bad blogger! bad blogger!

So this week has been a bit of a blur... sorry for the lack of new posts. Or decent ones. :)

I'm hitting a bit of a panic mode here... deadline for my NewLife small group material project is the end of this week (hence the lack of posts)... and so I've taken the day off at the law office to head over to NL's office to bust these puppies out. It will be a sheer miracle if all is done on time. (I'm still receiving the stuff I need from other staff so that I'm able do my part, so it's a little crazy... we're all running behind, but I'm the last one it hits before deadline, so I'm feeling the pressure).

I'd appreciate your prayers, as I want this to be a God-breathed project, not Stacey-breathed. I want it to be a useful tool for our groups, one that helps people grow... closer to Christ, and closer to each other.

I just have so little time, so I need even more of God to see this thing through.

Blessings, dear friends, and thanks. Whatever you're facing today... God is more than enough to see you through.

C'mon, just two more!!!

The game is starting right this very moment...

Go Sox!

yep, he opened it up... welcome to the can of worms

"Now, I fully understand that the difference between a person following Christ and a person not following Christ is the difference between a living breathing person and a corpse. I get that. We’ve crossed over from death to life. Heaven and hell are real."

Are the 4,273,554,000 people who don't follow Christ going to Hell? If you were born in India, and you had never heard the gospel, would you go to Hell? I don't get the corpse analogy. Curious curious.

A friend of mine posted this comment recently and it's a really good question. A really good question. I was going to respond via email, but J, you don't have your email address anywhere handy, so I guess here's as good a place as any... I think perhaps I was just trying to avoid public scrutiny, but maybe that was just chicken of me anyway... I know this will be a long one, but it's not to slam your question, it's just to provide the best answer I know how to... so bear with me.

J, first let me say that I appreciate the respect with which you posed the question. A lot of people would've said something more to the effect of "OK you wacko religious nutjob..." or something fun like that. I'm glad that we're friends in real life, (not just in computer-land) and that you'd be gutsy enough to call me on something and ask a question that a lot of people wouldn't ask. They'd just write me off as, well, a religious psycho, and move on to the next blog. Thank you.

Second, let me say that while I've learned a lot, especially in this past few years, I don't have all the answers. I've wrestled quite a bit with my faith, with why it is exactly that I believe what I believe... because I never wanted to be one of those kids who just believed because their parents did, or because they were raised in church. (In fact, maybe the fact that I still believe despite being raised in church is a testimony to the fact that there is, indeed a God - as this is a miracle in itself). I've thought through this a lot, but all the same, I for sure don't have all the answers. What conclusions I do feel I've come to, I offer humbly, as someone who still is figuring things out... I hope that comes across. I respect you (geez, I've known you since I was nine), and I respect your question. So here I go. I'd recommend reading this in two parts, as it's ridiculously long (but necessarily so).

(Sometimes Christians have a tendency to be self-righteous windbags when someone questions an aspect of their faith... if you can't tell, this is me trying not to be).

PART ONE

OK, so here goes. I'll start with the corpse analogy. The Bible recognizes strongly that we are not only our bodies, we are not only our physical being. What separates us from any other life on earth is the fact that we have not only physical life, but spiritual life as well - we have souls, spirits, whatever you want to call it, but we are more than just flesh and bone.

We as human beings, because of sin, live separated from true relationship with God. We are physically very much alive, but spiritually empty. You could even say spiritually dead. The corpse analogy came from a verse in John (5.24) where Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life."

In a conversation Jesus had with a guy named Nicodemus (also in John, chapter 3), Jesus introduces the concept of being born again. I think it's significant that this conversation took place with a guy like Nicodemus. Nic was one of the most religious, the most pious of his day. He observed all the Jewish law; if there was anyone who you'd think had his stuff together, it was Nic. If there was anyone who would earn God's favor by being a "good man", it was this guy. And yet Jesus says, "You must be born again."

Nic's a smart guy: "How can a man be born when he is old? Surely he can't go back into his mother's womb to be born!" (3.4)

Jesus continues on in his explanation, but here's the kicker: "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." (3.16) "For God didn't send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him."

Later in John, a guy named Thomas asks Jesus, "Lord, we don't know where you're going ... how can we know the way?" Jesus' response is this: "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me."

Jesus is pretty clear that he is the one way to relationship with God. He says it several times, just to take care of any lingering questions.

This is pretty unpopular in today's culture. We're much more comfortable with relativism - whatever's truth to you is truth. I have my truth, you can have your truth, and somehow those can reconcile, because then we'll never really have to have the courage to disagree with one another or ask tough questions. But is that really compatible with what we know of the world? Believing the world is flat doesn't make it so. Our court system shows pretty clearly that it believes there is a person who is right, and a person who is wrong. We can't all be right. We can't pack our truth on our backs and take it wherever we feel like going. If that were so, there would never be any such thing as "verdict: guilty." As much as I wish sometimes I could determine my own truth, I think I'd be more comfortable with that... it's not so. So why do I believe what I believe? Why, of all the ways that I could see the world, why do I choose to see it this particular way?

Jesus said, "I am the way." "I am the only way."

So why would I believe him? Why would I accept this belief, and by doing so, reject others? A lot of people believe that Jesus was a good man. They think he was even a good prophet. But they hesitate to call him God, because as soon as he's God, then there's some weight to it. But how could Jesus be a good man, a good prophet... and be a liar at the same moment? One guy put it this way: "Jesus Christ was either a liar, a lunatic, or he's Lord."

There have been other men to think that they are God's gift... we know them today as the biggest dictators and all-around-psychos the world has ever seen. They built themselves up, they made themselves big in the eyes of mankind... typically they forced their mindset on those they overpowered. (I won't speak of how Christians have historically done this... I shudder).

Here's what gets my attention: Jesus didn't come to be served, but to serve. Jesus healed the sick and the lame and the deaf and the blind. He performed crazy miracles (prompting Nicodemus to question him in the first place: "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God, for no one could do the miraculous signs you are doing if God were not with him") (Even non-Biblical accounts support Jesus' miracles -- the writings of Josephus, for one) The world's lowly, he loved. The social outcasts, the ones who were considered sinful and messed up and broken -- these are who Jesus spent his time with. In the end, he let himself be put to death on the Cross -- all as one big giant message to humanity from God: Yeah, you blew it. Yeah, you've been trying to get it together ever since, and continuing to blow it. But I'm not okay with leaving it there. Come back. I've made a way. He made it abundantly clear that it's not our works that matter; it's not our having our stuff together in our own strength that counts. As one person said, the distance between the farthest person from God and the closest person to God is about an inch, when compared to the distance between the closest person to God, and God himself (which stretches on practically forever in comparison). We can't do it on our own. That's why Christ was sent. Jesus, full of grace and truth. Full of grace, because he says "I accept you, even where you're at. You don't have to have it together to come." Full of truth, because he says, "Come through Me."

The one way that Christ and his message are different than every other religion is that it doesn't say "Get it all together. Do all these good things." It doesn't say, "Look within." It doesn't say that truth is to be found in our own meditations, our own good deeds, our own inner peace. Every other religion says that freedom and redemption are found in one thing: ourselves. And not to be a pessimist, but I don't think there's a whole lot of evidence that says we've done a super great job of that. Christianity admits that we can't save ourselves and admits the need for someOne greater. Christianity is the only religion that provides a savior.

PART TWO

OK on to the hard part of your question. Do those who never hear of Christ go into eternity without him? Ouch. The Sunday school answer I learned would've been a casual "Yes, of course they do." Then the sheer magnitude of that answer hit me; broke my heart. Could it really be so? And further still, I began thinking. As wholly uncomfortable as this makes me, there are a few pretty huge things that lead me to think, yes, it's true.

First: In Matthew 28.19, one of the last things Jesus says before he ascends into heaven (with quite a few people watching, I might add)... is this: "Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I'll be with you, to the end of the age." Jesus seems to think this is pretty important. Being one of the last things he says to Christ-followers, it seems to matter. Second: if it were unimportant, if there were other ways, such as by being a "good" person, then why would Christ command we go out? Wouldn't he say not to tell people... because here's the thing: if someone has never heard of Christ, and they die, and God says, okay, no problem... then I should probably tell as few people as possible. Because once I tell them, they're now responsible. It's like, congratulations: I've just told you news that, if you reject it, will send you into an eternity separated from God. Haven't I just done you a great favor?

I hope this makes sense. I'm doing my best.

Honestly, I don't know for sure how it all works. There are some parts to this that stretch me, your question being one of the major ones. I'm sure it would be much more impressive to act like I'm smug and comfortable, have it all figured out, but I have to admit to you that I don't. All I know is that the love and grace I've found in my relationship with God through Jesus Christ has changed my life... has taken me from death to life. Like a particular blind man said when everyone was questioning him on exactly who this Jesus was that had healed him (some of the super-religious types were upset and calling Jesus wicked because Jesus had the nerve to heal the man on a holy day): "One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!"

Most of what you've read here has been a story of my discovery of that grace, so I won't rehash that here. This post is stinkin' long already. But let there be no doubt: what's happening in my life that I write about so gratefully on this little piece of the web is all because of the grace of Christ.

Here's what you've reminded me of, J: The truth is, I don't think Christians (myself included) let themselves feel the gravity of this whole thing. We live selfish, comfortable lives, a lot of times... only a few of us have the balls to go out into India and China and wherever it is that people haven't heard. Heck, only a few us us have enough to even live a life that reflects Christ even in our own country. If Christ is who he says he is... if I claim to follow Christ... then my life has to look a whole lot more like his. My life has got to be more grace-filled. I need to serve those who the world rejects as unlovely or unpopular or unworthy. I need to be more humble. I need to be more willing to speak the truth more often, instead of waiting for a gutsy question from a friend to give me the excuse. I believe that God is at work in me to make me more of all these things.

The question you asked was this: Do people who don't hear the gospel really go to hell? The deeper question that is hitting me is this: If you really believe that, Stacey Rich, then how is your life preventing that? How are Christians reaching out and serving... instead of hanging out in their cool church buildings, fat and happy now that they've made it in?

The one thing that will matter at the end of my life is this: Was my life a picture of the love of Christ to those around me? Did I serve, was I full of grace and truth like Jesus was?

J, your question, although it could've been posed for any number of reasons (I haven't wholly disregarded the possibility that it may have been out of a wondering if your friend is really one of those uber-religious crazies)... it reminded me of some things I needed to be reminded of. I hope that I answered you with some sense of clarity - I know it was long, and involved. Email me if something didn't make sense, or if you've got more questions... I think you started with the toughest one, so maybe the next one could be easier, I don't know (but then again you're wicked smart, so we'll see...).

Thank you J. Whether or not you agree, thanks for respecting me enough to ask. Be blessed.

mom and dad... awww... 

mom and stace 

life at the casa de rico, volume I: refrigerator poetry

I was looking at our fridge last night, and thought to myself, "Self, the talent represented here, the pure artistic genius of this, your fridge, is too good to be kept a secret. It must be shared with the world." I do have to say, that the soon-to-be-classic "Your Roses Smell of Death" is not mine. Kevin brought that one to life. Check his bitter self out! (By the way, we are once again happy campers, in case any were curious. All is peaceful and well once again in our goodwill-furniture-littered abode. After venting last night via post, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water and we shared a gut-laugh over the South Park special that was on... how can everything not be ok after that?).

Yes, and we ARE ninja. Just in case there was any doubt/speculation.

Today was one of those come-home-change-straight-int0-pjs type of night, as it's rainy and cold out, and I desperately needed a night to take 'er easy. Happy to slow down for a moment. And, if miracles DO happen, I may get some writing done on my small group stuff, but we'll see. I took pictures of my refrigerator ten minutes ago... not super hopeful that any sort of useful work ethic will kick in during this next few hours. Hmmm... glad I've set aside tomorrow to go drink unholy amounts of coffee at B&N and get these puppies done...

What a good night it's been; not to have to do, just to be. Not as good as if I'd been able to share in the joy of watching old folks' karaoke at the VFW, I mean, what could compare with that? I'd like to know. But we can't all have the good life all the time. (Thanks for the call, kids, you made me smile, you made my night).

Wherever this Friday night has you, out partying with the Golden Girls, or kickin' it, loner style, be blessed.

[Any ideas for life, volume 2, I'm taking suggestions. I started out with pictures of my fridge magnets... there's nowhere to go but up].

the one I love the least (most)

Today at our intern meeting we talked about being full of truth and grace. Wes posed to us the question: If you err on one side, is it more on the side of truth, or grace? Not that one can be too truthful -- he referred to being too harsh. And not that one can be overly gracious -- he referred to being a bit too soft.

It's funny the dynamics that are represented even in such a small group. Two recognized their tendency toward erring more on the side of truth, as they're sometimes brutally blunt -- and the other two of us are historically a bit too soft -- taking a long apologetic time to get to what we're afraid to say, if we say it at all.
(Wes & Kenn called me out on being a strange combo -- gracious toward others, and ridiculously harsh on myself... hmmm, I don't know any writers who fit that description). But we're all growing, trying to become more like Christ in all these things, and it's great to know that we're not who we used to be.

We talked about criticism... and how we find out how gracious we really are when it is leveled at us. The thing is, if criticism is 100% untrue, it doesn't really affect us. We glance at it, say, "Well, that's untrue," and move on. But what happens if it's 90% untrue? Or 50% untrue? Yeah. All hell breaks loose, because we're out to defend that 50% with all the fight that's in us. We also talked about how we get a glimpse at how gracious we'll be toward our future family when we look at how we treat our family now. I nodded, thinking how true it is.

So what did I do? I picked a stupid fight with my brother over something he said to me when he got home from work. I knew five minutes into it that I was wrong. Did I back my truck up and apologize? Nope. That would be way too smart. Instead I stubbornly dug my heels in, was a total, well, you know, and what could've been solved in five minutes turned into a forty-five minute long argument. In circles. Which, with me still getting over being sick and him tired from work, is what neither of us needed. Would I say these same things to a roommate I didn't share genes with? I would hope not. Augh. How we take one another for granted because we feel we can. I don't have a temper often, but if anyone has seen it, it's my family.

"I only love God as much as the person I love the least." - mother teresa

Would the same be said for grace? Probably. I'm known for being gracious, and then come home and am the most graceless person I'm capable of being. Good move. How gracious am I, really, when that's the case?

The only good result is that our apartment's pretty clean (when I get good and angry, I clean like a maniac).

I've apologized to him. We'll be fine. But the fact remains that we really only have about a month and a half left to live together... it occurred to me as I vaccuumed the carpet within an inch of its life that I contributed to negative memories Kevo may have of this grand experiment called sibling-as-roommate. That was a harsh realization to come to. We have a great relationship, and although it's been stretched by sharing the same space, we'll continue to be close. But the fact remains that I don't get that moment back. Or others when I was less than gracious because I knew I could get away with it. Hopefully when this situation comes back around (and I know it will, as long as there are dishes in the sink, there will be dumb arguments about who left them there) I'll remember this ache and these frustrated tears and hold my tongue, and be, simply, like Jesus. Jesus, full of truth and grace. Jesus, the non-jerk.

The ones we truly love the most are the ones we struggle the most to truly love. Bitter, huh? But also one of the most beautiful parts of God's plan, that he'd put people in our lives who see in vivid detail our rough edges, regularly, and yet they love us even as the rough edges are being smoothed away. Smoothed, of course, by the day-to-day grind of humans sharing an apartment and a kitchen and a rice cooker.

(God, make me more like you. It'll take a lifetime, no doubt. But please don't give up).

(the children normally play so nicely together)

the missing

Last night we met at our friend Jeremy’s place for small group. He lives on the beach, literally about ten feet from Hood Canal, blessed with a view of mountains covered in fog and evergreen, diving directly into the calm waters below. We built (the boys built) a bonfire on the beach, and after eating our fill of hotdogs and s’mores (and running to the living room to check the score of the Sox game from time to time), we began talking about the book we’re reading, the ways we’re being stretched, the stuff God’s been doing in our lives.

I love sitting around a fire – the light dancing in people’s eyes, the golden glow of each face in the shadows, the shared warmth & shared smoke whenever the wind switches directions – they all make for a special atmosphere. The only thing that could’ve improved it was a guitar or two... another time, perhaps.

It was my turn to lead/facilitate the discussion. This is something I’m quite comfortable doing with teenagers; toss me in there, and I’m fully confident. It’s a little more difficult when leading a discussion with peers and people at least a decade older than me. I’m having to learn to get comfortable with letting a question hang out there for a few seconds; letting there be a silence while people process and think; being brave and creative in finding ways to draw people out into the discussion. It was a stretch for little miss communication major – sometimes that few seconds of silence following a question felt like an eternity – but overall, I think it was a good discussion.

One of the more interesting topics that came up was one person’s frustration with reading chapter on reconciliation – on stepping out and making things right. She was touched as she read, but then found herself disappointed and frustrated as all the emphasis was placed on making things right with believers. Not with other human beings in general. With believers. Another person mentioned that he saw a lot of unbeliever vs. believer talk... and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking about it too. What are unbelievers? Chopped liver? (and the unspoken question that hung in the air... Is that how you saw me just a few months ago or a year ago? Is that how I’m being asked to see my "unbeliever" friends now?)

They brought up a good point, something I hadn’t really noticed before. I read over that stuff and don’t even think twice about it, many times. My default mode is to take any encouragement to love, to forgive, to bless, as inclusive of any I may come in contact with, believer or not. I kind of skim over the distinctions. I love Rick Warren’s book, I hope to actually read the whole thing someday, but this misunderstanding of a few pages of his book brought to light some deeper issues regarding how we view ourselves and those we’re called to.

I thought about it all the way home. I have to admit, sometimes, that this is how a lot of it probably sounds: We want as many people as possible to join our club. But only be nice to people who are already in the club. People outside the club are misguided, and more often than not, they’re bad. It’s a hard fight against those outside the club, but we’ll persevere. If any of them (for some reason) really really really want to be a part of the club, we’ll let ‘em in... so long as they look, think, and talk like us right away.

I’ve been in the clubhouse a long time, and I’m glad there are newer folks around... my heart and ears need to be made sensitive again. Some of the words and phrases we are so used to in our Christian-clubhouse-conversations... they have a greater impact than we realize... not just on those around us, but on us and our perspective as well.

Unsaved. Lost. Unbeliever. Sinner. Saint. The Church. The World. Us. Them.

Now, I fully understand that the difference between a person following Christ and a person not following Christ is the difference between a living breathing person and a corpse. I get that. We’ve crossed over from death to life. Heaven and hell are real.

But if we could really hear ourselves sometimes, I think we turn things adversarial when they were never meant to be. Who is the real enemy? Is it really the unsaved? The unbeliever? We sometimes talk so disparagingly of those we’re supposedly reaching out to... and never realize it til we think we’re in an all-Christian arena and start unpacking our frustrations at "the world" and realize that the empty chair we prayed over last week at group is actually filled this week with a person from out there in the world. Gulp. Foot in mouth, perhaps?

You can’t fight people and fight for them at the same time. The fact is, people who aren’t yet following Christ are not enemies of his family, they are MISSING from his family. There is a place set for them at the table, and they aren’t there. All the blessings you know and experience and take for granted on a regular basis as you sit there at the table? They’re living without them. They’re missing from the feast. If that doesn’t break our hearts, maybe we need to leave the table for a while, get out of the clubhouse, and see the spiritual starvation that exists all around us. It’s real. We can either sit in the clubhouse and complain about how crazy those starving people out there are acting and how tough they’re making it on us, or we can be Christ’s hands and feet and start serving them up some grace and love and forgiveness-- the only real food we have to offer in this world.

Yeah, yeah, I know. File this one under rants. But it’s what I’ve been wrestling with today, so... if there’s a shred of discernable truth in it, let it hit you. If not, I’ll just let it hit me.

Be blessed today... pass your blessings on today... invite someone else to the table... amen.

the yanks got spanked!

In case you were in a cave somewhere, NY and their team got a whopping dose of bum-whoopin' last night... it was beautiful.

Those of us who prayed for the smiting (smitation?) of the Yankees were shown that 1) God heard our prayers; and 2) He still works absolute miracles.

I love baseball.

(An actual post may follow a bit later today. Til then, smile. Everyone but those in NY have a reason to).

my cup runneth over (with pennies)

Some pennies this week:

- Jules, on her way to cover a babysitting job for me, stopped by my apartment tonight with a surprise care package. Inside: two cans of chicken noodle soup, these strawberry vitamin C drops that I developed an addiction to over the weekend, a Barnes & Noble gift card, and a ticket to a Frank Sinatra Tribute (!) at the Admiral Theater in a few weeks (Girl, you know how to bless me... that TOTALLY made my week. Seriously. Thank you thank you thank you).

- The Sox are still in it, they've come back from being down three to force a game 7! Didn't get to see the whole game, but saw the only inning that mattered... four runs in the fourth! Way to kick some Yankee tail.

- Mom, Wes, and Lil all made a big fat deal over the fact that they thought I looked nice yesterday. To the point of near-embarrassment. But I smiled a little bigger all day. (Amazing what happens when you straighten your hair. Apparently it's my secret weapon... at least, according to Julie, who refers to it as "breakin' out the big guns")

- At B&N last night, trying to work on my NewLife project through my headache, in serious need of a break and some encouragement, my phone rang. A welcome friendly voice was on the other end. Sometimes it's just nice to know someone thought of you, and cared enough to dial up just because.

- It poured down rain today. And then sunshined in the afternoon. And then rained again. Absolutely beautiful.

- Rachel, one of my closest friends from Bellingham, called me today to tell me the big news, she and Ryan got engaged this past weekend! And, of course, I got to hear all the sweet details. (It involved camping, fishing, a candlelit dinner in the woods... way to go Ryan!)

- Had coffee with Grace tonight at the Lighthouse Cafe in Old Town Silverdale, quickly becoming my new favorite coffee joint. Big red leather couches that you can take your shoes off and curl up in... soft piano/jazz playing, candlelight, good coffee... absolutely wonderful. Got to continue reading this novel I've been digesting the past few weeks before she arrived, a nice moment of peace. Then we got to talk about the fast-approaching wedding and just took some time to catch up, talk about what God's up to. What wonderful stories God is weaving in our lives.

- It occurs to me that I am rich in friendship, laughter, and love. I am rich in all the things that matter.

That's all I've got for now, goodnight.

stacey's mom

"Whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did it for Me..."
***
My mom’s probably going to kill me, but this is too good. You thought you had it rough at your job.

My mom told me this story last night... unbelievable. We laughed til we cried. And I walked away with one more reason my mom is my hero.

My mom is a dental assistant at an office down in Silverdale. I would find that a difficult job in and of itself, but Friday was especially challenging, for reasons having nothing to do with dentistry.

First patient, a younger patient, went to use the restroom, and left a puddle all over the floor, which my mom had to clean up. Good way to start your morning.

No sooner does she finish up this pleasant job, than in rushes Albert, a 92-year old regular. Albert is the sweetest old man. He comes in, and always recites the same poem the office has heard 500 times, or tells this one story his mom used to tell him as a boy. He loves Jesus with all his heart and every now and then gets a tear in his eye when he says his "only regret is that I waited til I was 37 before I finally let the Lord into my life." Sweet guy.

So in rushes Albert. "I know, I know, I’m late, the transit bus took me to the wrong dentist’s office. But I really have to go to the bathroom."

So he rushes on in to the single restroom. Where he remains. For a really long time.

My mom starts getting a little concerned, especially given his age, and waits til she can wait no longer before knocking on the door, "Um, Albert, are you doing ok?"

"Is that the nurse? Can you open the door just a little?"

She cracks the door just a little. "Are you ok, Albert?"

A sheepish and embarrassed 92-year-old Albert replies, "I didn’t quite make it." His pants are around his ankles.

There’s no nice way to say it, so I’ll just say it. There’s poop everywhere. All over the bathroom, all over Albert, all over Albert’s pants, belt... you name it, there’s poop on it.

God loves Albert dearly, and just to remind him so, I think he sent Albert a red-headed angel in the form of my sweet kind mother. Who didn’t even think twice, but went to work helping Albert and getting him cleaned up. (Luckily, my mom had worked a long time ago at a nursing home, so this wasn’t completely unfamiliar territory).

As I’m sitting there, aghast at the horror of the situation, she throws in the kicker: She grabbed a wad of TP and he said, "Whoa, you don’t need that much!" To which she replied, "Oh yes I do... You’re not the one back here." I’m sure she appreciated his concern for Mother Earth and paper conservation, but now wasn’t the time. (This was the moment in which we were doubled over, laughing without sound, wiping tears from our eyes).

At this point in the story, I asked my mom what the heck you talk about when you’re wiping an old man’s arse. She said they had a fairly normal conversation, under the circumstances. He said he bet she’d never done this before. She said he’d be surprised, and told him about her previous work experience. They shared a laugh, and he said there’s really nothing else to do, but laugh about life, sometimes.

She cleaned him up, treated the humbled old man with dignity, tried to make him feel like it was no big deal... like it was quite the normal thing for a dental assistant to have to do. Albert called the next day to apologize and "say thanks to that young gal that helped me out yesterday, she was so nice about everything..." He has another appointment today, let us hope things are less... eventful.
***
Mom, I just wanted to let you know I’m proud of you. Not simply for your response in this situation, but for living a life that honors God, so faithfully, so consistently and without fanfare. There are more than a few situations God has chucked at you, particularly this past few weeks (not all of which I’ll mention here) that have thrown you far out of your comfort zone, but your response has consistently been obedience and servanthood, even when God asks of you something you’d rather not do. Your heart is beautifully soft and tender, and it’s becoming more like Jesus, full of grace and truth, all the time.

Just wanted you to know I notice. And I’m still in awe of how the heck I got so lucky. Love you.

he is, he will...

I took you from the ends of the earth,
from its furthest corners I called you.
I said, "You are my servant;
I have chosen you and have not rejected you.
So do not fear, for I am with you,
Do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand...

For I am the Lord, your God,
who takes hold of your right hand, and says to you,
"Do not fear; I will help you.
Do not be afraid, O worm intern,
O little Stacey,
for I myself will help you," declares the LORD,
your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.

-from Isaiah 41

***
My head is still a bit foggy, but I still wanted to share what’s on my heart this morning. About six months ago, I was going through an excruciatingly painful time. My internship was not going well, and I was beginning to hate the very ministry I’d entered the internship to pursue. God, are you here? Did you really call me to this, or did I hear you wrong somehow? I felt like I was running, running as hard as I knew how to, but some unseen hand held me about two inches off the ground. I was going nowhere, and killing myself doing it.

I was discouraged. I was exhausted. I was tired. And as far as I could tell, there was no end to this dry and bitter wilderness I found myself in. I was experiencing a spiritual and emotional brokenness far worse than the physical brokenness I’d known a year prior. And the one thing I’d come to completely despise in that season was being broken. Being weak. Being dependent. I thought I’d left that season behind, and now the pain was re-emerging, just in different, more potent form.

One night, I’d completely had it. I had nothing more to give. Empty. I basically told God, Either you show up, or I’m done. I can’t do this if you’re not here with me. I just need something. Anything. Anything to show that you haven’t abandoned me and left me here in the dust to die.

I continued on in this prayer, basically crying my guts out, for the better part of two hours. When I and my prayer were fully exhausted, I finally fell asleep, utterly spent. No answer came.

I woke up the next morning, puffy-eyed but oddly, rested. I grabbed my Bible (something I rarely do first-thing) and opened it up randomly to Isaiah (another rarity; I’m typically a sucker for Ephesians and Psalms). The verses above were what my eyes immediately fell upon.

God had answered. And, as usual, his answer was himself. His answer wasn’t to make everything become suddenly clear; it wasn’t to make my circumstances more gentle; it wasn’t to make me some towering pillar of strength. His answer was himself.

I took you. I called you. I have chosen. I am with you. I am your God. I will strengthen. I will uphold. I will help you.

When we cry out to God in our most desperate prayers, we often cry out for specific needs. God, I need direction; I need peace; I need comfort; I need strength. God answers, "I AM; I AM; I AM; I AM; I AM." He is the answer to every prayer we utter.

Like a small child, there are many times I feel lost and weary. The path I’m on is sometimes darker and colder and more uncertain than I’d like it to be. In those moments, I don’t need a roadmap. I don’t need something to light the way. What I need is a voice in my ear and a hand holding mine. What I need is to know that I’m not alone. That someone bigger than me has this whole thing under control.

"Do not be afraid; I am with you. Don’t be dismayed; I am your God."

God speaks not only those words of comfort, but these as well: "I have chosen you... I will strengthen you... I will help you." God is in the process of making me what he designed me for. A burden lifts from my shoulders when I realize I don’t have to create or initiate the growth and change and strength that God wants to see in me. I’m not the driving force. My task is not to push myself, but to yield myself. To allow myself to be led. To take the hand reaching out for mine. To listen. To follow. To obey.

Frederick Buechner wrote that every direction God gives us is not only a command, but a promise as well, because he not only gives the command, but gives the necessary resources to fulfill it as well. God is for us on both sides. He is the voice that calls us out of our comfort, but he is also the voice that whispers peace in our ear as we take that first fumbling step. He is the voice calling us to have courage, and he is also the one who delights in giving us the very courage we need. All of this is a gift of himself.

Take heart. If the road God has you on right now is a rough and winding one, be at peace, knowing this: he is, and he will. Of all the answers we ask for, this is the one we truly need; the one answer that encompasses every need or desire we could ever hope to see filled. Not only is he the one thing we truly need; he's the one thing we're truly assured of receiving. God has given us himself. Amazing.

He is. He will. Amen.

wherever and however

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures...
***
Winter arrived this weekend, apparently. It's about 40 degrees out right now, and the wind is blowing hard. I'm wrapped up in a blanket, attempting to have warm feet for the first time all weekend (I'm normally really warm blooded, but this cold has me, well, cold.)

My weekend went by quickly, and I'm shuddering at the thought that tomorrow is Monday already, but I am so glad I got away, even for just a few days. I forget that Bellingham is as close as it is - a half-hour ferry ride, and an hour and a half drive has me there. Need to do it more often.

All three of us were totally sick - the three-part chorus of sniffles, sneezes and coughing struck us as rather funny. Especially funny around midnight when the NyQuil was startin' to kick in. (Whoever invented NyQuil... God bless you). Despite our colds, we genuinely had a good time. I love taking trips with folks who are laid-back and easy-going... up for whatever, without having to have a fixed plan. Lili and Jules are so dear to me - was great to take time out of all our busyness just to be. Together. I think I spent half the weekend laughing. Mostly laughing with Julie and Lil as they laughed AT me, but that's quite normal. Happy to entertain, as always.

Drove past my old apartment and through campus... beautiful this time of year, as all the leaves have turned and piles of them lay all over the cracked sidewalks along North Garden Street. Drove past the part of the freeway where my wreck happened, supressed a shudder, and breathed a quiet prayer of thanks to God that my life looks so much different now (and that he used it for so much good). Went downtown and had late-night coffee at Stuart's, my favorite little hippie-ish coffee place. Full of aged (slightly musty) furniture, creaky wooden floors, strange artwork and often, live music, it was my favorite place to read and journal when I lived five minutes from its door. Best thing - open til midnight. There are certain things you grow to miss when you no longer live in a college town. (What? Closed at nine? What is this madness?).

Spent part of Saturday shopping up there (the mall here in Silverdale inspires nothing but sorrow)... and miracle of all miracles, found great jeans. I know that's a very girly, materialistic thing to be excited about... guys will not understand my joy... but girls, you understand the need to celebrate. Great jeans. A rare and beautiful thing.

Probably the most wonderful thing - a visit to my precious church up in Bellingham, Christ the King. Visiting there is the most awesome and the most painful thing I do during my journeys up north. Every time I step through the doors, I know the same sense of homecoming I knew the very first time I came. When I hear the band begin to play, I remember the sheer joy I felt when I served alongside these friends, the beautiful energy of lifting our creative talents to God together. And when I hear my pastor, Grant, speak, I remember anew how God used his words and his heart to breathe life into my hungry soul week after week after week. I soaked it up like a dry sponge. And I fit there like I've fit nowhere else. Not before, not since. Every time I visit, I sense a faint stirring in my heart... I don't know if I'm understanding it correctly, but it always seems to softly say - this chapter isn't totally over. You're not done here.

I have no idea what to do with that, but there it is. There's a part of me that hopes it's true, but who knows what paths God is going to lead me on? I know that right now, God has me exactly where he wants me, and that's a great feeling. I guess it's only natural to long for an old season, especially one that, for me, was among the most defining seasons I've ever known - both exquisitely lovely and painful all at once. Whether that sense I consistently feel is from the Lord, or is just me, suffering from an overdose of nostalgia, time will tell. The grass is always greener on the other side... or seemingly so. I'm learning how to choose contentedness with what God has seen fit to bless me with right now. The thing is, I'm not just content. I'm amazed. It's definitely harder working with a younger church (Christ the King is about 10 years older than NewLife)... but to know I'm a part of birthing something that's vibrant and growing and impacting the community I grew up in... incredible.

We drove back in time for service at NewLife tonight, and despite the longing I'd known earlier in the day, I was glad to be home. The time away was a breath of fresh air, but I was glad to be among faces I've come to love, serving with people I dearly love. For the first time ever tonight, our auditorium was totally full, and we had to set up extra chairs to be able to accomodate all those pouring in the doors. My breath caught in my throat and I had to fight tears a little as I shot a knowing glance at Jules, sitting next to me. What we've worked so hard to see, I'm seeing. Not just people filling up chairs, but souls sitting in those chairs, hearing a message of grace that perhaps they've never heard before -- not even one time. Not just souls drifting in and out, but getting connected and finding, at last, a family.

GOD IS AT WORK. How lucky am I, that I get to join him in that? Wherever he chooses to let me be a part of that... this rescuing of souls, this pulling people into his family... wherever and however he wants me to fulfill that call, I'm in... with my whole heart.

I've come to realize that despite my wandering gaze at times, the grass on my side of the fence is truly a deep, lush, satisfying green. I may take occasional glances at the pasture on the other side of the fence, but I know in my heart of hearts... I've got it good. And until God directs otherwise, here - and at peace - I will be.

The NyQuil is starting to kick in... to bed I must go. May you be able to look at the pasture he's placed you in and know what it is to be content. Not just content. Amazed.

Be blessed and at peace, my dear friends. God is good.

and you thought I was incapable of a short post...

hey everyone...

I'm sick.

But still going to Bellingham for the weekend, so it should be interesting.

Lili, Julie & I are taking a little roadtrip, and despite the fact that I have a sore throat and man-voice... I'm excited to be away for a few days.

Will be good to visit up there... see old friends, drive by my old apartment, etc.

This is a lame excuse for a post, but here it is.

Have a great weekend everybody, be blessed.

murphy's day

I’m not sure whether it was a) when Kevo told me he’s moving out in December, b) when I woke up this morning with my friends’ cold, c) when traffic came to a dead stop on my way to work, d) when I, ten minutes later, ran out of gas on the side of the freeway, or e) when, killing time, I called to check my account (you know, the two-days-from-payday holding-your-breath checkup) and the pleasant lady’s voice started with "negative" as a key descriptor, that I realized I should never have gotten out of bed this morning. The gas thing actually had me laughing at myself a bit. The culmination of all the other stuff has me more at the other end of the spectrum.

Although I like to talk often about the waves life tosses me, the worst kind of waves are the ones I create myself. And I do it far more often than I’d like to admit. Today’s one of those days when I think, Why can’t I just get it together? I am frustrated, both by life’s cruel timing and my own stupidity.

Did I mention that my first official communications project for NewLife (seven weeks of small group materials) is due in a week and a half (near-impossible in the first place) and the screen on my laptop died early yesterday morning?

Heh heh. That Murphy is a funny guy.

It occurs to me in this moment, however, that I can’t really change how the first four hours of my day have been. Some crud has crept in, out of my control. I also could’ve been smarter... a whole lot smarter (I could have stopped for gas, for instance)... but now, what’s done is done. I do, however, have a choice in how I will live the remaining hours of today. They still count.

THIS IS THE MOMENT when I find out whether I really believe all the stuff I’m forever writing on and on about. It’s not revealed in times when I’m feeling all poetic and philosophical and deep. It’s tested right now, when life gets hectic, when I’d rather be doing anything than looking at the state of my own stubborn heart. Do I truly believe that today is important? Do I, in my heart of hearts, trust that God is in control (and is working all things out for my good)? Do I understand that Jesus is worthy of my worship despite how I feel right now?

I will not offer to God that which costs me nothing...

Will I still give God my day, even though it feels a bit ragged already? Even though I feel a bit ragged already?

Just some thoughts. Does it sound like I’m trying to talk myself into something? Because I am. Sometimes that’s the best I can do, but hey, it beats wallowing (which I do plenty of).

I still have the rest of my day at work, a small group tonight with people who are fast becoming dear friends, and a soccer game to enjoy after. I choose to let myself truly be there, or I choose to miss it.

Let us make the most of every opportunity...

[swimming 101]

I remember learning in Sunday School how Peter, upon seeing Jesus walking on the water, said, "Lord, if it’s you, call me..." Jesus called him, and with his knees shaking and his heart pounding, he somehow gained enough control to put one foot over the edge, and then the second. He locked eyes with Jesus. He took a few halting steps forward, looking like a toddler who might lose his balance and pitch forward, face-first, at any moment.

"Then Peter saw the waves." Hmm. No kidding. They were in the middle of a storm, and everybody was about as scared out of their wits as they could ever remember being.

And here’s where our hero made a crucial mistake: He took his eyes off Jesus.

Peter began to sink.

Poor, foolish Peter. Doesn’t he have any faith? Never mind the other eleven white-faced scaredy- cats watching from the boat. All eyes are on the wannabe-water-walker.

Well, at least that was our attitude in my Sunday School class. You don’t exactly feel Pete’s terror when he’s a badly-drawn paper man stuck to a board covered in blue felt made to look like the ocean, a few inches from an equally poorly drawn rowboat. From the distance of nearly 2000 years, from our felt-board perspective, we asked what seemed like a crucial and justified question... Peter, why didn’t you have more faith? Don’t you know you’re supposed to keep your eyes on Jesus?

I laugh now. At least Peter got to take a few steps. I feel more like I’m dog-paddling most of the time. When I’m not taking in huge gulps of ocean water, that is. And in the midst of all that's happening and not happening in my life, it's easy to drop my gaze to the small and temporary swirlings all around me. Stacey, why don't you have more faith? Don't you know you're supposed to keep your eyes on Jesus?

About two years ago, I left my own boat behind. I came to the place where no amount of discomfort could be as painful as sitting in that boat, trying to clamp my hands over my ears tight enough to drown out the ceaseless, insistent call from the Voice out on the waves. As great as my fear of stepping out was, it paled in comparison to the fear of missing out on walking with Jesus. Nothing could be worse than living out the slow torture of knowing full-well that I was denying the life for which I was created.

It wasn’t that I was brave; it was just that I knew what to be more afraid of. Give me the waves and Jesus any day over my sinking ship.

Still, it’s a crazy world in which to live. I see miracles; I see the waves. I see growth; I see the waves. I see Jesus; I see the waves. The waves, I’m beginning to realize, are a near-constant. This past year I’ve felt inundated with more tumult than even I expected. It’s been less like an internship and more like ministry boot-camp, as we’ve watched our church grow from 400 to 800. (In a year).

As I’ve seen this past week, the waves don’t calm down once you are married, a parent to great kids, and on staff at a church you love. Our associate pastor, Del, and his wife, Kerri, came home on Tuesday night to tell me (the babysitter) that they are leaving staff to take a new position across the water. Wave. I love working with Del. I love the fact that in the midst of all the busyness and all the to-do’s, he stops, looks me straight in the eye, and takes time to ask me "How are you doing... really?" It would be hard enough adjusting to just him moving, but this is the third pastor in two months to feel that God is asking him to step out a different direction than what he had planned and expected. Wave. Wave. Wave. The other two guys are around my age, so change of direction wasn’t wholly unexpected. This one’s harder for me.

I had probably the best conversation I’ve ever had with Del that night. He and Kerri felt that they could stay, and be comfortable. In fact, they really wanted it... Wes and Del are best friends, were college roommates, and had always dreamed of doing ministry together, long-term. But in Del's heart of hearts, he was certain that their staying would be ignoring a call they knew they had heard clearly. So now, they’re stepping out yet again. Trembling? More than a little. But also walking in an assured peace that while they're headed down an unknown path, it's not unknown to God.

Sunday night, they made the announcement. I knew it was coming, but still couldn't stop my eyes from filling. Some things are just plain hard. Watching him step out helped remind me 1) not to get too comfortable, and 2) to continue to fix my eyes on Christ. Not my job-title. Not my "ministry". Not my heroes. Waves will crash again and again, washing all of those things away. I lock eyes with Jesus and find myself secure once again. Still doing quite a bit of dog-paddling, still fully aware that there will be moments I start to feel the water rise up all around me, but one thing I know: unlike that ship I left behind, I will not sink. He's got a hold of me.

And he won't let go.

one

Happy Monday, everyone.

I'm feeling better after my slight venting session the other night; thanks to you who responded with your honesty and encouragement... not that I'm glad it sucks for some of you as well, but it actually kinda made me feel better. Misery loves... more misery.

God's at work in my heart on this; I think what I've received this past few days is peace. A peace that it's ok not to have it all figured out, to not know all the "rules"... it's ok not to have that longing completely quenched, and it's ok for it to ache sometimes. It's ok to still feel a bit incomplete. God's not going to deny me his blessings because I'm not perfect yet. When has he ever?
***
So after being without it since July, I finally got my Bible back a few days ago. (Thanks Brent). I'd left it at summer camp and it had been sitting on a bookshelf somewhere up at my friend Micah's place in Bellingham ever since. I'd missed it. Like all my books, it's marked up with stuff that's meaningful... (I've been mocked for being the only girl who reads most books with a highlighter or pen in hand). It took me a while to get over the fact that I'd be defacing its pages to write in the margins, to note what was spoken to me in that moment, but I did. So now the poor thing is a bit of a mess, but it's a mess that means a lot to me. (Plus I can find what I'm looking for. I can't remember scripture references to save my life, I'm bad with numbers, but for some reason I can remember what color pen I used to mark it up).

I was looking through it this morning, and came across these words written in the front. They were written when I was 19 & studying at Northwest College... during one of my late-night coffee binges at the Denny's just down the road. Man, I miss that place. And I miss my waitress, Eileen.

Anyway, the words still hold great meaning to me... great words to hear on a Monday, I think.

I have just one life here.
One.
Each moment that slips away is forever lost
And cannot be regained, relived, or reversed.
I don't want regrets, God.
I don't want to get so caught up in the details, worries and stresses of my life
That I miss living.
I want to take hold of the things that really matter
And just let the rest of it go.
I want to have the courage to live my life so that when I die,
I won't be worried about important words left unsaid, new things left untried, crazy risks left untaken...
Because I was too afraid to speak out, stick out, or be left out.
I will not settle, God.
I want your best.
I want to live my life like I really believe all those things You've said;
All the promises You've made.
I don't want to just barely scratch the surface of who You are.
I want to know Your power because I've put myself in a place where I have to rely on it.
Help me to have the courage to be the person I've always wanted to be;
The person You've always wanted me to be.
When I die, may they say
She loved Jesus. She loved her family. She loved people.
She loved her life. She loved new things.
She laughed. Hard.
May they say I understood what life is really all about.
It's about striving to live for You each day...
It's about milking each moment for what it's worth.
Because only one life here on earth has been afforded me.
One.

God, please reawaken that heart within me. Even on a chilly Monday. Even in a tired me. Amen.

what summer conceals, winter reveals

When autumn comes
It doesn't ask
It just walks in
Where it left you last
You never know when it starts
Until there's fog inside the glass around
Your summer heart...
--John Mayer
--------------------
Nights like tonight should be illegal.

When I left my apartment at 7.30, headed over to Mom & Dad's house, it was already pitch dark and cold. Not just mildly chilly; COLD. The rain and the wind and the dark have a way of giving the chill a more piercing quality; its icy grip goes straight for your heart with no hesitation.

I don't know what it is, but this time of year always gives me trouble. I feel pretty good January through about right now, and forget that loneliness and melancholy ever tried to eat me alive. Summer especially is a great time for me... all my life is framed in a soft golden glow.

And then I have nights like tonight. The chill sneaks up on me, and the pain is sharp. My heart aches to belong. My hand longs to be held. My lips... well, you get the picture. Add it all up: A sarah mclachlan CD in the player-rip your heart out-why don't you just go watch Castaway and get it over with-type-of-night. I've become my own worst nightmare.

I went over to my parent's house to help them get ready for a garage sale. My mom's timing is impeccable -- forecast calls for rain, rain, and more rain tomorrow. Not even rain can dampen her enthusiasm, however... she's been waiting forever to get rid of all the junk my dad has stored out in the garage and attic; my grandma's move up here from California in a month is as good a reason as any. My dad and his junk have had a close relationship these last 15 years... he's a bit sad. But really. Can he really claim a strong sentimental attachment to two years of Golf Magazine? (When he's only played golf once?). It will be a sad adieu, but I think he'll make it. Plus, I'm absolutely convinced he'll take half of it and hide it somewhere his redhead wife can't find it...

I'm pretty sure I was the opposite of help tonight. I oohed and ahhed over bits of my childhood and rescued way too many books I decided I couldn't live without. The memories flooded back with vivid clarity. I opened my favorite Bible nursery rhyme book and heard my mom's voice in my head as well my own, begging her to read just one more. Mom caught me reading it and humored me by reading my favorite. I stumbled on report cards and awards and certificates; yearbooks and pictures. Faces I'd completely forgotten flashed through my mind. Friends I thought would stay a part of me for life were now faint memories I struggled to recall. I stumbled upon pictures and love letters I thought were long gone... I laughed aloud for a moment and then suddenly fell silent.

Half of this stuff went in the trash. (Which is probably where it needed to be... but still. It's hard letting go).

I left the house a few hours later with two boxes containing the last of my belongings. I never plan on moving back to my parents', but there was a sort of sad finality to it, even so. It will always have traces of home, reminiscences of home... but it is my home no longer. Everything is changing all around me, and no matter how tight I squeeze my hand to hold what's precious, I open my fingers to find it all slipping through.

My own home... doesn't really feel like a home. I'm caught in the dreadful in-between. I'm building my own beautiful life; I'm not waiting to begin it. But at the moment, I'm fighting the reality that right now, there's no one to share it with.

It'll pass. It always does. I know enough about myself to expect that it will come and go, growing more insistent as Christmas approaches (who doesn't want to walk around bundled up and rosy cheeked, being all sappy and ridiculous to the sound of bells and the smell of pine?)... and then, in the silence of January, the awful beast will stop its tireless nagging and be at peace at last.

I'll fight it and quit being such chick flick fodder. Tomorrow. For tonight, I'm just going to let it ache a little. I'm going to bundle up beneath my blankets, quiet my heart, and be nearly almost happy in the fact that I'm another winter closer to what is painfully & obviously absent in this moment.

Someday probably isn't as far away as it seems.

I shall not want

I woke up early this morning to peace. A dream had terrified me; had shaken and startled me awake. The pain was real. I woke up to the rain pouring down on my roof and the puddles outside, playing and singing a soft melody all its own. Curled up beneath my many blankets, I was warm. Just-right warm. I sighed in relief. The reality of the dream began to fade, and I was happy to be exactly where I was. I stumbled out of bed to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water - and here's the best part - got to return to my blessed state for another two hours as I drifted back to restful sleep.

That was the easy part of my day. Now I actually have to go do something. A lot of somethings. My days are getting fuller and busier, and I'm glad to be doing the things I'm doing. Mostly. But I'm feeling it... the juggling. The tight schedule. The slight anxiety of always running about five minutes late.

I was grateful for this small moment of real rest this morning. I needed it.

You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. ISAIAH 26.3
----------------------------
A little Buechner for this morning:

"I SHALL NOT WANT," the psalm says. Is that true? There are lots of things we go on wanting, go on lacking, whether we believe in God or not. They are not just material things like a new roof or a better paying job, but things like good health, things like happiness for our children, things like being understood and appreciated, like relief from pain, like some measure of inner peace not just for ourselves but for the people we love and for whom we pray. Believers and unbelievers alike we go on wanting plenty our whole lives through. We long for what never seems to come. We pray for what never seems to be clearly given. But when the psalm says "I shall not want," maybe it is speaking the utter truth anyhow. Maybe it means that if we keep our eyes open, if we keep our hearts and lives open, we will at least never be in want of the one thing we want more than anything else. Maybe it means that whatever else is withheld, the shepherd never withholds himself, and he is what we want more than anything else.

--Frederick Buechner, Listening to Your Life

My friends love this Irish girl because I make their tans show up so nicely... sigh.

Brent was calling us jungle fever. Had a little party for Carly tonight since she was up from LA...

good times had by all.

hey, baby

Last night found me at week 2 of our small group (already behind in my reading, of course, but no one asked, thank goodness). Since we'd split up into meeting at two homes, it was a smaller, more intimate setting. Still getting to know each other, we went around the room and shared a bit about ourselves. Then, a deeper question: how did you view God growing up? There were as many varied responses as there were people in the room: God was only on Sunday, Jesus was a piece of paper stuck to a felt board (and always a shepherd), God was the stern loud voice of the 10 commandments; God was the faultfinder. It was interesting to share this and to consider how it had shaped each person.

We watched the video and then continued discussion on a life of worship, and how our first purpose in life is to bring God pleasure. One of the discussion questions was this: "The Bible says that God created you so he could love you, enjoy you, and adopt you into his family. Stop and ponder that statement for a moment. How does that make you feel and is it consistent with your view of God?"

Wendy shared the only story I remember from that part of the conversation. She had heard it from a friend who'd just been at some sort of women's conference. The speaker at that conference had shared how God doesn't just speak to us coldly and generically: he calls us by name. Sometimes by a new name. This particular speaker had a lilting Southern drawl, and said that when she felt God speaking to her, he always called her "baby." No, baby, that's just not in my plan right now. Hey, baby, I'm leading you this way. Just be patient, baby. I'm at work here.

It struck me in that moment. My view of how God sees me is just as important as how I see God himself. In fact, I think it may have impacted me more. The moment I first realized that God was not angry and disappointed in me, as I supposed, but was actually full of love and tenderness toward me, EVERYTHING CHANGED. All of a sudden it was real. It was personal.

I think it's the same way in my relationships. I get far more hung up on the way I think people see me than I do on how I see them. I'm pretty laid-back, and find it fairly easy to like most people (although there are some personality traits that drive me batty, let's be honest). But I used to have the most difficult time believing that people enjoyed me as I am. Before anyone had said a word, I had already thought of fifteen reasons they probably thought I was any number of terrible things. Larger groups of people were a nightmare... way too much impression management. I'd leave emotionally and mentally exhausted from trying to battle my own self-doubt the entire time. Luckily, no one else could tell, but it was utterly frustrating.

As my view of God has changed, so has a lot of the above. I wish I could tell you that it's all completely vanished and that I am little miss brazen confidence now, but that would be a lie (although I do have my Irish girl moments... but these just typically involve me hastily putting my foot in my mouth and inevitably having to quickly backpedal, however). I still have to recognize times when a wrong thought process is going on (although it's rarer now) and take it captive to what I know is true. It's gotten better. I'm not afraid to be myself and to speak my mind. (I sometimes completely second-guess myself once I've done so... but that, too, is being transformed with time).

I've reached a point where I'm a) fully aware I'm imperfect, and b) still happy to be me, and if someone doesn't like me, I'm (finally! Thank God!) ok. They can go their merry way. My view of who I am is no longer based on the reflections I see bounced back in the people around me. I see myself in view of God's grace, mercy, and hope for what is yet to come. As confidence in God and his work in my life has grown, I've been able to see this most frustrating, painful part of me slowly, slowly, SLOWLY be redeemed. The best part is, he's not finished.

I'm not sure God calls me by any particular name that I'm aware of, but I do know this: God smiles whenever he sees me. You want my picture of him? That's my picture. I make God smile. (I make him laugh pretty often too, but that's a whole other thing). When I talk to him, when I sing to him, when my heart is responding to him, when I reach out to others in his love... I know with my entire being that God has a grin as wide as the ocean on his face. To someone else, that might not mean a whole lot. But for me, given my past, it's a thought that sends grateful tears cascading down my cheeks.

I find myself smiling back. Often. I can't help it.

What does God call you? Child? Daughter? Son? Friend? Precious? Chosen? Beautiful? (Baby?) If you slowed and quieted yourself long enough to hear him call you by name... imagine how that would change everything. Slow down. Shut up for a second. Listen.

Whatever name he might call you by, I have a good idea of at least one I'm sure he uses often: Beloved.

everybody loves o'rich

congrats, kevo! punk!

I'm sorry, I know I'm an obsessive blogger, but this needs to be said:

MY LITTLE BROTHER IS AWESOME! (OK, "little" meaning, no longer little, he's 6'1" and I'm 5'6", so yeah he's a big ol' moose... but you know what I mean)

Just need to brag on him a little bit - he nailed his 2nd interview for a Drafting (CAD) job for a firm over in Seattle. I figured he'd get the job: he's top of his class, a pretty sharp guy, has a great sense of humor, and is generally kind to old ladies and fuzzy animals. They said they'd call Monday, and didn't, so Kevin was a bit heart-heavy. I, the ever-supportive big sis, said, "They always do that. They'll call. They will call..."

He got the call yesterday and the paperwork today... he got the job and they're paying him ridiculously well for it. (Plus his boss is a Christian, which is pretty cool, too). Once again, my brother starts out in a job making more than me, a lowly secretary. Sigh!

I am hugely proud of you, my dear brother. (And, I told you so).

I am also totally sad, because today begins a countdown toward, at some point, the inevitable roommate divorce, when he gets too good for us and moves across the water with all the other hoity-toities.

I get the couch. And the 25 pound bag of SuperLuckyElephant rice. So there. ;)

Happy Birthday Dad!

A full deck plus a joker thrown in for good measure... happy 53rd! Dad... words fail to say how much I love you and how much I know I lucked out. Thanks for all that you do... like moving hideabeds that I call couches, like moving me thirteen times since I turned 18, for rescuing me when I run out of gas. Again. Thanks for that look you always get on your face when I'm singing or playing, or when I'm otherwise making you proud. I love you. See you tonight after work.

making noises

Came across some CD's I had buried for about six months, among them one of my all-time favorite CD's. I love it because it's raw & unpolished (at a time when most worship music is pretty slick) and heartfelt and honest (as some worship music has seemed to cease to be as it's taken hold of its own monstrous genre)... Don't get me wrong, I love that worship music is growing, but it's nonetheless refreshing to have something that seems to come straight from the gut. Here's Making Noises, a song that has ministered to me countless times... and one I'm happy to resurrect.

Oh Lord I'm down again
This life you've got me in
Keeps pulling me to the floor
I've bought what they're offering
And now i need to be
Set free from my own desire

Your love is all I need
Redeem the worst in me

Lord I give you my all
Cause I don't know what I'm doing anymore
Lord I give you my all
Cause I don't want to just be making noises
I don't want to just be making noises... Lord

Lord my heart is tired
Worn out and uninspired
Traded my passions for gold
I won't play the game again
I have lost the will to win
Jesus save what's left of my soul

Your love is all I need
Redeem the worst in me

Lord I give you my all
Cause I don't know what I'm doing anymore
Lord I give you my all
Cause I don't want to just be making noises
I don't want to just be making noises

letting go

Tonight I got the kind of news that I hate getting, and love getting at the same time. Some folks I love are moving on to a new chapter in their life, a new piece of God's plan for their lives. Good and bad news all wrapped up in one painful moment.

It's going to leave a hole; the truth is, I'm heartbroken.

It should leave a hole.

I could easily flit from season to season, from path to path, were it not for the requisite goodbyes that inevitably accompany them. The goodbyes are the hardest part.

I've been through so much change this past year and a half, it feels like all I've done is say goodbye. I said goodbye to Bellingham and my church family there when I moved home. I said goodbye to my home church and my fellow interns when I took a step out in faith to work with NewLife. Two interns that had made the move with us quit in June, leaving three of an original eight pastoral interns. I said goodbye to my grandpa in August. Two pastors on staff at NL have moved on to other callings in the past few months.

God... just a little stability. Please.

I will never leave you nor forsake you...

Ever since I decided that I could no longer run from what God had designed me to do, ever since I took the no-looking-back step toward ministry as what I'd devote my life to, things have not been more stable, they've been less. The terrain has changed so much in the past year that I barely recognize it anymore. I'm growing to enjoy this new place gradually, especially as I understand God is at work in all of it, but man, there are moments when it just plain hurts.

My eyes are starting to fill and it's getting hard to see the screen. I just needed to say (and mostly to myself) that amongst all the many things that are constantly shifting all around us, God doesn't. He is a beautiful constant.

And even here, in the searing pain of letting go, he stands with us, wiping our warm tears, soothing our aching hearts.

decisions, decisions...

I did a very bad thing today. After I missed Jamie Cullum by about a day, playing here in Seattle, I said "Enough of this MADNESS!" and started taking a peek at local venues. Dang it. I may have to buy a ferry pass.

Jules and I are going to Late Tuesday on Thursday night at the Triple Door... (anyone want to come, let me know, tix are $10 and go to support a new domestic violence center). Haven't seen them since I lived up north, so it will be great to see them again.

I then pulled up the Moore/Paramount calendar. Hmm. Should I see Mindy Smith, Switchfoot, Wilco, or Death Cab in November? Or maybe Riverdance... ha ha. What difficult decisions...

What a lovely problem to have.

in spite of me

I think God's grace is amazing because it works in me and through me, in spite of me. I am proof positive that using flawed and broken vessels is God's specialty.

On Sunday, when I showed up at Klahowya Secondary School to begin setup at 2 p.m., I was fighting an I-don't-want-to-be-here attitude. It comes and goes, typically coming as I'm driving out there, leaving as soon as setup is completed. I HATE HAVING TO DO SETUP EVERY SUNDAY. There. I said it. Sunday morning was rough too, which didn't help. I was just mad to have to be there. Don't they know I have better things I could be doing? Like all the other things they have on my to-do list? Slightly grouchy intern. OK. Pretty pissed off intern.

As I was driving the curvy road that wraps around the school's campus toward the parking lot, I felt God admonishing me: If you're caught up in yourself today, you'll miss Me using you. Do you really want that? Dang. Gut-check. OK. I'll try. Still slightly grudgingly, but I'll try.

So, I walked in there and did my part and when one of the pastors asked me how I'm doing, I smiled a real smile and said, "Doin' good." And did my best to mean it, too. That probably doesn't seem like a big deal, but to me it was a battle won. Being the sensitive type, I used to walk around with a sour look on my face and basically pout until someone would ask me how I was, at which point I would launch into a long sorrowful monologue about the sad sad drama that was my life. When I'm able to flip the switch and get over myself despite whatever selfish emotions are running through me, it's a big win. I nearly missed it.

As I was running into Silverdale to do a coffee run, the high school girl I'm mentoring walked through the doors, trying to hide the fact that she was fighting tears. I grabbed her, told her to skip the youth meeting, and we'd get her some coffee (I've come to find that there are few ailments, at least when it comes to us girls, that coffee and a venting session won't seriously help). So I listened to the afflictions of a sixteen-year-old for a half hour. (I'm so glad I'm 24 and not 16...) Listened, and sympathized, and offered perspective, the main one being "this too, shall pass." When we returned, I could see the relief in her eyes, and my heart was glad for knowing I had a part in it. I also was reminded that even my own frustrations are merely temporary. I could've missed it.

The service was meaningful, and I was able to respond with my heart, as I described yesterday. There are many times I've been so wrapped up in listening to myself whine that I've been deaf to God. Thank God I didn't miss his voice that night.

In between services, I was able to find some newer people from our small group and talk with them for a while, despite how much I get nervous and feel like a total fool. But they're coming again, and seem anxious to hang out and get to know each other better. Had I been sitting by myself somewhere off in a corner, that opportunity would've been lost.

God's grace is constantly at work in us, but I'm beginning to realize that some opportunities, once they pass, are forever lost. With Em, there may not have been another moment just like that where I could be a listening ear and further earn her trust. My heart needed to be softened by the message and the music, and had I not listened, my heart would be a little bit harder rather than a little bit softer. I don't get that moment back. Those new folks may have walked out the doors and never come back if someone didn't try to get to know them better & make them feel welcome. There is a stern gravity to our choices, not just the big ones, but the daily ones also. I don't say these things to inspire guilt. God's grace is sufficient. However, when I choose to be wrapped up in myself, I lose the opportunity to be God's grace extended to another human being. That's a big deal, and not even God's grace can bring those lost opportunities back to me.

God, give us sensitive hearts. Not just sensitive hearts to our own needs and wants and attitudes, but sensitive hearts toward those around us. May we make the most of every opportunity you place before us. Amen.
****
In other news, I got my very first paid communications project at NL yesterday! I'm writing small group materials that we'll begin after the 40 Days of Purpose is over... right up my alley (I did a 25-pg small group packet for 500 high-schoolers in July for summer camp and LOVED IT). Wes just reaffirmed that he's extremely happy with where I'm at, what I'm doing, how hard I'm working. The best part about the whole conversation was that I didn't need it. I already felt great about things... his confirmation was just icing on the cake.

Thank you Lord for what you're up to. If you keep this up, I'm never going to catch my breath...

I love you too

I've taken communion countless times. It comes part and parcel with growing up churched. When church was more ritual than relationship, I remember being annoyed because it meant another ten to fifteen minutes of being stuck in a pew, but things have changed greatly since then. I'm finding that as I grow older, it means more to me, not less. There are still times I miss what God is speaking to me in those moments; I'm ashamed to say there are still times my heart is numb, as I mechanically go through the motions... but last night was not one of those times.

During his message, Wes used the following example: "Let's say I was to walk up to my wife Kari and say to her: 'Here are some flowers, Kari. Please take them now. There are three strategic reasons I have given them to you: 1) I am your husband; 2) Today is our anniversary; and 3) that is what husbands are supposed to do.' No way. She'd probably smack me with those flowers. She wants passion from me. But how many times do we approach God that same way?"

Ouch. We approach God to worship with so much baggage to offer. Our puffed-up notions of piety; our inner list of dutiful reasons why we should worship; our empty ritual. The only thing we deny him is what he truly asks of us, the one thing he doesn't already have: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. This is the first and greatest commandment."

Using another example from human relationship: "When we finally get up the nerve to say 'I love you' to someone, there's a fear there, a vulnerability. What do you want them to say in response? That's nice... thank you... No! We want to hear these words: 'I LOVE YOU TOO.' " Anytime we give God our affection, we're not saying "I love you," we're saying "I love you too." God proved his love at the cross. Whatever we give is simply in response. This is true worship.

So last night after hearing this, we shared communion. As I passed the bread and the grape juice to a woman next to me, a picture entered my mind. We weren't sitting in our individual seats in that auditorium. We were all welcomed to a grand table instead. We shared and we ate together of the grace and mercy of Christ, his body broken and his blood spilled for us. The beautiful thing is that I knew there were people there last night who sat down at the table for the first time, who never even knew such a feast existed, nor imagined that they'd be welcome there even if it did. This knowledge made sitting down at the table new again for me too. It wasn't so long ago myself that I felt I could only watch the meal from a distance. Sensing the awe in hearts new to this extravagance... I find awe again in my own.

As we took each element, we were encouraged to quietly say to God, "I love you too." As I mouthed the words, the tears began to flow as they typically do. Several vivid moments came to mind as I stood there in silence; times when this weary soul was welcomed again to the table, when God said "I love you," once again. In light of that, I couldn't help but say it back. That's all I said, those four words. But I meant them as much as I could mean anything.

God doesn't want my impressive words. He wants my heart. He wants my passion. He wants ME.

Living my life as an "I love you too." It's all I have to offer, and it's really not much, but it's all God truly asks of me. I won't deny him that.

the blog, formerly known as d.b.t.

Yeah, yeah, so I changed the title. It's been a whole three months. When I first started this puppy, I had no idea what personality this thing would take on, (and also what a monster it would become). New name is probably a more apt description of me & my musings. (Neverending Story, This Is the Blog that Never Ends, and Holy!!! You Talk Alot! were taken).

Thanks to everyone who reads this (even the lurkers)... the encouragement I'm receiving from you folks is part of a major confirmation of a new direction I'm stepping out in. I'm amazed at what God's been up to. I'm also fairly amazed that I've stumbled upon something God has shaped me to do; a way I can nudge other hearts toward him. Scary and exhilerating to have found one thing I must do. There's a knowing to this season, a certainty: I must write. I must write, or die.

Don't plan on kicking it anytime soon, so lucky you. ;)

P.S. Julie Love's blog is operational! Love's life is a new link to your right. We almost named it "love life" (as in "I love life") before we really thought it through, but happily avoided that unfortunate, um, "happenstance." I actually said happenstance during a conversation with Julie the other night. We both promptly mocked me and said that if possible, I'm becoming even more of a nerd. (It's weird when you begin talking like a writer, too...) She however, has taken a critical step into nerd-dom herself... hence the happy announcement. Jules is one of my best friends, so check her site out.

P.P.S. Stephanie the Non-Updater has joined the land of the living, and so has been removed from blog probation. She appears on the list as kitchen's thoughts.

for the love

little survey

One of my favorite things about this whole blogging community is that I'm getting exposed to good music/good reading. Without this, I'd never have been exposed to Jamie Cullum or Wilco... sad. So, because I am a book&music glutton, please pass on with brief descriptions your

book recommendations...

music recommendations...

I do actually check them out. gracias.

the wobbly and weak-kneed

Awesome day. Went with Julie to Conference over in Seattle. (It was 75 degrees on Oct 2... crazy). Saw many of the friends in youth ministry I've made over the years (at this point, the larger events are more like a family reunion for me...).

Saw Josh Epperson, who I haven't seen in practically forever. He and Julie and I worked in the same youth ministry for about seven years, and he's always been a wise and supportive friend. I remember specific moments he's spoken into my life, they've always been huge. He's one of those that you're going to brag about knowing when they make a huge impact on the world.

His first words after the hug and happy greeting: "Scott forwarded me your relevant article! Where did that come from? Awesome..." Second topic: "So I'm reading Annie Dillard...you've got to read her..." Ha ha! Old friends are just so comfortable. They see how far you've come, they have hope for where you're headed. The three of us and Wes went out to lunch, it was like old times, except that we're all grownups now. It's great when you can reminisce about mission trips and visqueen slipnslides and dramas and ballroom dancing, AND still have the ability to talk about the present and future, too. Even had I just come out for that lunch, it would've been worth it.

We parted ways with the boys and played tourist at Pike Place Market, came home, made enchiladas, and SET UP JULIE'S BLOG. (sucked her in). What a lovely day.
**
Was reading this today in Brennan Manning's Ragamuffin Gospel, wanted to pass it along. Think it speaks strongly to the church's absolute calling to reach out and accept all people with grace. (By the way, check out Myles' discussion over in his neighborhood regarding sexuality and identity, specifically as it relates to homosexuality). Good stuff.

"...WE NEED NOT hide all that is ugly and repulsive in us. Jesus comes not for the super-spiritual but for the wobbly and weak-kneed who know they don't have it all together, and who are not too proud to accept the handout of amazin' grace. As we glance up, we are astonished to find the eyes of Jesus open with wonder, deep with understanding, and gentle with compassion.

Something is radically wrong when the local church rejects a person accepted by Jesus: when a harsh, judgemental and unforgiving sentence is passed on homosexuals; when a divorcee is denied communion; when the child of a prostitute is denied baptism; when an unlaicized priest is forbidden the sacraments. Jesus comes to the ungodly, even on Sunday morning. His coming ends ungodliness and makes us worthy. Otherwise, we are establishing at the heart of Christianity an utter ungodly and unworthy preoccupation with works...

Any church that will not accept that it consists of sinful men and women, and exists for them, implicity rejects the gospel of grace. As Hans Kung says, 'It deserves neither God's mercy nor men's trust. The church must constantly be aware that its faith is weak, its knowledge dim, its profession of faith halting, that there is not a single sin or failing that it has not been guilty of. And though it is true that the church must always dissociate itself from sin, it can never have any excuse for keeping any sinners at a distance. If the church remains self-righteously aloof from failures, irreligious and immoral people, it cannot enter justified into God's kingdom. But if it is constantly aware of its guilt and sin, it can live in joyous awareness of forgiveness. The promise has been given to it that anyone who humbles himself will be exalted.'"
***
There's no way I can say it better than that. Let it sink in. How does that (should that) kind of perspective change the way we live & the words we speak to our world?

baby Klara, and Austin pre-trauma...
(not mine just to be clear, but figured some of you far away ex-legacy types would like to see the kids...)

mt. st. helens is blowing, baby!

Well, here we go. It's about time for the west coast to jump in on the Nature Headlines.

all things new

I am so glad for mornings.

Not right away, mind you; my first conscious thoughts are typically annoyance as I regretfully curse my night-owl tendencies and try to creatively devise plans to sleep just a few moments longer. Next thoughts, as I groggily tumble out of bed, are "Dang! When did it get so cold? It’s only Octob-... Oh."

It was so cold this morning that I nearly lost all resolve and abandoned The Crusade (I’m sorry Kevo. I don’t mean to be so weak. I’ll be more determined). What crusade, do you ask? Our Crusade to Cheat The Man. Kev and I refuse to pay The Man for heat. That’s what multiple layers of clothing are for. (And wearing parkas indoors). To be honest, we’re sort of hoping that our downstairs neighbors are not on a similar crusade. Heat rising... it’s a beautiful thing when you’re apartment 301.

After all my talk of pennies, I had a pretty good day yesterday. But the evening... My plans were wonderful: Dinner with Wes & Kari, working out, then catching up with Tawny for an Alias fest before packing for my little trip this weekend.

Ha ha. Nothing ever goes like you plan. Five minutes before dinner, Austin picked up a hot lid and burned his hand. I could see Kari’s disappointment. Goodbye, enjoyment of dinner you worked so hard to prepare. Hello, screaming hysterical son. Who is dead-set on never under any circumstances taking his hand out from under the faucet on cold, running full-blast (total time: over 2 hours). Poor guy.

There are some duties it simply falls to Mom to do. Comforting owies is a non-negotiable. Kari let out a barely discernible sigh, and then got busy soothing and calming and doing all those things she’s great at. I did have to laugh watching her wrestle and pin her kid, trying to get medicine on his fingers. He put up a brave fight, but she won. I think I can wait a while for motherhood. Understatement of the year.

Workout plans out the window, we were sort of a tag-team. I held Klara (and caught twenty minutes of the debates) while Kari tried to calm Austin down... then when the baby had to be fed, I sat with Austin, well into his second hour of running-water-therapy. I could tell when he started feeling a little better... some of that water began being used as a weapon against Miss Stacey. We then relegated ourselves to one handed ninja fighting (one hand still under water) and name calling, "Babyhead" being the choice phrase of the evening. It actually ended up being fun, as he laughed at the genius that is my sense of humor (at least genius to a 5-year-old) as Kari wryly observed: "Well you were always family before, but you’re really family now."

In the midst of this, I was making phone calls, trying to figure out how to get a couch moved from a friends place into my apartment. In typical fashion, I’d forgotten about the deadline (last night), and hadn’t set up help. Dad’s truck? Full of yard trimmings. Kevin? Working evenings all week. Me? Needing to be in Seattle as of Friday afternoon with some of our kids for a youth conference.

In the midst of these frustrating realizations: Ring ring. Hey, Stace. You still coming over? Just wondering because it’s getting late. Totally forgot. I’m a jerk. Be right over.

Went to bed frazzled and worn out. And still unpacked, with the couch still taunting me: "I shall not be moved." I decided to nix Seattle, a bummer, but overall the wisest choice. Woke up still a bit in knots. Over stupid, temporary, small things. But stressed nonetheless.

As I was driving to work this morning, despite my determination to stay in my blessed state of extreme agitation and annoyance, I found myself enjoying the fifteen minute drive. I hate it when this happens. Just let me stay ticked off! The sky was brilliant blue with not a cloud in sight (in OCTOBER!), the trees are turning bright hues of red and orange, and the sunshine was so bright I needed to dig out my sunglasses. It was gorgeous, everything fresh and clean and new in light of the morning sun. I didn’t stand a chance.

It hit me (again): Today I get another start. I let myself get stressed out over stupid things. So what? Today is new. So I chucked a decent perspective when things started unraveling. Oh well. God’s at work. The sun is shining. I’m in his hands. I’m letting go. I’m doing alright.

His mercies are new every morning,
So let me wake with the dawn...
-Nichole Nordeman