Laura Polk

The Prayer Thing: Who are We Praying to?

2010-07-29T13:36:00Z

If you were raised in the South as I was, it was likely ingrained in you to refer to your parent’s friends as “Miss” or “Mister”, followed by their first name. This was very different than calling other adults “Mr. and/or Mrs. Jones”. It was more casual and comfortable while still maintaining respect. It showed that you knew these adults well, likely spent a lot of time around them, and had been given permission to talk to them in a more relaxed than formal manner. These were the people that were closest to your parents. People you might turn to if you needed someone. People you knew very well.

As I transitioned into adulthood, I found it very difficult to stop calling older adults that I was close to Miss/Mister. I had to continually remind myself—and do sometimes to this day—that I was, um, older too. It no longer qualified as a sign of respect, and began to take the nasty turn towards condescending if not handled properly. It became something I did out of habit, rather than purposeful intention.

While trying to figure out this thing called prayer, I’ve struggled with WHO it is, exactly, that we are to pray to. Within the Trinity do we pray to the Father God, the son Jesus, or to the Holy Spirit? Are there certain times we should address one or the other?

In reality, of course, it is always appropriate to pray however you choose to address the Lord. However, as I look back on my childhood and remember how the walls of formality were broken as I began calling select friends of my parents “Miss/Mister” followed by their first name, they became easier for me to relate to. I still maintained a level of respect. But, I was less intimidated by them and more likely to be transparent in our talks.

In the same way, as I’ve moved away from the formality of approaching God as only God, and have approached Him instead as Father, or Jesus, I’ve taken on a new level of intimacy in my prayers with Him.

When you don’t know God, calling Him by any other name is quite intimidating. But, when you begin to understand and know the Lord more intimately, you discover that He longs for a more intimate relationship too, and encourages us to call Him by more intimate names. As a result, He becomes less intimidating.

The one prayer we are taught to pray in the Bible (The Lord’s Prayer) encourages us to approach Him as “Father”. As others in the Bible grew to know Him more closely, there are a plethora of names they called Him. He is also referred to as:

A shelter from the storm (Isaiah 25:4)

He who comforts you (Isaiah 66:13)

The God who sees me (Genesis 16:13)

My friend (Jeremiah 3:4)

Our peace (Ephesians 2:14)

Wonderful counselor (Isaiah 9:6)

The gift (Acts 2:38)

Why don’t you give it a try, as I have? Find a name that speaks to you and gives you comfort (for me, it is Father or Father God). It still may feel awkward at times. But, over time, it will make you more comfortable in your prayer time. You will feel like you’ve grown closer to Him in those talks, rather than simply respectfully speaking to Him from a distance.

Close the gap. Miss Laura did.

The Prayer Thing: What is Prayer?

2010-06-30T13:24:00Z

After spending the last nine years following Christ, the one thing that continues to stump me—and can make me feel like I’m way down low on the Christian totem pole—is prayer. It seems that every other Christian has a pretty good handle on it. As if once you choose to follow Christ, you inherit some sort of insider knowledge as to what it is, how it works, and the power it holds.

But, I don’t.

In fact, it seems to me that prayer grows more complicated as I mature in my faith. As if my simple prayers from earlier years no longer make the cut. I feel ashamed almost, that I’m still murmuring simple prayers when something overwhelming looms in my life. Shouldn’t I know how to talk to God? Shouldn’t I be able to freely speak to the most important person in my life: Jesus?

And yet, while it feels like everyone else has a firm grasp on this, if I push them for an answer as to how to do it, all I get are vague responses cleverly clothed in Christianese. And, that annoys me. Sorry, but it does.

When I forego the prayer route and try to find a confidante in faith to discuss my issue with, I often get responses like: “Have you prayed about it?” or “You need to take that to God in prayer.” And, while I know they are well meaning attempts at help, and I’m absolutely sure they are right, I want to scream: But, HOW do you do that?

I mean, exactly. Exactly how do you do that?

I’m the kind of person that likes to know how things work. I want the behind the scenes tour, to learn the nuts and bolts of something I don’t understand. I’m the annoying person in tour groups that asks questions like: “But, how did George Washington keep wooden teeth in his mouth? Was there glue involved? Did he have them screwed in? What happened to his old teeth?” It’s never enough for me to just accept things as they are given to me. No. I have to completely over-think them from every possible angle. I know, I exhaust myself.

I do pray, though. Frequently. In the last year more than ever in my life. And, I have gotten some incredible answers at the most precisely timed moments you can imagine. But, overall, I still don’t understand HOW.

And I really, really want to.

When I investigate other curiosities in my life (Hey—it’s how I became a Christian too), I usually start with a definition to try to get an overall idea of what I’m looking at. It helps me to not only understand what it is, but what it is not.

The online Bible Dictionary says:

“Prayer is converse with God; the intercourse of the soul with God, not in contemplation or meditation, but in direct address to Him. Prayer may be oral or mental, occasional or constant, ejaculatory or formal.”

While Billy Graham puts it this way:

“Prayer is simply talking with God—praising Him, confessing our sins, bringing our burdens and concerns to Him, and thanking Him for who He is and all He has done for us. But prayer is also a privilege—and it is a privilege God has given us because He loves us!”

Which brings me to my starting point for this topic . . .

Prayer is considered a direct conversation between you and God. Not a mine-wandering through the day’s thoughts and glancing at the clouds with thanksgiving (ahem). It is a purposeful, direct address to Him.

It can be spoken out loud, or only in your mind. It can be occasionally, or constantly. It can be formal, or informal. It can be spur-of-the-moment, or carefully planned. And most importantly, it is a privilege. A special moment that the God of the universe has allowed us to share—on our time table, not His (wow). An opportunity to “draw near” (Psalm 73:28) to Him, with the prospect of growing close to Him, should we choose to.

I have to say, that makes me think. About how I’ve prayed in the past. About what prayer actually is. And, about the incredible opportunity God has laid at our feet.

I’m taking it. And, I hope you will too. I’m continuing on this journey and delving deeper next week. I hope you’ll join me.

When God Can't Find You

2010-06-22T15:37:00Z

Have you ever had a year that changed you forever? Maybe, like me, the past year has been the one. One year later I’m not any smarter, better looking, or unfortunately—thinner. But, I am changed. Going through difficult trials tend to do that. You go in one side eager and ready for battle and come out the other side scarred and weary.

That’s where you’ll find me now. I’m tired.

It’s during trials such as these that I start to secretly wonder if God has forgotten about me. Like, in the midst of the millions of people in His care, He has somehow misplaced me, forgotten where he put me. It’s all too easy to get discouraged during those times. To listen to the voice that says I’ve been left behind. To feel exhausted from the daily battles and disappointments.

It’s during those very times that my prayers become spotty. As if God is no longer listening, I quit talking. And, like a child who can’t get her parents attention, I often sulk. Sometimes, I even get angry.

Can you relate?

The truth is, when I reach a point like that in my life, I am focused only on the immediate need instead of the big picture. It is me who has lost touch with God. It is me who has lost focus on the One I need most.

Romans 12:12 says:

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”

That is the verse I’ve decided to pursue over the coming weeks.

I have a sneaking feeling that much of my inner struggle is due to my prayer life. I, um, don’t have one. Not that I don’t want one. Not that I don’t realize I’m supposed to have one. I just don’t know what one is. What it is supposed to look like. What I am supposed to do.

But, I’m a determined woman. I’m going to figure this thing called prayer out. I’m going to find a way to make sense of it all. Because I know that it will help me stay focused. It will help me stay strong. And, most importantly, it will get me where I want to be: in His presence more often.

Will you join me?

I. Must. Control. You.

2010-06-08T18:49:00Z

I’ve spent the majority of my life outnumbered. Sure, there was a glorious 14 month window sandwiched between my birth and my younger brother’s. But, I don’t remember being able to take advantage of it much. My childhood memories mostly revolve around being harassed by two boys (one older, one younger) that never went away, like being pecked to death by a chicken.

I don’t know if my understanding of surrender originated from being outnumbered by my brothers, or if I really perfected it after my third child made me realize that the children in the home outnumbered the adults. I just know I’ve always had this sense of never being in complete control of things, but trying desperately to be so anyway.

It’s for that very reason that I tend to do most of what I need done myself. I know that truly, you can’t persuade another person do what you want them to. In fact, you can’t even make them if they don’t want to. But, you can certainly work your very life to the bone to get it done yourself. Right?

Moses’ father-in-law, Jethro, saw the same in him. As the tribes of Israel grew to enormous proportions, Moses began losing control. When disputes arose, they were brought to him. I often wonder if that was something he enjoyed in the beginning, playing the role of peacemaker among his people. But, over time, as the numbers of people increased, so did Moses’ demand. He would spend entire days listening to the people’s problems.

When Jethro saw what was going on, he asked, “What are you really accomplishing here? Why are you trying to do all this alone while everyone stands around you from morning till evening?”

Moses replied, “Because the people come to me to get a ruling from God,” and explained all that was entailed.

As a mother, I often feel this way. Like I’m doing everything on earth, while little people stand around from morning till evening. Why don’t I just ask them to pitch in? Why can’t I let them settle their own disputes? Why can’t I hide better so that they can’t find me? Because. They are coming to me for a ruling. Without me, the fight will never end. I’m the key to their peace and happiness, right?

It has taken me years as a referee in the battles of my children to learn that I can’t settle their disputes. Just as Moses eventually had to farm out the “judge” role, I have to do the same. I must not only pass some of the work off, but allow them to grow in their own role as “judge” so that as they age, they will make wiser choices born of experience.

That’s tough to do. Especially when you see them pecking at each other like rabid chickens. But, I try. I want to be the Jethro in their lives, making sure they are being fair to themselves, more than I want to be the judge. Let’s face it; we all have PLENTY of those around. Jethro’s, on the other hand, are a rare find.

But I Don’t Liiiiike Broccoliiiiiii . . .

2010-06-01T20:33:00Z

I have food issues. I'll admit it. I've been known to whine about eating certain things,and I am a major hypocrite when it comes to making my children eat things I won't touch. My eating habits are well, more like those of a twelve year old than a thirty-nine year old.

I’ve always been a picky eater. I can remember with clarity the way I hid my veggies inside of hallowed out rolls, napkins, and even my pocket once (note: peas will stain a white pair of shorts). I’m not the kind of person that can force myself to eat something in order not to hurt someone’s feelings. I mean, I’ll try. It’s just that you will see the disgust all over my face. I can’t hide it, I’m sorry.

One of my favorite books of the Bible is Exodus because of all the food issues. It speaks to me, and I have a feeling I would have been right in there with them.

In Exodus 15-17, right after God parted the Red Sea and saved the Israelites from their enemies, they went into the desert of Shur. Three days later, they finally came upon water at the oasis of Marah, but it was too bitter to drink. And, the whining began.

“What are we going to drink?” the people complained and turned against Moses. They were angry and upset about their needs not being met. So, Moses cried out to God, who provided what they needed. Never mind the fact that only 3 days before they had walked through walls of water as God orchestrated an escape from certain death. When their food issues arose, nothing else mattered.

Later, as they travelled further into the wilderness, they complained again.

“If only the Lord had killed us back in Egypt. There we sat around with pots filled with meat and ate all the bread we wanted. But now you have brought us into this wilderness to starve us all to death.” So, God provided again, sending down quail in the evening and manna each morning. Each day, enough was provided for each person in the camp, but only enough for that day. They had to trust that God would provide for them the next day, which He did.

The people ate manna for 40 years.

Then, the people moved to Rephidim, but there was no water to drink. The complaining came once more, and God told Moses to strike a rock at Mt. Sinai, and water gushed. Moses then named that place Massah (“test”) and Meribah (“argue”) because the people argued with Moses and tested the Lord by asking, “Is the Lord here with us or not?”

Are you getting the big picture here? It didn’t matter what miracles God placed before their very eyes, when the smallest of their worries (food) surfaced, they threw all other evidence aside and wondered if God was even with them. Incredible considering he’d chased away their enemies, led them through the desert by a fire in the sky and a cloud, and provided food from heaven each and every day of their lives. How did they miss it?

Much the same way we do.

When life begins to rev up, or stress builds, or we begin walking in unfamiliar territory, it is often during these times that we are all too sensitive about the smaller things in life while neglecting to see all that God is doing for us. Losing a job can seem overwhelming until fifteen months later you realize that God has provided you with a healthy family, and food on your table, each and every day. An argument with a friend or your spouse can make you feel utterly alone and forgotten, until you see that there is One who was there with you all along. Stressing out over the crazy schedule you lead seems ridiculous, when you actually slow down long enough to listen to Gods plan for you instead.

It’s too easy to take the low road when life gets tough. To stand in the wilderness and cry “Is the Lord here with us or not?” He is. Look beyond the minor details and catch Him at what He does best: the big picture. Rest assured, He is behind the scenes in your life. Guaranteed.

Big Fish, Little Pond.

2010-05-24T19:50:00Z

When I accepted my first job, I remember being disappointed that it wasn’t more glam. I mean, a textile designer has all kinds of cool possibilities. Designer. Stylist. Creative Director. Yet, I decided to take a position that was more technical than creative knowing that it would later give me an advantage in my career. I was excited about my new job, and what I considered to be a whopper salary—just above minimum wage.

Still, it hurt to hear my fellow classmates talk about their cool jobs, while mine was considered more of a “mill” position. Within a couple of years, the stigma of me as a “mill” designer began to get the best of me, and I opted for a transfer within my company to a more creative position in Manhattan. I had a great office, surrounded by windows, with a great job, and a cool title. I couldn’t wait.

As I packed my suitcase and said goodbye to NC, something an older friend told me threw me for a loop.

“I think I’d much rather be a big fish in a small pond, than a small fish in a big pond.”

Of course, that got on my last nerve. What kind of person would want to stay in a small town all their life? I mean, there was a world out there! With incredible things to do and amazing people to meet. I would never be like them.

Ahem.

It only took me four months to realize how right they were. What seemed adventurous in the beginning soon became lonely. Living in obscurity rather than having everyone know my every move in life, actually, grew old. I soon longed for people to know me. I wanted to see some familiar faces. I wanted to be remembered.

Many years later, I’ve often thought about that phrase: “Big fish in a little pond.” And while I’m not sure that I’ll ever be a big fish, I can see the advantage of swimming in a little pond. A little pond becomes familiar over time. A little pond knows all its inhabitants. A little pond can be more easily attended to.

I wonder if that is why Jesus ministered in small settings? Sure, he had some larger events. But, given choices, He chose the smaller groups. The closeness of a few people. The opportunities that intimate gatherings offer. The small pond.

Jesus said, “Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me.” John 12:26

Whatever I become in my life, whatever type of ministry I serve in, I know that God will honor those attempts as long as I am serving in the will of Christ. Sometimes that may be in the big city beneath the bright lights. But, more likely, that will be in the smaller settings. In the less glamorous opportunities. In the company of a precious few rather than the ego-building many. Wherever it may be, I want to join Him there.

Go fish.

A Hill of Beans? Or, Cream of the Crop?

2010-05-17T16:51:00Z

Have you ever noticed how food can get people to do things they are a little on the fence about doing?

You know, like offering a cookout to a group of friends willing to help build a playhouse. Or, bringing donuts to a meeting to smooth over a tough topic. Or, even—dare I say it?—promising a nice after church meal for anyone in your household or range of friends who might like to sit alongside you in the pew.

Is that wrong?

I don’t think so.

As a Christian, I consider it my duty to lead others to Christ. To point them in the direction if at all possible.

Now, I can stand on the street corner and preach, or attend a women’s lunch and do the same. In each case, some will hear, and some will not. Some may even be offended if I am too pushy. And, if I’m not careful, I can push others away from Christ by being too direct, too preachy, or too “Christiany” (been there, pushed away by that).

Or, I can stay connected to those in my life who aren’t yet connected to Christ and offer them non-threatening opportunities in which a seed might be planted. Since each seed is planted differently for different people, you never know how it might hit another’s soil, or what the condition of their soil might be when it hits.

Is it okay for me to go about my life, offering opportunities in which “seed” might fall? I think so.

In fact, in today’s culture, I think it is a wise way to garden.

If I look back at my own journey, I know that even though I rarely went to church as a child, I had a deep yearning towards Jesus. I literally knew nothing about Him. NOTHING. Had no idea that He was God. But, someone in a Sunday school class, or in a pew, or standing at a podium on no particular Sunday, spoke something to my heart that planted a small seed that sat dormant for many years, waiting for someone else to water it and help it grow.

Though I passed through many revivals, street preachers, tract carriers, and well meaning acquaintances through the years, it was the water I received during a meal with friends that made me push further into my questions. A meal with friends. With no hidden agenda. Bathed in prayer, and begun with one.

Sometimes it’s as simple as offering a chance to get together for a cup of coffee when tough subjects might come up in which you might be able to offer a prayer, or even the hope that Christ can give. It can be a muffin laid with an encouraging note at a friend’s desk that you know is struggling. It can even be the offer of an after church meal with friends or family, that might be enough social interest to inspire someone to come along the ride to church.

It can be that simple. And, that profound.

Do you know someone who could use a good meal?

I’m Gonna’ Wash that Plan Right Out of my Head

2010-05-12T16:09:00Z

Ok. So. I thought it was time to maybe . . . grow up. Well, at least my blog! I sensed that 3 years as the Crispy Mom was changing for me and so my blog is following. It seemed to be moving away from just mom topics to life topics, and I felt a tug in me to really connect with a larger group. So, here it is, Group. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Speaking of grown up, I did a very grown up thing this last week. I dyed my hair back to its natural color. I know, I know. For those of you who never see me in person, you will be shocked to know that for the last several years, I have looked nothing like the picture on this website. My hair went from dark brown, to light brown, to brown with blond highlights, to reddish brown, and then back down the brunette trail as I realized I felt more like myself that way. Who would have thought? In the midst of my life crisis, apparently, I was having a hair crisis as well. Fascinating, I know.

But, it did get me thinking. Watch out.

Isn’t it funny how we sometimes alter things about ourselves as our lives go into a state of chaos? As if we need one more crazy example of losing it, we’ll dye our hair, or change our wardrobe, or go totally Goth—okay, so I know I can’t pull that off. It’s hard to be Goth with dimples.

As I was sitting in Raymond’s chair, washing my red away, I thought about my grandmothers. Both of them are still living. One in her late eighties, the other in her early nineties. One whose hair was so black, it never grayed until her early eighties (despite the fact that we all thought she had been dyeing it for years). The other whose hair turned completely gray by the time she was twenty-two. Of course, I wasn’t alive at the time to confirm that fact. But, I can say with great clarity that I have been witness to it since at least her fifties, which is still very young to completely gray-out. Still, each of them was okay with what they had.

There’s something to be said for just being you. The person God made you to be. There’s something to be said with going along with His plan regardless of how it makes us feel at the time. I’ve spent a lot of time this last year getting acquainted with that feeling. Letting Him run the show, despite how desperately I want to take over. It taught me two very important things about myself:

I am a driven woman. And, that is not always a good thing. Sometimes being driven can drive you completely insane if you don’t have a focus for all that energy. And focusing it on the wrong things will become more frustrating as you learn they were a waste of time. Focus on God first, what His plan is for you, then drive on.
I can trust God with every aspect of my life. That was incredibly hard for me. I was raised to be as independent as humanly possible. And, that is not always a good thing. The main thing I believe God wanted from me was the one thing I couldn’t mentally allow: complete trust. That is, until He put me in a position in which the ONLY thing I could do was trust Him. Genius, of course.

If your year has been anything like mine, I pray that you’ve grown closer to God in the process and learned your place in His world. He has a plan for you. Truly. Let’s not mess up His plan with vain attempts at significance, or acceptance, or belonging. Let’s put all the cover ups aside and lean into His cover instead.

Ditched Because You're a Christian?

2009-11-10T01:16:00Z

Last week, a friend of mine called me upset by a recent rift in one of her other friendships. She was beginning to suspect that someone she had known for over 30 years had given her the heave-ho after discovering that she had become more serious about her faith. She was deeply hurt by this turn of events and wondered if it ever happened to other Christians.

Um . . . unfortunately, yes. Absolutely.

I told her of my own battle with this. I became a Christian at the age of 30. A statistical anomaly from what I’m told. Up to that point, I considered myself a good person. But, I made a lot of poor choices in life. Many of which I’m lucky to have lived through. Like most people, I tried my best, but I gave myself a lot of slack. Let me restate that: a LOT of slack. Once I became a Christian, I decided that I wanted to do better. To aim for a higher ideal than the life I led before. So, obviously, some changes needed to be made.

Now, I need to make it clear here that I’m still struggling with some of these changes more than 8 years later. And that, of course, is no reflection on God, but rather on my ability to truly give these issues over to Him fully. All of this to say, that becoming a Christian did not rid me of my problems and struggles, but simply gave me the desire to try harder, to do better than I ever did before.

During this transition, I decided against doing things that I had done only weeks before. It wasn’t that I suddenly judged others for doing those things, I just knew that I didn’t feel comfortable doing them anymore. In response to God’s incredible love for me—a love like I’d never felt—I had a deep yearning to change myself. To not only move away from the things that I knew He didn’t approve of, but even those that were a little on the fence, those that made me feel like I was setting a bad example somehow. I suddenly had the nonstop urge to become a better daughter for Him. Someone He would be proud of, someone worthy of being called His child.

I never said a word about making these changes to my friends. I never suggested that they do the same. Many of them were not Christians, and I knew—from my own personal coming to Christ—that actions often were a better witness than words. That turning on them after turning my life over to Christ would go directly against what I believed a Christian should truly be. That I needed to find a way to keep a relationship with them in the hopes that someday, they might choose a relationship with Christ as well.

It wasn’t easy.

I lost a lot of friends, had many simply distance themselves and felt isolated from others. As I went about respectfully setting boundaries around areas I was no longer willing to go, they began to see that I was serious about my faith. And that, sadly, was all it took.

The fact is, they were going to assume that I was judging them and holding them to a higher ideal no matter what I did or said. They were going to see me as the world sees many Christians—too many rules and not enough fun—no matter how I tried to still be a part of their lives. And, I had to accept that, and let the ones that chose to go . . . go. Because in the end, it was no longer about me, or them, or our friendship. It was about me and God, His offer, my acceptance and our relationship.

I had to do what many before and many after me have done. I let go of the past and chose to move forward.

Philippians 3:13-14 says”

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

If you find yourself in this situation, it can be a lonely and disheartening place. I encourage you to bring your disappointments and heavy heart to God. Pray for what you need, knowing that He will find a person to give that to you.

I’m lucky enough now to have several godly women in my circle of friends. It wasn’t always that way. But, I continued on, knowing that He would provide me what I needed, and who I needed in my life. He did and He will do the same for you.

When Just is Just . . . Unjust

2009-10-30T18:44:00Z

What is it about asking God for help with something big in our lives that makes us just . . . oh, I don't know . . . a little nervous maybe? We approach Him guardedly, even when we have a strong relationship with Him and know that He truly does want to give us the things we desire.

We pray something like this: " If you could maybe just give me a little direction on where I should be going. . ." or "I'm so worried about what is going on with my child. If you could just help them through this situation . . ." or even "I really need help. I just want enough money to . . . "

So, what's wrong with these? Well. Let's take a look at the word "just". While Webster's Dictionary has several definitions for the word, the one that is most common is the following:

Just: by a narrow margin; barely; only or merely.

Did you get that? Joyce Meyers has spoken on this and a friend of mine recently pointed it out to me. By using the word "just" in our prayers, we are essentially asking God to barely do what we ask. To do it by a narrow margin. To only provide the least of what we want. And, though He knows what we need without our asking Him, when we seek Him out in prayer to specifically ask for His help, He has said that He will give us what we ask for:

Matthew 21:22 says:
"Jesus said, 'If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.'"

I believe that with everything that is in me. But, when I pray, am I doing myself a disservice by saying "just", or am I showing my true, deep down, lack of pure faith? Am I giving God wiggle room in my prayer so that if He doesn't answer it like I want, I can convince myself that I didn't really want it either?

Sometimes I find myself doing this with my own children. Even if I know of something that they want, if they instead ask me for a smaller portion of it, I'll give them what they ask for, not what I know they truly wanted. I don't do this out of meanness, I do it out of love. I want them to understand about wants and needs. I want them to be clear in their own mind of what it is that they desire. And sometimes, I want them to see that they could have had more if they had been clearer and understood exactly what they wanted instead of jumping the gun and asking me hurriedly so that they could have immediate gratification.

I don't know about you, but when I am actually setting time aside with God to approach Him with a problem, I don't want the bare minimum answer. I want Him to step in and give me the answer to my prayer in God-sized-proportions that only He can provide. I want to know without a doubt that the answer came from Him. I want to be perfectly clear in my approach and in my prayer so that we both understand exactly what it is that I seek.

I've got some work to do. Since my friend pointed this out to me, I've noticed the word "just" seeping in through every corner of my life. It's in my conversations. It's in my writing. And, it's in my prayer life. It's probably nerve-racking just to carry on a conversation with me. See what I mean?!

No more! Let's approach God in confidence. Knowing not only exactly what we are asking for from Him, but also knowing wholeheartedly that He is going to provide it for us. The whole shebang. The big answer. The complete package. Then, when He shows up with it, we'll not only have our needs met completely, but our faith will grow as well. And with growth, comes the weeding of things we no longer need. Like, just a small word.

Glad for the Roots and Divots

2009-10-16T14:28:00Z

This week I cleaned out my office. Not a small task. After 15 years as a fabric designer (the last 6 years spent working out of my home) there were plenty of snippets and swatches apparently building a secret city in my cabinets. After eight months of no longer working, I decided that it was time to scrap all the pieces, clear my head and move on. I can't tell you how happy the trash men looked as they pulled into my culdesac and saw bag after bag lying beside my overloaded trash can. Joyous.

I was lucky enough when we built our house to build an office specifically geared towards my job. It is an unusual job after all, and needs a different set up than most: A pin up board that covers an entire wall. Track lighting that is focused on the board for the hours of color work that take place. A huge four foot high table used solely for rolling out and cutting massive rolls of fabric. A secluded area for my CAD system that is specifically angled away from light sources in order to avoid glares. And, of course, lots and LOTS of space to store swatches, idea scraps, artwork and the menagerie of items that have surrounded me since my twenties.

It is a great space. But, because it was specifically designed with one thing in mind for its use, I felt stuck somehow. I couldn't move on and didn't feel comfortable in it doing other things. Like, I wasn't allowed to be anything other than a designer in that space.

As I listened to someone talk on identities this week, I realized that I had become too tangled up in who I thought I was before I lost my job. In many ways, I felt as if I should be able to be a designer until I decided otherwise. That it should be on my terms. And, since I wasn't ready to give it up yet, it wasn't over. But, as is usually the case, God had a plan for me that had nothing to do with my plan for myself. In fact, as I look back on the last few years, I feel like I've been counteracting His plan in my fight to keep my own plan in line.

For many of us, it is all too easy  to tie ourselves up in the idea of who we think we are. We spend years tackling our careers or other callings to rise to the top. Images that come solely from who people believe us to be on the outside: a banker, a doctor, a realtor, a designer. And, more often than not, those identities--though they may garner a significant amount of attention--truly have little to do with who we actually are. And more importantly, often have nothing to do with who we are in God's eyes.

Sometimes we have to move on from these persona in order to explore the person that God has meant for us to become.  To move on from the life we have set up for ourselves and begin to settle into the one that He would have for us instead.

As I've struggled with letting this image of myself go, I've burrowed further down into my hole, trying to cling onto the remnants of my past. It's been an eight months of kicking, screaming, crying and clinging with my fingernails. Not pretty to admit.

Though it is difficult to move on,and though we may struggle to hang on as our fingers are pried one by one off of our stronghold, it is comforting to know that our hands are not the only ones involved. As I've transitioned through this phase in my life, I've come to realize (slowly, of course--my special gift) that God has placed His hand of protection over me during this time. It is a placing so gentle and unobtrusive that I often didn't realize it was there.  As He allowed me to continue on my own path, He still remained beside me, gently nudging me in His direction for me. Putting a passion in me to complete His goals instead of my own.

As Proverbs 3:5-6 states:
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight."

As I've become more familiar with this truth, I'm beginning to feel His hand lifting. And, as it has, I've been struck by the influx of light and air that comes from letting go of my plan and moving towards what I believe He would like for me to do next. From this vantage point, I am more able to look back and clearly understand why the roots I stumbled over, and the divots I tripped into were there. T o see them as hidden blessings in jobs not taken in haste or out of desperation. To focus on the clearing up ahead, and the One waiting for me to move in His direction.

He is still there with me in this. But, now his hand has shifted. Firmly planted on my back and gently guiding me as we walk in the same direction, towards the same goal: His.

Timing Grace

2009-09-29T20:27:00Z

After two months of living in a deep fog, I am coming out of my hole. I think a lot of us would like to crawl in our own customized get-aways right now. Times are scary. For some more so than others.

For some of us, the scariness comes from stories on the nightly news or our daily newspapers as we watch the statistics of job losses and home losses and wonder if life losses will follow as they did in the Great Depression. For others, the scariness shows up at our own kitchen tables as we struggle with piles of bills we can no longer pay due to job losses that were out of our control and a job market that flows against us.

For me, facing this economic nightmare has meant more than putting back extras at the superstore, or taking a vacation closer to home in lieu of something more exciting. For me and my family, it has meant food on our table and clothing on our backs. The nightmare of the possibility of our losing our home. The phone that won't stop ringing from bills that we can no longer pay, but one that stays eerily silent of job opportunities. Sadly, I know that I am not alone.
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With the passing of my career, came the loss of nearly two-thirds of our income. Quite a hit for any family to take. Unfortunately for us, it arrived just after we'd recuperated from my husband’s job loss nearly a year before. Just as we got back on track with our bills, the cycle began again. Eight months into this second job loss, we were at a dead end. Our savings depleted. Our retirement cashed in and depleted. We were at zero.

The looming thought of bankruptcy kept us awake and on edge most nights. With our mortgage company refusing to work with us after 7 months of us trying to jump through hoops for them, we resigned ourselves to the fact that it was inevitable. We would do what we had to do to save our house.

I can’t tell you the number of times I cried out to God during this time. It has been the biggest struggle of my life thus far. I prayed to God daily even to the point of begging Him to help us. Pleading for mercy. However, as often happens with the timing of grace, my time line was immediate whereas God's was not.

In the midst of our struggle, a single joy surprised me as by husband began his walk with Christ. However, as our financial situation carried on and worsened with each passing week, more than losing my home, I feared that my husband might lose his faith in God and what that kind of loss would mean to our family and our future.

After weeks of gathering personal financial information I never expected another person to have access to, and a growing sense of desperation and fear, we were ready to file for bankruptcy.  Once we decided our course, I wanted it over with immediately. We got everything ready, turned it in and waited for our date. When we were given one, a Tuesday morning, I was put out that the lawyer couldn't squeeze us in the Friday before. Another weekend of worry. Another weekend of unending phone calls.

Finally, our bankruptcy date was one day away. As happened each morning, my husband received a daily Bible verse by email. Though he had read these regularly when he originally signed up for them, he had begun to delete them without even opening them in the last weeks. But when one arrived in his in-box that morning, he opened it and found:

"Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete." John 16:24

He considered that verse, wondered if maybe he hadn't been asking for God's provision in the right way and prayed one last prayer of help, in Jesus name.

When he picked up the mail that night, a thick letter from our mortgage company sat amongst a pile of unpaid bills. Foreclosure papers, he was sure. After 7 months of working with them, we had already been informed that they would not be modifying our loan. We had already received a letter from an attorney stating that foreclosure proceedings would begin. Not wanting to read the actual words, he sat the letter to the side and went on with his evening.

As he stopped at one last job site to check on some work, he was delayed and had to wait for someone to show up.  Staring at the letter on his passenger seat, he decided to face the inevitable.

With less than 15 hours before our bankruptcy would become final . . .

God showed up.

A mortgage company that had fought with us over minute details of our lives, had consistently lost tax returns, pay stubs, and a variety of information we had sent to them; A mortgage company that listened to our last plea for help only one week before and told us that they would proceed with foreclosure anyway . . . had suddenly changed their minds.

This information didn't arrive days before, as it could have, or days after--as would have gone along with our recent stroke of luck. It arrived within our greatest hour of need. On the very day of our final attempt to cry out to God one last time. Our last time of hoping beyond hope that He would answer, but feeling in our hearts that the time for help had passed.

In His own, Perfect, BEAUTIFUL timing . . . God answered our prayers.

As we sat stunned and read and re-read the proposal, we felt so undeserving of the love He showed us even when we didn't believe He would.  It reminded us again of how big our God is, and how much He loves us, even when we can't feel it, or see it, or even believe that it is coming. God performed a miracle for us before our very eyes. Had we gotten the appointment date the Friday before, or received the letter 16 hours later than we did, we would have missed His blessing.

He is an amazing God. An unexpected God. An unfailing God. And, a God with impeccable timing of His grace.

For those of you who are hanging by a thread so small you believe it may snap at the slightest breath, I encourage you to hold tight! As you struggle with thoughts of abandonment, be steadfast!  As you look around at your life and your circumstances, do not give up! God is with you in your struggle, no matter how large or how small. No matter how desperate it may seem. Whether you see Him in it or not. Keep your eyes on Him. Ask Him for what you need. Then wait on Him.

And, when He shows up--In His own perfect time--your joy will be beyond what you could ever imagine. But, that's His style after all. Perfect Grace for imperfect people.

Daisy Chain -- a book review

2009-06-16T21:00:00Z

Jed Pepper can’t get his young love, Daisy, out of his mind. Thirty years later, he stands amidst the empty ruins of the church where they met, still haunted by her memory.

A charming and mysterious girl, Daisy Chance has the kind of personality that draws people in like fireflies to a warm light, pulling them towards her again and again. In the dusty heat of Defiance, Texas, Daisy seems out of place. Too vibrant for such a lost and lonely town. Irresistible for someone like Jed.

When Daisy goes missing, leaving behind nothing but her shoe, the search for what happened to her leaves the whole town questioning each other and wondering if one of them could be capable of harming such a lively young girl.

The last to see her, Jed sets out on a quest to find Daisy and the love she so freely gave to him. But, when shoes go missing from the backyards of other Defiance children, he realizes there is something much deeper and much more dangerous going on.

Mary DeMuth builds her characters a memorable place in our minds. A place they settle into and stay behind long after the book is completed. With tenderness and sincerity she touches on difficult subjects to expose the secrets that lie in her characters hearts. Though the subject matter is often painful, DeMuth reveals her characters to us in gradual unveilings that cause us to care so much for them that we must continue through to the end.

Though the questions about Daisy remain unanswered in this first book of the trilogy, it is the other characters deep affection for her that leaves you waiting and anticipating the next morsel of information that will lead to the truth about what happened. Not a light read, but a deeply moving one.

Kneading More

2009-05-13T02:45:00Z

Last night, I made homemade sourdough bread for my family.

Okay. Maybe not TOTALLY homemade, but there was a bowl, a mix and some kneading involved. As homemade as it gets these days.

As I prepared the dough, I made sure to follow the directions exactly knowing that (from past experiences) not giving the bread the right amount of time to get ready would result in a big, lumpy mess.

Even knowing this however, when I got to the kneading part, I created a short cut. I mean really. Is it REALLY necessary to knead dough for 15 full minutes before putting it in a pan? I didn't think so. So, I cut it to ten minutes. Then, I stopped at five. What can I say? My two year old showed up soaking wet and covered in grass after sitting too close to the sprinklers.

As dinner preparation came to a close, I checked the oven to see how my bread was coming along. It smelled delicious. The top was golden and crusty. But, it seemed to have stunted growth. It was only half of what it could have been. I was a little embarrassed to even put it on the table in front of three little ones who have a knack for pointing out the obvious. Though it still tasted good, and I even got complements on it, I knew it wasn't right. It could have been better. And, it was all due to hurried efforts. An unwillingness to put in the time needed to make it right.

It reminded me of another short cut I sometimes take when life gets busy. My time with God. While I strive to spend time with Him each day, as my days get crazier I sometimes cut my Bible study or prayer time short. Whenever I do this, my week has a way of getting crazier and more stressful. I can always tell when I'm taking shortcuts in growing my faith because I begin to feel as if I'm stunted in some way. As if I'm not as connected to Him as I could be. And, it's during those times that I tend to do things that are embarrassing or that I regret in my relationships with others.

Can you relate?

Can you tell a difference in how you feel each day based on whether or not you've drawn near to God? On days that you do, do you feel better as a whole? What about days that you don't?

Isaiah 26:3 says

"You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you."

Want peace in your life? Stay committed in your walk with God. Daily. Share your struggles, your joys and your gratitude with Him for all aspects of your day. Finding peace is easy. Keeping it takes commitment and a willingness to put in the time. Some short cuts aren't worth it. Be steadfast in your efforts. You will be glad for the results.

Me No Speaky "Girl"

2009-05-05T15:04:00Z

If you don't already know this about me, I think I should tell you: I don't speak "girl-speak".

In fact, when it comes to the secret language of women, I'm totally clueless. I grew up with boys. I learned to communicate directly or be forced to act out the entire Star Wars saga for eternity. I mean, sometimes you just want to play Wonder Woman, you know?

So, I've found myself in interesting situations throughout my life where I am surrounded by women who speak a secret language of sorts, for which I have no dictionary or interpreter. It puts me at a disadvantage and can sometimes cause hurt feelings that I didn't realize were being hurt.

Many times I've sat in large groups of women as they've gone round-and-round a subject to no avail. Quite frequently, I become the one that feels the urgent need to stop the merry-go-round by making a blunt statement or pointing out the obvious answer so we can move on. You can imagine how popular I am in these moments. I never seem to understand that many are enjoying the ride.

Just this week a friend and I planned to get together. Due to some technical difficulties via text (I'm an adamant hater of cell phones by the way) we completely missed each others point for two days, due mostly to "girl-speak". My sweet friend had planned on me coming over, had prepared some special treats and waited for me to pop in. I, on the other hand, had taken her cue of "you can stop by if you want to, or not" to mean that she'd really rather I didn't.

After an entire weekend of missing each others point, and probably a very fun time together, we both had hurt feelings. All because --you guessed it--me no speaky "girl" language.

Apparently, I speak boy. I'm use to directness. When I hear the slightest opportunity for an out in someones invite, I assume they are placing it there for a reason. They want an out. So, being the polite Southerner that I am, I always give it. But (and I'm a slow learner) sometimes, they are placing the "out" there simply out of politeness on their part. They don't want you to take it.

Ahhhh....

This isn't the only language barrier I have.

I often feel this very same way in my conversations with God. If I pray for something that I'm not sure He would want me to be pursuing, I offer an "out". Not, of course, that He ever needs one. But, I sometimes feel obligated to say something like "But if that's not your plan for me God, it's okay." When deep inside my heart, it is NOT okay. I really, really want my prayer to be answered. Which, of course, He totally knows.

Recently, I've become more direct in my prayers. I've come right out and specifically asked for exactly what I want, unapologetically. Knowing that as long as I am asking for something that does not go against my faith, He will provide. And amazingly, He has.

John 15:7 says:
Jesus said, "If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given to you."

If we remain in Him and He is in us, He will give us that for which we pray. This has parameters, of course, knowing that what we ask for must be within the boundaries of faith, but Jesus tells us to ask. He tells us to be direct.

So I write this to encourage you today. If you are struggling , take it directly to God. Keep up your relationship with Him. Stay in His word. Study what He may say about your very situation. Then . . . be direct. Pray for what you need. Pray for what you want. Knowing that He is asking you to. He knows your every want and need, your every hope and desire, and He longs for you to bring them to Him. Ask.

Tween Mania

2009-04-30T15:24:00Z

We're having issues at my house.

As my young daughter inches further along in her tween years, I'm starting to understand why the category "tween" was invented. At the age of nearly ten, she is quickly resembling more and more of what I was like as a teen. I'm amazed at the level of intelligence and savvy of children at this age. She has far surpassed where I was emotionally and mentally at the age of 10. And, I have to say, I don't like seeing it. With every request her father and I make, eyes roll and lungs exhale. When correction is needed, she balks as if we have crossed the line in our relationship with her. And, when firm action is taken we are flat out informed of the unfair / mean / rude / disrespectful (okay, she is mocking us) / hurtful parents we have become.

Even when she fully understands that what she is doing is of her own will, when trouble finds her she must blame someone. Always, someone else.

As I listen to tones in her voice that make me cringe, I think back to my own mother and wonder how she made it through. (Thanks mom!) Surely, I didn't start at this age? I mean, I clearly remember being a bundle of joy until the age of oh . . . fourteen, right?

As struggles ensue on a daily basis, I often come out on the losing end of these battles. Not that I don't get my point across, and not that she doesn't comply (forced to comply is still comply), it's that I feel like a horrible, mean, scary and terrible mother for being so hard on her.

My greatest desire for my daughter is that she grows to see herself as God sees her, not as the world sees her. I want her to understand that rules are made for her protection, not her fun-prevention. And, I want her to feel that she is deeply, deeply loved by her family . . . but most especially by her mother.

It's frustrating.

At the same time in our home, I'm having some issues of my own. Recently, my career came to a crashing halt as I was laid off and soon found that the textile industry has shrunken to a mere speck of its former glory. While I was actually relieved in many ways, and glad to pursue other things of interest, it has been nagging at me. With seething undertones. In the middle of the night.

I struggle with this fact on a daily basis. And, while I am determined to stay on the positive side of the fence, someone is clearly trying to pull me to the negative. It has caused me to cry out to God more than once, asking Him for direction. Begging Him to let me in on the little secret known as: my future. And, I would imagine, I'm not exactly the picture perfect child in these moments. Perhaps whiny even, as I long to know Whhhyyyy.

Though I don't find myself blaming God for my predicament, I do feel the need to blame someone. And, I don't like that. However, the thoughts in my mind have led me to realize how similar to my tween I've become. So frustrated over trying to follow someone else's rules. So helpless as to what decisions they will make. And so quick to judge when they don't go the direction I want them to.

Funny isn't it? How the things we struggle the most with our children are often the very same things which we are struggling with God? I feel Him telling me to be patient. I know He will show me in due time. And, I know throughout it all that I will be ok because of His deep, deep love for me. But, it's still not easy.

As I struggle in my obedience to God, I am reminded that it is the very same struggle my daughter is having with my authority. And, I'm reminded that in order for her to feel safe, secure and loved, the best thing I can do for her is to remain constant. To stand with her, and to love her like crazy even when she seems unlovable.

I know that is what God is doing for me. I pray that I can follow His perfect example.

Love Finds You in Humble, Texas: A Book Review

2009-04-14T16:00:00Z

Love Finds You in Humble, Texas by Anita Higman is the latest in the Love Finds You series by Summerside Press. This sweet, lighthearted read will leave you wishing the characters were real . . . and lived next door.

Trudie Abernathy is like many women you know: warm, funny and often imperfect. Her sister Lane is the sister you’d love to have but are glad you don’t: beautiful, ambitious and determined to help Trudie improve.

As Trudie’s thirtieth birthday approaches, Lane insists that what she needs most in life is a new look and a new chance at love. She treats Trudie to a makeover and insists on allowing a blind date to share their dinner celebration. When Trudie hears that the date is a man that Lane has “passed” on, she is sure she will be forced to spend her birthday with someone atrocious. But, when she finds herself sitting next to Mason Wimberley, a handsome and charming businessman who seems to “get” her quirky sense of humor, Trudie is smitten.

As the dinner evolves, so does a love triangle. Lane realizes her feelings for Mason as she watches him dote on her sister.

Unaware of Lane’s feelings, Mason makes his affection for Trudie clear and immediately begins to pursue her. But when Lane reveals to Trudie that she is in love with Mason, Trudie removes herself from the relationship out of a greater love for her sister than for herself. Still, she is devastated and struggles to get her mind around the choice she has made and to get Mason to divert his attention to Lane.

This is a funny and engaging look at the lengths that people will go to in order to protect and care for the ones they love. This love triangle, shared by sisters who care tremendously for one another, gives an interesting angle that will have you boucing back and forth between characters and choosing sides. Anita Higman pens an enjoyable read that will leave you smiling from the building kinship you feel with her characters.

If Patience is a Virtue, Where Does That Leave Me?

2009-03-09T14:46:00Z

If patience is a virtue, where does that leave me?

I've had a bad week. Actually, a couple of them. Difficult weeks. Taxing weeks. And they don't seem to be getting any better even after a relaxing weekend. Not good for a mom of three who lives for that breath of relief that only comes late Friday afternoon.

Two weeks ago, my company implemented a layoff of my entire division. Sixty people gone in an instant. No warning. No notice whatsoever. Sold to another corporation while we stood by helplessly and wondered what would happen to all of the hard work we'd put in over the years. Such is the nature of textiles.

It's not the first time I've gone through this. In fact, I've been down this path several times, as have most of the people in my industry. This is however, the first time that the layoff has been painfully stretched across the span of two weeks. Thus, my impatience.

After being told on a Tuesday that our company was sold, employees were shuffled into two piles. In pile #1 were those that would be interviewed by the new company to be considered for the few remaining spots they needed to fill. Pile #2 would dangle precariously for eternity while the original company decided whether or not to continue using them in the business. Well . . . that's not exactly how they put it. But, can you guess which pile I'm in? Yes, pile #2. I'm lucky like that.

Normally, I'm a very patient person. In fact, I was so calm over all of this through the first ten days, my husband was seriously concerned that I was having some kind of silent mental breakdown. I wasn't. I have a strong faith and felt totally assured that God would take care of me and my family through all of this. I was just waiting to see what He would do. The direction He would lead me in next.

When my boss called the Friday after the layoff to say it would be a few more days, I wasn't the least bit upset. I prayed that God would lead them to the right decision for me, whatever that might be.

When she called on day eight to say it would be two more days, I thought "OK. This is all part of the plan. I can wait a couple more days to discover my new path in life."

When she called again, on the second Friday night, to say it would be a few more days, I . . . well . . . I sort of snapped. My husband longed for a silent breakdown.

Of course, my lovely family was in the crosshairs. My poor children could not whine within fifty feet of me without being sent to their rooms. My dogs couldn't even request a trip outside to potty without me reprimanding "Really?! Again?!" Not the best days I've seen.

While only days before, a close friend praised me for being a "Godly woman" during this fiasco, I was starting to wonder if all of that was just a facade. If, when it came right down to it, I didn't have enough faith.

My patience was gone and I began to feel pretty bad about myself. Not for losing my job, which incredibly, I'm still not fazed by. But for only lasting ten days relying on God to lead. A mere ten days and the unraveling began. It led me to some serious thinking.

One of my favorite parts of the Bible is Exodus. After God freed His people from lives of brutal slavery in Egypt, they followed Him through the desert for forty years of whining and complaining. OK. The Bible doesn't quite put it that way, but that is essentially what happened.

People who had food rain down from heaven on a nightly basis would get up the next day and complain about the blandness of their diet. People who followed a fire in the sky would whine about why God had left them to die in the desert. Really?! With signs and miracles right in front of their faces? They couldn't see that God was with them? I love those guys. They are so real. And, I can totally relate.

While God travelled with them and provided their every need, they whined and complained without ceasing. So I have to wonder, why am I so surprised to find myself doing the same?

As I continue through my Bible-in-a-year reading this morning (now on year two), I came across the following verses:

"The Lord directs our steps, so why try to understand everything along the way?" Proverbs 20:24

"Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord." Psalm 27:14

He meant those for me today. And, I really needed to hear them. I feel my patience renewing. Sure, I'm not going to wait forever on my company to decide -- who can do that in times like these? But, I am willing to wait on God. To make sure that every decision I make is done so prayerfully. To listen and learn from what He places before me. To see the signs and miracles right in front of my face. For those things, I am grateful. For renewed strength, I am thankful. And for God's plan for me, I will be patient.

Hiding in the bathroom / Waiting in the car line / Pretending You're Cooking so you can read Book Worthy : The Missionary

2009-01-24T01:50:00Z

Looking for a great read? The Missionary by William Carmichael and David Lambert hits shelves next week. Or -- preorder through Amazon and get ready for a page turner.

Dave Eller, an American missionary in the barrios of Caracas has a passion for saving the impoverished children so prevalent amongst him. While he dutifully tends to the orphanage he and his wife Christie have been called to serve, he remains unsettled with thoughts of the many others that he can't reach. Angry at the Venezuelan government and the policies that fail to protect these children, David is all to eager to accept a questionable opportunity from a wealthy business man who promises a generous donation to the orphanage in exchange for a small favor that goes against the country's leaders.

When the deal does not go as expected, David's history of publicly denouncing the government makes him a target for an investigation that might uncover his recent impropriety. Realizing his mistake, David becomes unsure if he is helping a government operative, the CIA, or drug cartel. He quickly falls into a nightmarish reality of espionage and a covert existence that leaves him with the possibility of losing his ministry, his family and his very life.

This gripping novel presents unexpected twists and tension that will keep you holding your breath until the very last page. With vivid detail, Authors William Carmichael and David Lambert pull us into the contrasting beauty of Venezuela and the corrupt government that taints its citizen’s lives.

Not only will the novel keep you up at night and hiding in the closet for a spare moment to read, it will leave you questioning the times you've turned up the volume on your own voice louder than that of God's, who was nudging towards another path. As The Missionary shows us, the choice is ultimately ours, even if it places us in grave danger.

Due out March 1, 2009.

What an Ingrate!

2009-01-03T04:46:00Z

I have always hated my minivan.

Truly. From the very first day we bought it until now, four years later, I have loathed it. I still don't like the guy who sold it to me, even though I freely walked up to him and asked him for it. I feel like a big idiot driving around in it. Like I've totally given in to the mommy-vacuum by purchasing it. And, I hate how I'm more concerned about trash containment of cheerios and oreos than my pre-van concerns of whether or not I would look good in red or black.

Unfortunately, my van has taken my loathing personally. In the span of four years, 18 things have broken on it. From the am/fm switch cracking in half and falling off to much larger issues that have left us stranded on the side of the road.

Our last evil-minivan episode occurred over the holidays when a death in the family led us to leave town the day after Christmas. We made our way towards Virginia and stopped what seemed like five minutes later for a bathroom break (No. She didn't go before we left the house). As we pulled over, smoke began pouring from the engine. After checking under the hood, my husband quelled our fears, added some fluid and we continued on our trip.

Thirty more miles down the road, it started again. And the crying began. Our kids were terrified of the smoking car and began a crying opera that rivaled a Pavarotti performance. My husband checked it again, added fluid and continued on a little less sure of himself.

"I don't want to die!"

"The car's on fire!" bellowed from the back seat.

I wanted to join them. Instead, we stopped every thirty minutes adding fluid and waving smoke away as the longest trip in Virginia history was recorded. We managed to make it to our destination in only twice the time, missing the evening wake.

The next day we dropped the car at a local shop and went on to the funeral. Hours later we learned that it would be days before the car could be serviced with no idea how to estimate the cost. Our Christmas gift to our kids was a mini vacation. It looked as if that would be canceled. More crying ensued.

My husbands family stepped in and generously offered us a car to drive until we could come back to retrieve our own. After his funeral, we piled into Uncle Delwin's car and headed South. It was a humbling experience driving that car.

Like everything in his life, Uncle Delwin had taken excellent care of his 1992 Lincoln. After 16 years of use, it was in better shape and was a striking contrast to our minivan of four years. There were no cup holders, dvd players or automatic lights. The back seat was large enough for two small children to completely stretch out and fall asleep on. The backseat also sat incredibly close to the front, making me realize within an hour why parents in the eighties felt the need to use "the arm" as a method of correction. The trunk was twice as large as the minivan's storage area. It's seats were worn, and carpet stained. It had few amenities, yet drove beautifully.

It made me think a lot about Uncle Delwin and his priorities. As an aerospace engineer for NASA, he was so unassuming, you would never know that he'd spent his career doing things of which most of us could only dream. His house contained awards and items of recognition in such inconspicuous places (behind the basement bookshelf), that you would never come to know that he'd been inducted into the Aerospace Hall of Fame, or won awards for developing Hang Glider technology, if someone else had not revealed this information to you. His priority was his family. Nothing else mattered.

Though he easily could have lived in a larger house, driven new cars every few years, and spent lavishly on anything he wanted, he didn't. I began thinking over how hectic our lives had become, the many bad financial decisions we'd made over needless purchases, and why the rest of the world seemed to mimic our steps more than some one more deserving. Someone like Delwin.

In the seven hour trip down to Florida, I began to make a new plan for my family. I wanted to be like Delwin. I wanted to be more concerned with the big things than the little things. I wanted to stop being so ungrateful for the things I did have.

Then, it happened. Fifteen miles from our hotel, the Lincoln died. As we pulled over to a side road, my kids hit a new level of inconsolable. And I began to join them. As I sat crying in the passenger seat, watching my husband melt down outside of the car, I looked up into the clouds as the words "Jesus Loves You" formed in airplane writing across the skies. I kid you not. That happened.

Hebrews 13:5 says "Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you."

I realized in that moment that I had not been content in my life. Like many others today, I'd spent years chasing after things that truly had little significance. The reason I'd been so taken aback by Delwin is because he so resembled who I longed to be most like : Jesus.

As it turned out, the repair on the Lincoln was very minor. Something even the Fedex guy that helped us push it out of traffic was able to diagnose. However, the redirection I needed would not be as easy. But, I'm focusing on it. After years of living without thinking, I'm forming a new plan of how things should be. And, it's all thanks to Uncle Delwin. I miss him now more than ever.