him. i rest in his presence. it is well, it is well with my soul.

merry christmas!

2009-12-25T17:22:00.004+01:00

merry christmas from the Campbell family to you! may you marvel in the wonder of a God who was made flesh and dwelt among us.

God bless us everyone!

a treasured stop

2009-12-19T14:54:00.003+01:00

i love christmas in america. i have spent christmas in germany and france and let me tell you, no one knows how to celebrate christmas like we do. americans have retained a childlikeness that is endearing. we throw ourselves into festive seasons with a reckless abandon. decorations everywhere. houses lit up in griswaldian style. carols playing 24/7 on radio stations and in every public place. while scrooges around us may blame this "excess" on the evils of capitalism, i firmly believe that there is something within our national character that loves to celebrate with the eagerness of a child on christmas morning. we are childlike in that sense and i wouldn't want that to change for the world.

i have thrown myself into the fray with eagerness. we loaded up the kids and drove to a tree farm where after a short hayride we ran from tree to tree, searching for the perfect pine. when we finally all agreed on one, scott sawed it down and the kids clapped with excitement. we decorated. we sang carols. and when it was all said and done, we sat in the glow of our tree's flickering lights and watched the grinch that stole christmas. it was a perfect day.

then came the shopping. the rush to get gifts. the annoying traffic at the mall. the frenzied feeling that comes upon us all when we realize that we are running out of time to get it all done. somewhere in the hustle and bustle, somewhere in the roar and buzz of panicked hurry, i found my childlike serenity slipping away.

the whisper finally caught up with me yesterday. in a moment of impromptu stillness i finally heard it. it was His voice and he was gently bidding me to stop.

stop. not an easy thing to do. like children, we always want to be in motion, always want to be doing and going. why stop? why rest? why listen? boring. not a good use of our time. pointless. or is it?

on the most significant night of her life, mary stopped. even with the bone crushing fatigue that only comes with giving birth, even with a newborn loudly crying in her arms, even with a husband fervently trying to do all he could to aid his young bride, even with animals noisily eating, sleeping and snorting in her ear, mary stopped. the miracle of the moment brought her to a place of stillness.

"but mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart." luke 2:19

christmas in america is an impetuous child. if we are not careful, he will bowl us over with his demands. we will be tempted to cater to immediacy of the moment and as a result miss everything that matters.

stop. listen. do you hear his whisper? it is more than a reminder; it is a call. a summons to ponder, to meditate on the miracle that is the incarnation. let us treasure this in our own heart. let us sit in awe of a God who dwells among us.

merry christmas!

ahh paris

2009-12-04T15:34:00.002+01:00

i get to go back to france today. granted it is only a visit, a 12 day stopover for work but it will be a much needed fix for me. france is my second home, mon deuxieme chez moi. whether i like it or not, the frenchies have worked their way into my heart and i have developed a taste for certain aspects of the french way of life. i miss being there. i miss my coffee, my fresh baguettes, my unpasteurized cheeses and my french friends. i even miss the smell of diesel and the constant hum of urban life.

one of the things i am looking forward to most is getting to spend time in paris. i lived there for almost 7 years and let me tell you, paris has a way of making you fall in love with her. like an insistent suitor, paris chases after you with its poetic beauty and pulsating energy. she will woo you until you are unable to resist. i was easy though, for me paris was love at first sight.

when we moved to marseille, i was ready to go. we had two little kids and a desire to do something new. it was a good move, both for our family and for our work. i don't regret our decision. we have made great friends and learned to love the sea and all marseille has to offer. yet my heart at times longs for paris. i can't explain it. it has a pull on my heart that can't really be put into words. it feels a bit like my irrational love for amarillo, that flat, dry city where i grew up.

i haven't been to paris much since we moved. i have tried to go several times. it seems that something always came up or fell through. for too long, i have been denied the privilege of wandering through her streets, of sitting at her cafes, of admiring her beauty. i plan to take it all in. i plan to savor her sights and smells. i want to be reminded of all the reasons i fell in love with her in the first place.

most people only have one home. i'm lucky to have two.

paris, j'arrive!

an enticing invitation

2009-11-22T19:37:00.004+01:00

things changed drastically for us right before we moved back to the states. a church we had helped to start over a decade ago had offered to put us up in house during our year of exile from france. we gratefully took them up on their offer. not only did it put us in our hometown, meaning the town where scott and i met and married, but it also gave us an opportunity to join up with a community of people who we knew viewed church in a similar way. a month before we moved back that church closed her doors. thankfully they still provided a home for us but the community we thought we were going to join no longer existed.

we never wanted to look for a church. we are here for a year and the thought of looking for a place to join for such a short time was discouraging. plus, we came back from france feeling a little beat up and nearing burnout. we just needed a place to relax for a bit, a place to be loved on, a place where we could do some healing. instead we came back to no church home and had no desire to find one.

of course one of the first questions we got asked as we made the rounds seeing friends was "what church are you going to?" we would explain our situation and then inevitably our friend would launch into why we should visit their church. we would hear about what programs they had going on, what made their church different from other churches, and what they loved about their church. it was fun to watch people try to get us excited about visiting their church. i think it is good that people love where they go and that they want to encourage others to come along. everyone should love where they go to church.

the problem is that nothing they said enticed me to want to visit. now we can explore all the reasons why. there is the reverse culture shock i have described to you in other posts. there is just the preference i carry for smaller, more intimate settings. there is the underlying conviction that one church really isn't that much different from another. (for those of you who just argued with me and said, "oh yes there is," i ask you: do you start your service with music? do you have some announcements? does a pastor or elder preach a sermon? does some lead everyone else in prayer? styles may vary but the format in most churches is the same....)

yesterday i had a very different reaction to a lady's invitation to visit her church.

during a birthday party that wyatt went to i got into a conversation with a lady that went beyond mere small talk. she began to open up and talk about the difficult path she had walked the past few years and what God has done in her life as a result. it was a sacred moment, one where God was present and we both sensed it. at the end, she asked the same question i get so often. she asked where i went to church. after telling her about our situation, she invited me to visit her church. she told me that the church was just a group of people trying to authentically live out their faith. they were a multi-ethnic group who tended to appeal to those who struggled with addictions. she said it wasn't anything fancy but that the people really loved and looked out for each other.

it wasn't until later that i realized why this lady's description of her church had peaked my interest. when she talked about her church, she didn't talk in terms of programs, events and style. she didn't tell me about the church's small groups or discipleship program. she didn't talk about how gifted a speaker her pastor was. she talked in terms of WHO her church was rather than in terms of WHAT her church did. whether intentionally or not, she described her church in terms of a living organism as opposed to an impersonal organization.

regardless of what some people think, i'm not opposed to organized and traditional church. i'm opposed to people being more committed to a building than to a lifestyle. if we can be the church at a church then i'm all for it. if not, well then i'm just not that interested.

when in rome...

2009-11-20T05:19:00.003+01:00

i have been gone just long enough. just long enough for what you ask? i have just been gone just long enough to stand out a bit even in my home state. i feel like a piece of a puzzle that has been ransacked by a toddler. 3 of the 4 sides still fit perfectly with the other pieces. but that 4th side, well, it is so worn, so chewed up, so frazzled by miniature hands that it no longer fits into the hole prepared for it. it stands out.

am i a foreigner in my own country?

i was invited to a birthday lunch at a tea room the other day. now i must admit, i have never frequented tea rooms. to me a tea room lunch usually means small portions at large prices. but i went. it was in celebration of a good friend's birthday, 7 months later i might add but that is beside the point. when we got there, i discovered that the tea room was in the back of a christmas store. the plan was to wander around the christmas wonderland gazing at overpriced santas until time for the tea room to open. i sauntered around, enjoyed the christmas music, feigned interest in christmas tree skirts and tried with all my might to pretend that the plastic trees were alive.

i saw one of them and thought it was an aberration. when i saw a second and a third, well i started to get worried. all around me were older women wearing red hats and some sort of purple outfit. i looked at my companions and threw out the jab, "did you see that hat? you gotta be brave to wear that outside the house." my friends just looked at me with a quizzical expression on their faces. finally when they realized that i really was clueless they explained that what i was seeing was a local chapter of the red hat society.

in that moment i learned something new about my home culture. i was so fascinated by the movement that i eagerly assaulted one of the ladies and pelted her with questions about the origins and objectives of this society. while kindly answering all my questions, my new best friend looked at me like i had been living in a hole. close, i have been living in france.

and that's not all.

yesterday i called to rsvp for a party Will had been invited to. i wasn't sure that my message had been recorded on the person's voice mail so i called back to verify. i didn't want to show up at the party unannounced. tonight i got a call from her confirming that she had gotten BOTH of my messages. she gave me directions and said, "thank you for rsvping. no one does that anymore."

no one rsvps anymore? why wasn't i told? the invitation asks for a rsvp. it even gives me a number to do so. it would never have occurred to me NOT to rsvp.

i expected to be a learner when i moved to france. that was a no brainer. i even expected to be a learner here in crowley when it became apparent that most of the people i would be running into on a daily basis were hispanic. when i go to play soccer, i take notes because i'm the only non-hispanic on my team. i sit back and watch how they greet one another with a kiss on the right cheek. i watch and learn. you know what they say, "when in rome...."

i just never thought that texas would be my rome.

PLAY!

2009-11-12T01:43:00.002+01:00

i love to play.

that may not come as a surprise to those of you who know me well. when i am with a group, when i am surrounded by people, my playful side comes out. it could surface in just being silly and having fun. it might show up in a card or board game. i might spontaneously break out into song or dance. or i might just engage you in a bit of playful verbal sparring.

i love to play and i realized the other day that i haven't been playing enough lately. to remedy said situation, i decided to sign up for an indoor soccer league. wyatt's coach plays on a team and she invited me to join. i enthusiastically agreed.

me love soccer. i always have. i played up until high school when i was growing up (yes this was before soccer became an official sport in the schools.) and then i traded in my cleats for a tennis racket. but you must know, my heart missed soccer. it was without question my favorite sport. i loved playing on a team. i loved the thrill of competition. i loved to run and kick and score and get muddy and come home exhausted and flop into my bed with a big smile. i loved it all.

so i am playing again.

we had our first game sunday night and when i wasn't sucking wind, i was smiling. it felt so good to compete, to be on a team, to kick a ball. there was shoving, running and high fiving, all the things i love in a good team sport. i went home flushed, exhausted and happy. it was then i knew that it had been far too long since i had cut loose and really played. i'm not going to let that happen anymore.

why do we think play is less important the older we get? does growing up mean we have to stop playing? who says? who made that rule? i think it is a dumb rule and i refuse to follow it. i want to play. i need to play.

i could give you a bunch of reasons why it is good to play. we could talk about play being a way to relieve stress. the physical activity itself is good for us. it gets us up and moving, gets our blood pumping, our juices flowing. socially, play can get us in touch with others. it can draw us into relationship around a shared love for a sport or hobby. all good reasons to play.

how about play as praise? as celebration? one of my favorite things to do as a mom is watch my kids play. i mean the kind of play when they are completely entranced and unaware of anything around them. they shriek. they giggle. they loose themselves in total abandonment and pleasure in their play. it makes my heart soar to watch them.

could God feel the same about us when we play, when we engage in the things that make our eyes sparkle and mouths smile? does he take pleasure in our pleasure?

dallas willard in his book the Spirit of the Disciplines says this, "we dishonor God as much by fearing and avoiding pleasure as we do by dependence upon it or living for it." God created pleasure. yes it can be abused as anything in his creation can be, but that doesn't mean we should avoid it. he wants us to play. he wants us to enjoy life. he wants us to dance and sing and throw a football.

so go play! i don't care how old you are or what "responsibilities" you have. get off your duff. turn off your computer. go do something that makes the child in you come to life.

searching for a true oasis

2009-11-04T16:21:00.009+01:00

"the historic first baptist church of dallas on sunday announced one of the country's largest church building programs; a $130 million project to revamp its six-block campus near the downtown cultural arts district. 'if jerry jones can spend $1.5 billion to build a temple to the god of sports 13 miles away, we can build a spiritual oasis in the heart of dallas,' the rev. robert jeffress, senior pastor, told a filled sanctuary. members stood to show approval for the fundraising campaign after Jeffress said it was 'sign from God' that $62 million has already been pledged."

i attacked this post initially with much vigor and righteous indignation. when i read the above article all i could think about was how ridiculous it all was, this wasteful use of money. i wanted to blast this american trend that appears to be built on nothing more than pride, a modern tower of babel, monuments to pastors of fleeting popularity. then i stopped. i began to reread. i deleted. who is being arrogant? am i? who am i to say what God told Rev. Jeffress to build or not build? i wasn't there. i don't know his heart.

the truth is that my theology and especially my ecclesiology has been french fried. living in europe has changed my view of church entirely. i have a harder time doing church here and now, in this country, because of it. i have seen a different reality. some would even say i have seen the future of america by living in europe. if so, then maybe some of my observations could be seen as a check, as accountability on the american way of doing church. i ask as one who is concerned....

the most startling fact in the article is the amount of money to be spent to renovate a building that is, at best, used 2-3 times a week. how a church spends her money reflects her values. the question in the forefront must always be, are we being good stewards of the money God has given to us? how does he want it used? we have to look at scripture to determine his values. the bible talks in great detail about giving to the less fortunate. in fact over 2000 verses in the bible deal with the church's role in taking care of the poor and powerless. 130 million dollars would go a long way to help alleviate societal tragedies such as poverty. i heard the other day on the news that the government is withdrawing major funding for shelters for abused women. wonder what 130 million could do in that arena? what if we were so gripped by a kingdom perspective that we did all we could to direct our God given resources into making our cities, our states and the world a healthier place for all? true religion, as James says, is that we take care of the widows and orphans.

instead we build a building.

i have been to the most impressive churches and cathedrals in the world. living in europe gives you access to most of them. they are breathtaking in their beauty, artistry and size. at one time they were built with the aim of representing the glory and splendor of God. that was then. now they are empty, musty tourist traps that minister to a handful of elderly parishioners each week. in cities many of these historical churches have been changed into pubs, restaurants and hotels. what warnings would these sacred shells want to whisper in our contemporary ears? are we guilty of investing more in programs, events and buildings than we are in people?

later in the article, a man in the church is quoted as saying that this building project is necessary to reach the next generation. i was stunned. i fear that our leaders and pastors are not in touch with that which concerns my generation and those following after me. my friends, believers and unbelievers alike, are concerned with many things and building an oasis in the middle of downtown is NOT one of them. we are concerned about social injustice. we want to do our part to help, to be part of the solution. when talking about our spiritual lives, though we don't feel that is a separate category from our "normal" lives, we speak of community, of learning how to live out our faith in practical, transformational ways in our neighborhoods, at our jobs, and in our classrooms. we want to dialogue about faith and doctrine instead of being spoon fed what to believe. we want a gritty faith, one that pulsates with life and authenticity in good times and bad. one that exudes an aroma that is attractive to those seeking lasting answers.

the only building project we want a part of is with organizations like habitat for humanity.

i don't think the world is impressed with our big churches. i don't think God gives a flip whether we worship him in a rented space on a strip mall or in a home. i think he did away with the temple for a reason.

we are his temple. his spirit lives in us. it's time to stop building churches and time to start being the church. we don't need to create an oasis, we need to be an oasis. this world is a desert. people are thirsty for living water. they won't find it in brick and mortar. they will find it in us, his living temple, his walking oasis.

trick or treat

2009-11-01T16:50:00.002+01:00

halloween. ahhh how i love it. since moving to france we have only been in the States one time for halloween. we have missed carving pumpkins, dressing up and making ourselves sick on candy. i have especially missed that for my boys. this year they got to do it all!

the boys designed the pumpkin face and i carved it.

we felt like a mean face was needed to make the incisions.

we are all very frightened by this very NOT scary pumpkin.

halloween morning started with some cartoon watching, all the boys together.

the costumes: cowboy, french fries and a pirate.

(if you don't get the subtle symbolism of my costume then you have never noticed the title of this blog.)

we went to a party at mark and leslie's. many children and much yummy paella.

are they cute or what?

wyatt looks back for clarification on what to do.

we had a great night. we still can't explain how a pumpkin walked into the boys' room and started singing "them bones" though......oooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

baseball anyone?

2009-10-29T03:46:00.006+01:00

well, it is official. i'm not raising another Pele. after almost an entire season of soccer i think it is safe to say that my kids don't have a natural affinity for the sport. apparently being born in france doesn't give one the "gift."

Wyatt has improved some. at least now he doesn't run off the field crying and begging me to not make him play. instead, he looks at the grass, admires the bugs, stomps his feet in the water and pretends to be a helicopter. i guess you could say that he doesn't have his head in the game. on the off chance that he is paying attention, he trots behind the swarm of boys surrounding the ball. oh he has no intention of actually touching the ball, he just decides every now to look like he is trying. i have never actually seen him kick the ball, unless you count the couple of times the ball accidentally bounced off his foot.

do you see wyatt in the background?

and Will. well, let's just say he's a faller. the ball comes his way. he falls down. when he takes a swipe at the ball, especially when it is clearly out of reach, he falls down. if another child even makes the slightest contact, yep, you guessed it, he falls down. he did play goalie a couple of times and did really well. so maybe we need to concentrate on that.

will's on his way down...

he did stop a few goals though!

i have encouraged my kids to summon their inner beast while playing soccer. they don't seem to get what i mean. maybe that is the problem. no inner beast. no eye of the tiger. maybe they are just too young. or maybe we just need to take a good look at baseball.