the piles at the end of the bed...

I am a very ordered and orderly person. I love to have everything just so. There's a way that the pillows go on the couch, a way that the coffee table must be arranged, a way that a bed is made and how a shirt is folded. I like my nails with no chips in the polish, my hair with everything flat ironed correctly and you'll probably never see me accomplishing the "messy" look.

Over the last little while, however, an interesting phenomenon has been occurring. Piles have been growing at the end of my bed. They've been out of control and have increased their taunting of me with each sunrise and sunset. Late this afternoon, I had all that I could take of them and determined to get them cleaned up. I was in a prime place to listen as God began to use the mundane act of cleaning to do some sovereign acts of teaching. In the spirit of vulnerability, here's a before pic of the piles at the end of the bed.

What are the contents of the piles? Oh, the usual suspects...clothes, scarves, socks, shoes, more shoes, and empty Target bags (which had previously contained shoes). Not to be outdone, the bedside table joined in with half empty water glasses, chapstick, kleenex, wrappers, receipts and other junk, the floor beside the closet held an overflowing suitcase from a trip more than a week ago and an assortment of legos, headbands and other things that belong to the little people who live with me. Serious. Piles.

Make no mistake, though. If you came over to my house, you'd NEVER see these piles. My house is pretty neat at all times. Even when it's not, it's neater than most houses out there. If you walked into my house on any given evening, you'd be greeted with candles, ambient lighting and everything in it's place. This happens because I make sure it happens. And every night before bed, everything that's been somehow disturbed throughout the day returns once again to its resting place. So why won't you see the piles at the end of the bed when you come over? Because I'll close the master bedroom door, that's why.

Today, as I was cleaning, I was thinking...

The bedroom and more specifically, the bed, is a place of REST. No matter what our day has held or how long it takes us to get there, at some point we'll lay our heads down and attempt rest. In that same place. Night after night. Sometimes tossing, sometimes turning but always seeking...rest. So why in the world is the area around my place of rest in such cluttered disarray? Why is this supposed place of rest the first place that is undone and in disorder? The answers to these and other questions I came upon while cleaning are ugly but important.

My bedroom represents my heart and the bed, my soul. The deepest parts of me. Everything important to me is contained here. Identity, longings, wounds, worship, fears, sorrows, songs in the night and joy in the morning...these all reside in this deepest part...the secret place. In fact, they are who I am. Who I really am. Why have I let who I really am get so cluttered with all this uninvited junk?

For me, the answer is in the order. I am tending to things in the wrong order. Jeffrey knew early in our marriage that if the house was messy, then it would be a good bet that before long, I would be messy. Disorder on the outside would often equate to disorder on the inside. Knowing this, why does the clutter grow around my soul at times while most around me are oblivious to the real state of me? That's an easy one. They're only seeing what I let them see.

I keep the visible areas of my life very well in order. I'm showing up to work, I'm doing my best at my job, I've got clean, fed and well-behaved children, Jeffrey and I present a united front, I smile at the right times, cry at the right things and show up at all the right places. My twitter is appropriately spiritual without being too heavy or out of touch with reality. I keep up with sports and avoid politics. I can hold easy conversations about the latest and greatest in TV shows, food or football. I return text messages and if you're lucky, phone calls. My instagram is littered with pictures of kids, pets and playfulness. Everything is in ORDER...or so it would appear.

If I'm not very intentional about that secret place, things begin to build up there. Before I know it, there's a vast contrast between my media face and my secret place. Most people will never know that. I'll just close the door so no one can see it. The sneaky thing about the clutter that builds up in the secret place is that most of it doesn't even belong there.

Clothes and shoes in a pile = things we need, but need to have cleaned.
I don't need to throw the clothes out...just get them washed. The same goes for my attitudes, actions, motives, thoughts and desires. I need them, they're God given. But when not consistently surrendered, they begin to pile up and get dirty. A daily inventory, surrendered and washed before God and under the control of the Holy Spirit is a necessity. Dealing with things as they come, rather than after they pile up, will lead to a lot less angst and deep cleaning later.

Legos and headbands = other people's problems.
The Legos aren't mine, they're Jack's...and they need to be put OUTSIDE my room for him to deal with. Same with the headbands. They may look interesting, I may even be able to relate to them, but the fact remains...they're Ali's, not mine. Other people's issues and problems have no place in your heart and soul either. Can we agree that we have enough clutter on our own without adding to it with the clutter of others? If it's not yours, if God hasn't asked you to carry it, then set it outside the door of your heart and leave it there. Being able to relate to it doesn't mean it's yours to clean up.

Half empty water glasses = things that may have been fine once but now need to be dumped out.
Water glasses don't belong on the bedside table night after night...the water gets less and less pure the longer it's there. The same goes for other junk we keep going over and over and over long after we should have processed it and let it go. Take the glasses back to the kitchen where they belong. But first, pour the water out before carrying them through the house. Let's face it...nobody wants our problems splashing all over them as we try to get rid of them.

Suitcases full of clothes = things that need to be processed through and put in their place.
Unpacked baggage only adds to the clutter. Circumstances and experiences come in all shapes and sizes. Some are long trips, others are merely an overnight...but all of them must be unpacked, sorted through, applied and put in their place. The quicker baggage is put away, the less likely we are to trip over it on our way somewhere else.

Empty Target bags = things we need to get. rid. of.
Once the shoes have come out of the bag, the bag is just taking up space. It was the carrier for the shoes, but the shoes were the goal, not the bag. Once we've learned what God is trying to teach us through a painful time, it's important to keep the lesson and get rid of the rest. Circumstances, hurts, wounds, disappointments and other trials serve as carriers of what God wants to teach us. But don't let them lay around in your soul longer than necessary. Keep the lesson but throw out the hurts so the heart can heal.

I think I've had the order wrong a lot of the time. It's the secret place, the deepest part, that needs the most attention. If things are in order on the inside, things will likely be ordered on the outside. The seen will be a result of my attention to the unseen. This is the only way true authenticity is gained.

What order are you cleaning in?

Is there clutter building up in the unseen places of your soul?

Start purging...it's back-breaking and sweat-producing, but waiting at the end is the result we've longed for all along. Rest. Real Rest.

Thus says the LORD:”Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls. - Jeremiah 6:16

“…Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-29

“Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe. I long to dwell in your tent forever and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.” Psalm 61:1

“My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.” Psalm 62:1-2

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16

#nofilter...

Lately, I've had this #nofilter idea running around in my head. It's been an interesting phenomenon to watch on Instagram over the years. If you recall, when Instagram first burst onto the social media scene, the amazing thing about it and the thing that made it so attractive was its many filters. In just a couple of clicks, your ordinary picture of a dog can become a literal Norman Rockwell painting. That flower you snapped on the way into your house? A museum-ready Monet with just the punch of a button. Your baby? Might as well be an Anne Geddes model. The filtered world that Instagram ushered in made merely attractive girls look like supermodels and turned blemishes into beauty. But then, a new trend emerged, that of the #nofilter photograph. Whereas we had once been completely enraptured by the filtered versions of pictures, we are now clamoring to prove that our picture hasn't been altered…that it is naturally that beautiful, that we don't need the aid of a filter to show you the magnificent site we've captured. It's interesting…the very thing we used to love is now the thing we are trying not to identify with. It just doesn't satisfy. It isn't the real deal.

Another phenomenon about social media in general is that it's ALL filtered. Occasionally you find the one person who isn't filtered and tells you everything about what they're doing all the time, their opinions on everything and how they feel about everything. But for the most part, we all unfriend/hide or unfollow those people pretty quickly. Everyone else…filtered. And that's how we like it. I'm not even sure that's not how it should be. But, I'm finding that if I'm not careful, I actually buy my own hype.

On social media, I'm an absolutely fabulous mother with perfect (and beautiful) children who loves my Braves and my Gators (both WINNERS at the time of this writing) and my church and my friends and my God. I love coffee and quiet time, my dog (who is actually perfect) and my husband (who is a certified rock star.) Those things are 100% true (well, maybe I'm not an ABSOLUTELY fabulous mother...) and though there are photographic filters applied here and there, the pictures are real as is the story behind them. But, they're the filtered version of my life. You cannot possibly know the real me from social media. You can know a lot about me and you can know what I'm okay with you knowing. But you can't really know me because I've filtered what you're getting. And though I'm uncomfortable saying it, it's okay that you're only getting the filtered version of me…on social media, that is. In fact, that's probably the way you like it. And that's okay too. Real, unfiltered lives are messy.

The problem comes when I let the filtered me be the one those closest to me relate to. When I let my spouse, my children and my friends begin relating to the filtered me, I'm on a slippery slope. When I start setting the filtered me before God, I'm in real trouble. And…when I actually buy my own filtered hype, I'm in for a rude awakening.

Recently, as this #nofilter thing began catching my attention, I really felt God pressing me toward authenticity with Him and the close, safe people in my life. I began asking what He wanted to show me through the process and how He wanted to shape me. (Side note: do NOT ask God what He wants to show you and how He wants to shape you if you don't want to be shown or shaped.) I started letting the filter come down a little with those safe people. All at once? Well no, I didn't want to literally blow them off the face of planet earth with the unfiltered me. But I did let the filter come down slowly and as appropriate. (You need to be sure that those closest to you WANT to relate to the unfiltered you…those will be your truly safe friends.) One friend confided that I was carrying a "heaviness" that was concerning her. Another friend invited me into an intensive several week Bible Study dealing with some very hard things which then exposed some equally ugly things in me. I submitted myself in two conversations with friends and they were free to say what they saw in me. One said "pride". The other said "critical spirit." Interestingly…those were the two things that God had been showing me as I was submitting myself to His scrutiny as well. How kind of Him (and also painful) to provide earthly confirmation of His heavenly urging to get those things rooted out of my life.

This has been and is still a painful process and season. I'm by no means in a "happy go lucky, all is right with the world" place, but by the grace of God, I AM in a "it is well with my soul" place. I am pressed, but NOT crushed. I am finding that I highly value those who know the real me and don't only get their information on or about me from social media. Those people are most likely to raise the flag when I start buying the filtered version of myself. Do I need to expose all corners of my life on social media? Certainly not. But, in a world where we wake up to check it, check it before bed, get our news and current events from it, find out about others on it, often use it to communicate (and even let it attack our identity and security every so often…yes, ladies?) it can become very easy to elevate it to a place it has no business being. It can cloud the authenticity needed in my life for me to be subject to the continuing refining scrutiny of the Holy Spirit. When I'm creating a filtered photo for the world to see, I'm starting to ask myself…"is this truly me?"

Social media has its place, to be sure…but in a world where it has invaded every aspect of our culture, it's helpful to remember that the place it should never invade is our authenticity before God and those closest to us who are so instrumental in the refinement process. If you're finding that you long for people who know the real you, ask yourself the following questions:

Who in my life knows me without my filters?
Have I allowed those people to hold me accountable and ask me the hard questions?
Do those closest to me even know I'm willing to hear the truth about me?
What's it like on the other side of me? (this was a brilliant question suggested by a friend of mine)

God is faithful. He will not leave you unanswered when you come before Him and ask for His perspective. I'm urging all of us to be honest and transparent as we relate to those closest to us and in doing so, may we find ourselves learning more about ourselves and the character of Jesus. Only He can truly take us with #nofilter and transform our lives for His glory.

God, investigate my life; get all the facts firsthand. I’m an open book to you; even from a distance, you know what I’m thinking. You know when I leave and when I get back; I’m never out of your sight. You know everything I’m going to say before I start the first sentence. I look behind me and you’re there, then up ahead and you’re there, too— your reassuring presence, coming and going. This is too much, too wonderful— I can’t take it all in!

Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit? to be out of your sight? If I climb to the sky, you’re there! If I go underground, you’re there! If I flew on morning’s wings to the far western horizon, You’d find me in a minute—you’re already there waiting! Then I said to myself, “Oh, he even sees me in the dark! At night I’m immersed in the light!” It’s a fact: darkness isn’t dark to you; night and day, darkness and light, they’re all the same to you.

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother’s womb. I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvelously made! I worship in adoration—what a creation! You know me inside and out, you know every bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something. Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, The days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.

Your thoughts—how rare, how beautiful! God, I’ll never comprehend them! I couldn’t even begin to count them—any more than I could count the sand of the sea. Oh, let me rise in the morning and live always with you! And please, God, do away with wickedness for good! And you murderers—out of here!— all the men and women who belittle you, God, infatuated with cheap god-imitations. See how I hate those who hate you, God, see how I loathe all this godless arrogance; I hate it with pure, unadulterated hatred. Your enemies are my enemies!

Investigate my life, O God, find out everything about me; Cross-examine and test me, get a clear picture of what I’m about; See for yourself whether I’ve done anything wrong— then guide me on the road to eternal life. Psalm 139

taylor swift, instagram & middle school mania...

Today, I saw this quote from C.S. Lewis: "Whenever you are fed up with life, start writing: ink is a great cure of all human ills."

This writing isn't as much about being "fed up" as being resolved. But the principle is the same. Start writing.

In August of this year, I crossed the chasm from "mother of small children" to "mother of a middle schooler." I don't know why, but I kind of thought that it would be a seamless transition devoid of drama and due to expert maneuvering on our part as parents, Maggie would float euphorically through middle and high school until the day I sat at her high school graduation and proclaimed victory over the teenage years of peril as we escaped unscathed and bearing no scars. Yeah.

It's September and we've already dealt with a crush on a boy, d-r-a-m-a with a girl, tears over hurt feelings, begging for social media and questions surrounding the music she can and can't listen to. Alas, I see my euphoria evaporating a bit more each day as I resign myself to the reality of a journey full of molding, shaping, defining, refining, rinsing and repeating.

Graciously, God uses all parenting failures and successes to further root in me what it must be like as He Fathers me. This would not be from His side of course, because He's perfect, but oh the drama I can bring on myself. That's for later...

I get asked quite often if I let my kids do such and such, watch this and that, listen to so and so...and so on. Even though I don't think any parenting style can be boiled down to the details of what we do and don't watch or listen to, I am always forthcoming when asked because people are usually wanting to legitimately know how and why we parent the way that we do and there's a chance to discuss the principles that govern our parenting. There is always the risk that someone won't understand or that we'll be judged as "too strict" or "out of touch." For me, it's a risk worth taking.

:: Taylor Swift ::

The other day Maggie wanted to add some things to her "Maggie's Music" playlist on the old iPhone 3Gs that she uses as an iPod. [In the event that you may be one of those people that is appalled that an 11 year old would be using an iPhone for something like playing music, I need to let you know that the screen on this phone is shattered beyond comprehension. It's actually a physical hazard for her to swipe her finger across it without a screen protector on it. Trust me, this ain't a walk in the electronic park.] Anyway...

She asked her Dad if she could add my Taylor Swift albums to her playlist. He looked at me...my answer was no. Her inevitable question followed: "But mom, if you can listen to them, why can't I?" I love questions like this and do you know why? She is literally asking to be taught. [Side note: The worst thing you and I can do in moments like that is say "Because I said so." That gives them nothing to build upon...no principle for the future.] Instead, I took a beat and then said: "Because Taylor Swift sings about things that you don't need to concern yourself with at 11 years old. You need to be putting things in your mind that build you up and increase your faith, not take your mind to a place it doesn't need to go." Now, you may be thinking "what kind of horrible mother doesn't let their daughter listen to Taylor Swift? I mean, she's TAYLOR SWIFT." Yes, she is. And she's a phenomenal songwriter and her voice has grown on me over the years and I have her records. I'm not ancient and out of touch, but I also am not going to let societal norms determine my parenting. I will parent with societal norms in mind, but will determine with my husband and before God how to best raise our children. Back to T-Swift.

In an interesting twist, Maggie knows every T-Swift song that's ever been released and can sing along to anything that's had any radio airplay. Why? Because the elementary school she went to for two years played Taylor and Carrie and Katy and Beyonce and anything else without a swear word (or with a clean version done by Kidz Bop - a la Maroon Five) during P.E. and she has a steel trap mind like her mother, so she had them memorized by the third time through. I know, I know... "if she already knows the songs, why don't you just let her have the albums?" I don't let her have the albums because she will listen to the songs over and over and over until the lyrics are so firmly entrenched in her mind that she couldn't forget them if she tried. How do I know this? Because I still know all of the lyrics to all of the songs I shouldn't know all of the lyrics to. That's why. No, my parents didn't let me have trashy music...but yes, I did manage to get my hands on some.

Does she pretty much know the songs? Yes. Does she hear them when they play in the store and hum along? Yes. Is that going to pollute her mind beyond cure? No. Am I going to let her have the records now? Nope. Will I let her someday? Probably. Because someday she'll be mature enough to understand love and loss and rejection and heartbreak and jealousy and cheating and puppy love and infatuation and identity...but for now...she isn't mature enough. She can't properly place all of those things in her limited understanding. So instead of letting T-Swift or Carrie shape that for her (after all, they're in their 20's...they can sing about whatever they want), we're going to "shelter" her a little while longer and help her recognize her identity in Christ, apart from a relationship with a boy and before the words "we are never ever ever getting back together" and "next time he'll think before he cheats" shape it for her. Hear me clearly...Taylor Swift is not asking to shape my daughter's identity...it's not her responsibility. God has given me and Jeffrey the stewardship of that for Maggie. She will continue to have amazing music on her iPod that breathes life and faith into her little musical heart. She will continue to hear scripture over and over and over as she goes to sleep at night until she can't help but have it memorized. She will also continue to hear songs beyond her iPod that she'll know, recognize and still not be allowed to own the albums for. Society is sitting at the ready to shape my daughter's worth, esteem and identity and they'll do it for me if I don't step up...and I'm not going down without a fight. Speaking of identity...

:: Instagram ::

Maggie now has the privilege of going to student ministry at our church and her first time was a few weeks ago. She is pumped and I am still adjusting to the fact that I'm the parent of a middle schooler.

After the first time in student ministry Maggie ran up to me beaming and asked "Mom, can I have a phone and an Instagram account now? They said we have to have Instagram or we won't know what's going on!!" [Confession: I did NOT have all positive "how can I use this as a teaching moment?" thoughts immediately after this question. Those came later after I resisted the urge to make up a reason why our church needed to seriously consider keeping 6th graders as elementary students at church even though they were in middle schools during the week. Just being honest.]

Eventually, however, I did make sense of it all and realized the beginning of what would probably be many years of "but everyone else..." conversation starters from our oldest. Bless her heart, she has to pave the way for Jack and Ali and I am praying she's up for it. But, here's the thing...

Instagram can be an identity crisis for ME if I don't keep it in its proper place. It can be a lovely connecting tool, but why on earth would I visit that identity-attacking, worth-measuring, filter-using world onto my eleven year old daughter? She's been walking around on earth for eleven years. Just eleven. "How many likes did I get? How many people are following me? Who stopped following me? Why didn't I get invited to that? Why don't I get to go there? Why is she in pictures with her? Are they best friends now? What does that hashtag mean? Are they using a secret language?" Again, as in the case of the music she listens to...my eleven year old precious, chatty, happy, full of life daughter does not have the maturity or the understanding to have Instagram in its proper place.

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am a lavishly-loved, desired, treasured, chosen, adored, approved and beautiful daughter of the King of the Universe and I've been walking around on the earth for 30 (ahem) some odd years. Even still, Instagram and I have had to have several timeouts from one another. When I was eleven, there was nothing that even had the chance to rival the damage that social media can do these days and it's going to be awhile before my daughter (or her siblings) are mature enough to figure out the proper place for social media in a life defined and shaped by Jesus. Good grief...I'm still trying to figure out its proper place in my own life.

Interesting fact about Instagram specifically: the "legal" age of use is 13 years of age. Apparently you'd have to falsify a birth date to even get an account younger than 13 years old. I don't know if that part's true...I haven't tried. What a parent permits their child to do in this case isn't my issue either. Plenty of kids younger than 13 have Instagram...but mine will not. She's just. not. ready.

The good news is that Maggie was able to read in black and white that Instagram doesn't approve accounts for anyone under 13 years of age. That has taken care of this particular question for at least two years. She was also assured that she will not, in fact, be confused as to what is going on in student ministry just because she doesn't have Instagram. (Coincidentally, even at my age, I can still be caught buying the lie that I'll somehow be 'missing out' or be 'out of the know' without social media...)

For now we can focus on all of the "others may, but you may not..." things that will surely be popping up for the next 10 years or so. I know it's worth it. Because I'm further down the road than she is. And my parents were further down the road than me. I know that this responsibility to "train up a child..." is a HUGE one. And I also know that "He who called me is faithful and He will do it."

This protection of my child's identity and her understanding of her worth makes me wonder just how often God has protected me from something I was begging for...because in His wisdom He knew I just. wasn't. ready.

So in this maze of middle school mania (and the mania in my own life at times) my prayer is: "O for grace to trust Him more."

Molding, shaping, defining, refining, rinsing and repeating.

left for dead...

Nine months ago in a very unfortunate mishap, I broke my foot leaving work. [There are approximately 2.5 million lessons to be expounded upon and processed surrounding that whole experience, but that's for another day.] One afternoon as I was at home on the couch in the same spot I'd been in for days, the doorbell rang. To my delight, Tabitha was at the door carting three of the most beautiful plants I'd seen in a long time along with a lovely card. My Passion family had sent them as a get well gift and I was amazed at how incredibly vibrant the purple bloom on one of the plants was.

I positioned them right by the front door so that everyone who came would see them. They were SO lovely. They stayed lovely for quite some time all on their own. They had to do it on their own because I watered them the day they arrived and then never watered them again. Not one time. I'm not proud of this fact, it just is what it is. I'm not a green thumb, plant caretaker, nurturer of nature kind of girl. In fact, my house is historically where plants and flowers go to die...a botanical butcher shop of sorts.

Eventually, I was back on my feet and pulling in and out of the garage each day like I'd always done before the broken foot. One day though, a friend dropped me off at home and I needed to use the front door. As I was walking to the door, I noticed that all three of the plants were dead. Like, dead dead. Brown, limp, brittle deadness. People were coming over to visit the next day so I asked Jeffrey to move the dead plants to the back of the house out on the back patio. I'd clean them out and throw them away at some point. Time went on, seasons came and went and eventually it was time for us to begin packing to move out of that house.

On the last day, after all the furniture was gone, Jeffrey had to make one more trip for the patio furniture. Lo and behold, the three pots were still there. We hadn't thought about them in eight months and one of them actually looked like it might be trying to come back to life with a little green emerging! We moved all three pots to the new house and still didn't water them or give them any attention. But, they assumed their positions on the back deck of the new house and we set about getting unpacked and settled in.

Over the last several weeks and certainly over the last few days, we've had more rain than dry weather here in Atlanta and as I looked out the kitchen window today in the pouring rain I was pretty shocked at what I saw. That plant that was dead a few weeks ago is as alive as you or I...and I still haven't watered it a drop. The other two pots? Still dead as door nails. This one though...it's different. I stood there for several minutes watching raindrops slide down the glass and then stared through them to that pretty green sign of life in all that grey. And the Holy Spirit began giving me those familiar tugs and nudges...

"That plant is alive because I kept it alive."

"I am the One Who determines when something is no longer useful, not you."

"You ignored and neglected it and all the time I was nurturing it."

"You left it for dead, but nothing thwarts my purposes."

"If these are the lengths of power I will go to for a plant on a back porch in Atlanta, how much farther will I go for you?"

I'm sure my kids must have wondered what on earth I was doing sprawled over the kitchen table with my face pressed against rain-soaked windows but I could hardly catch my breath as I began to process it all. And as I processed it, I began to feel it, and as I began to feel it, I wondered if maybe someone else needed to feel it too...

God knows exactly where you are. He knows what front porch corner you're sitting in, how amazing you thought it would be and how it hasn't lived up to its hype. He knows you're brown, lifeless and brittle. He knows...whether anyone else does or not. He knows how you got there even though you've forgotten. He knows who neglected to water you and pour life into you. He knows who told you how pretty you were initially but who hasn't so much as glanced your direction since. He knows how from the angle of the corner you're backed into you can't even remember what the sun's rays look like, much less feel their warmth. He knows how it feels to be moved to the backyard so that the important people won't see you when they arrive. You're not forgotten in this season.

God knows exactly where you are. He knows the brutal nature of the back patio you've been relegated to. There was a day when you'd have given anything to feel the warmth of the sun's rays but now you can't escape the brutal heat. What you thought was a sure escape from the porch seems to only be an avenue to more pain. Now you experience the elements in all their extremes. Sure, there are good days here and there, but there is no shelter from the bad days. Darkest night, bitter cold, biting wind and scorching heat. At least you were somewhat sheltered on the front porch. He knows. But He also knows that with the scorching heat of affliction and purging comes drenching, cleansing, purifying rain. You're not forsaken in this season.

God knows exactly where you are. He knows that one day, when you least expect it, you'll begin to recognize life again and yourself in it. He knows you'll eventually see that He was using the death on the front porch and dormancy of the back patio to cultivate life in the secret. Down under the soil where prying eyes weren't watching. In the deep parts where only He is skilled enough to weed out the brown and brittle and replace it with the green and nourished. And then, when the time is right, He knows that you'll have the strength from Him to push through that soil of the secret place and out into the world again into what He's created for you. Into who He's created you to be. Into the life that will bring Him most glory because He receives all the credit for it in the first place. He knows.

No matter where you are on the journey, you need to know that He knows where you are and is not limited by your circumstances, your location, your qualifications, your opportunities or your own limitations. In fact, in a beautiful display of sovereignty, He may even use the very situation you wish to be delivered FROM in order to deliver you TO His purposes for you. And in it all...it will be all Him. I still haven't watered that plant. But it's been watered abundantly by God for the last two weeks straight. Why? Because it's sitting there depending on Him to do just that. It certainly can't depend on me, and you and I can't depend on others for our nourishment either. The kind of deep down soul nourishment we need is only available from Him and through His Word.

God knows exactly where you are. You will enter into the season of cleansing and nourishing rain when the time is exactly right. He knows where you are. He will choose you to thrive even as others merely survive or don't last through the season. He is the One who determines usefulness and He alone can nurture while all others neglect. He hasn't left you for dead. Lean into Him. Dig deep while He digs deeper. Nothing will thwart the purposes of God for you. Nothing.

The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me;
    your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever.
    Do not forsake the work of your hands. - Psalm 138:8 (esv)

A week or so ago on a lovely night at the Braves game, my friend Rob crossed the stadium and climbed what seemed like a million stairs to sit down with me and Maggie. He then proceeded to speak two things over me. One of those things was: "Ever since you moved back from California you don't write as much. You need to get back to that." So Rob, thanks for the nudge. This one's for you.

undone by the hell of gosnell...

Deep breath...

I have been shocked, outraged, mortified, angered and awestruck all at the same time over the horrific and detestable details surrounding the trial of Kermit Gosnell, the murderer from Pennsylvania. Much of the social media universe has finally been buzzing about this for days, but sadly, the social media outcries are the only ones it seems. Unlike horrific events of history such as 9/11, the Newtown murders or even the recent tragic suicide of Rick Warren's son, Matthew (which unconscionably set off a firestorm of hate and mud-slinging directed at the Warrens...what kind of person does that???) it seems that much of the mainstream media lacks the courage necessary to splash this particular "story" across the headlines of every newscast, webpage and print piece available. Fox News political analyst Kirsten Powers did tongue lash the mainstream media in her column in USA today. It's available here. Warning: the referenced column is verbally graphic and contains horrific descriptions of Gosnell's crimes and those of his staff.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are on a perilously slippery slope, both as Americans and for those of us who claim to follow Jesus, as Christians. I have been undone since I learned of these horrors and the ensuing trial from a retweet of a friend on Twitter. Undone. I was similarly undone after the heinous murders of thousands of Americans on 9/11, but more in a "no one does this to the United States of America and gets away with it" way. I was similarly undone after the murders in Newtown, but more in a "oh the horror those parents of the sweet children must feel" way. This Gosnell garbage has undone me in a way that I'm struggling to describe...but I have to try.

i'm undone as a parent.

I have three beautiful children. They are the joys of my life. Each of them is as unique as they are beautiful. I love every minute of watching them grow and mature. I can't imagine my life without any one of them. Not unlike my children, every single one of these babies that were murdered was as unique as they were beautiful. They had their own set of unique DNA from two other equally unique people...and they were thrown in shoeboxes like trash. ["He was breathing and moving when Gosnell severed his spine and put the body in a plastic shoebox for disposal."]

i'm undone as a friend.

I would use up all of my fingers and then some if I counted up the number of women I know who cannot, for whatever reason, have biological children of their own. Some have spent tens of thousands of dollars trying everything in the arsenal of modern medicine to conceive. Some have conceived multiple times over, only to lose the child to miscarriage before they ever took their first breath. Still others have delivered babies they knew wouldn't live but for a few days or hours and spent precious moments singing over and loving completely a child they'd only know for a fleeting amount of time. I can call to mind more than one woman who has had an infant die suddenly from SIDS sending the euphoric new mother spiraling into despair. I know that every single one of those women (and I have to believe thousands of other women...and probably many men) would have lined up outside the doors of that shop of horrors to take and care for these babies that their mothers didn't want. ["Semi-conscious women scheduled for abortions were moaning in the waiting room or the recovery room, where they sat on dirty recliners covered with blood-stained blankets. All the women had been sedated..."]

i'm undone as a woman.

The ability to be pregnant is a God-given gift. But we, as a "civilized society" have taken this miracle of holding a human life inside us while it is molded by the fingers of God and redefined it as a woman's right to choose. Unfortunately though, "choice" is a very distasteful and bitter term for those women I mentioned above. You see, they would "choose" pregnancy and a baby on any day of the week. But, the choice is not ultimately theirs. No woman on planet earth can "choose" to get pregnant any more than she can choose not to. I may think that I've tried everything and it finally clicked or that I finally chose the right day of the month or that all the procedures worked. I can also think that a pill or a certain process or any other number of "devices" or surgical procedures are keeping me from being pregnant. The basic fact (and science) of the matter is...God opens and closes the womb. He's allowed mankind to figure out many ins and outs of the very delicate and intricate process of becoming pregnant. He's allowed mankind to figure out much of the science and biology of an actual pregnancy itself, and He's even given man the ability to exercise the will to end those pregnancies in many cases. But, He's stopped short of giving man the ability to create what only God is the originator of. Life. If a woman becomes pregnant, it's because God chose to put life in her. If a woman does not become pregnant, even in spite of all of the medical marvels at our grasp, it is because God, in that instance, did not choose to create life inside her. When it comes to a woman's right to choose, there was no right of choice for me when God chose life for me and there's no right of choice when He chooses to put life inside me. Do I have a right to end the life of a baby that God decides to begin? No. It's a life. I don't any more have a right to put scissors in the back of Gosnell's neck than he did to end the lives of every single one of those babies by putting scissors in theirs. That just isn't one of my rights. But, because of our arrogance in believing that we have a right to choose to end pregnancies, we as a nation have descended down a slippery slope and it has led us to the dark, dank, unthinkable world of a licensed murderer killing babies in the shadows. How did we get here? It's really a matter of numbers. 23 weeks makes him a doctor, 30 weeks makes him a murderer. ["The way he ensured "fetal demise" as he called it, was by sticking scissors into the back of the baby's neck and cutting the spinal cord. He called that "snipping."]

i'm undone as a christian and a HUMAN.

I find it ironic and also sovereign that the timing of this Gosnell story has come right on the heels of a national focus on giving a voice to the voiceless through the End It Movement. The goal was and continues to be raising awareness of the epidemic of modern day slavery in our cities, our nation and the world. Many of us and many celebrities, activists and athletes joined in the Shine A Light on Slavery day on April 9th. We drew red X's on our hands and tweeted it up making sure that others who thought slavery had died long ago AWAKENED to the fact that it is all too alive and well. Most people had no idea.

Well... now we know about the brutality carried out against these women and infants. Now we know that hundreds of babies and one mother met their demise at the hands of this man and those who worked for him...but we also know that because of "incomplete record keeping" on their part, only 7 of those murders can be prosecuted. We know that there's a special kind of depravity that can believe it's ever ok to murder babies in this way. We know that those that worked for him "felt like something was off" and were "uncomfortable" but we also know that they didn't go against him. They didn't feel as though they had a voice. One of the people that worked for this man is a 15 year old girl. 15. A teenager was watching and assisting in babies being butchered and their body parts stuffed into jars...and it was all in a day's work. As humans, can't we agree that this is not okay? Can't we all unite to END this?

For days I've been asking: "how could this happen?" "this is not ok!" "what can we do?" "this case cannot be the only one." "is this happening in my city?" "what can we do for mothers who believe they have no other options?" "how was this allowed to go on for so long?" "why did it take a police raid for completely unrelated reasons to uncover this?"

I can't answer all of these questions and I also don't believe I'm being asked to. I do believe that we are, however, responsible for what we know. And once we know, we can't not know.

So...now that we know, what can we DO?

We can wake up.
We can look around.
We can raise awareness.
We can do the research.
We can use our gifts.
We can cry out for mercy.
We can engage our circle of influence.
We can refuse to be silent.

Sadly, in these cases and for all these years the silence has been deadly.

I'm taking the time to find out what I can do. How can you help? Can you contact your member of congress or senator? Can you do a benefit concert and raise awareness and money for help? Can you use your platform of influence to shine a light on this illegal butchering of babies? Can you connect with law enforcement and offer your services as a counselor for at risk women and girls? Can you find out all of the options for unwanted babies in your state? Do your ERs allow anonymous drop offs of unwanted babies? Can you volunteer in a crisis pregnancy center? Can you awaken to the signs of girls around you that are at risk? Can you speak up about this silent slaughter?

I don't have a giant national movement or campaign to launch. I don't have a huge platform or high visibility. I just have my voice and my gifts. I have that burning feeling in my gut after the nausea and rage over the details of this case subside. I have the haunting images of babies crying, moving and breathing on a cold, rusting metal table before they're murdered. I have the compassion and confusion surrounding the image of desperate, drugged women with life inside them in a waiting room and death all around them as they exit the back door. And above all that, I have scriptures and songs ringing in my head...

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; 
    ensure justice for those being crushed.
Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless
    and see that they get justice.  Proverbs 31:8-9 [nlt]

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
    you formed me in my mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
    Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
    I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
    you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
    how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
    all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
    before I’d even lived one day. Psalm 139:13-16 [msg]

And as I think about all those babies, I think: "From babies hidden in the shadows, to the cities shining bright, there are captives weeping far from sight...great God, wrap Your arms around this world tonight and when You hear our cries, sing through the night and we will join in Your song and sing along..." [christy nockels]

Please. Find a way. Cry out...join the song...and sing along.

my "end it" issues...

It's been 5 months since I've written on this blog. This seemed like the appropriate time to fire it back up. I have issues...specifically surrounding the End It Movement. Well, to be fair, I don't have issues with the movement itself or what it's trying to accomplish. The abolishing of modern day slavery is a hugely noble cause! But, I do have issues with HOW to incorporate it and the good it's doing into my world. Do you even know the good it's doing?

End It Movement is raising awareness of the epidemic of modern day slavery in the world today. The numbers are really pretty staggering. 27 million. That's the rough estimate of how many slaves there currently are in the world. Today. Not in a pre-Abe Lincoln world...TODAY. Though the forms may differ [forced and bonded labor, human trafficking and the like] the result is the same. More people are enslaved today than at any other time in human history.

Tomorrow (3/27) is SHOUT OUT Wednesday. On this day, the 27th of the month, we are asked to tweet on the 27th minute of every hour of the day and shine a light on slavery for the 27 million. The problem for me is that I do not like to tweet 24 times a day or even 10 times a day. I don't have 24 times a day's worth of stuff to say! In fact, I unfollow people who tweet 24 times a day. Let's be honest, I unfollow people who tweet more than 3 or 4 times a day...

More than the number of tweets though, there's still a core question for me: What good is my tweeting doing for the cause?? It's not like we haven't been well-equipped by End It Movement with stickers, hats, apparel, buttons and other digital and online resources to help us raise awareness. But, I'm still struggling with how it works for ME. I'm just being honest here, but I'm not going to go rolling into Trader Joe's wearing an End It flat bill hat. There are several reasons for this, not the least of which is that I would never roll in anywhere wearing a flat bill hat. So, tomorrow, how on earth does my #enditmovement hashtag actually make any difference?

For the answer to this question I finally decided to ask someone who works closely with End It and could tell me...who could let me question it and then help me resolve it. Never one to be shy, I said: "I don't get it. How is this doing anything? I'm all about freeing the slaves, but what is tweeting doing?" The answer was simple and I'd heard it multiple times before, but this time, for this day, I understood it for ME. "Raising awareness IS DOING something. We need you to raise your voice in your sphere of influence. The more people that know about this issue, the more people can get connected with coalition partners who are actually on the ground, doing the work, identifying and freeing slaves." Then, I realized something else. It's not just about raised voices, it's about raising MY voice. My unique voice, with my unique perspective, with my unique passionate flavor, in my unique way to my unique audience.

So, I began to ask myself: "What does a 30 something, white, married mother of three who does full-time children's ministry and lives in suburban upper middle class Alpharetta, Georgia have to contribute to the conversation about modern day slavery?" I went on a hunt...did some research...prayed...pondered. And tomorrow, I'll raise MY unique voice on the 27th minute of each hour to shine a light on the modern day slavery epidemic in our world. Maybe you could join me and raise yours?

For more information, please visit www.enditmovement.com

braves gone wild...

I had the opportunity to go to my first Braves postseason game last night. And subsequently had the opportunity to see the human condition on display. I've been processing what I experienced since last night and had to find words for it when Maggie, my 10 year old asked me for a play-by-play of what had occurred.

Yesterday began as any other day. Coffee, some time with God, cleaning up the house, doing dishes, straightening and getting everything "just so" in order to soothe my soul. (Cleaning soothes me. It just does.) Then, about 11am, preparation began. You see, I'd waited as long as humanly possible to get completely GIDDY about what I knew awaited me. My first. postseason. Braves. game. I need to let you know right up front that I've been a Braves fan since I was old enough to toddle into my mom's room, climb up on her bed and watch baseball 'til time for bed. I was a Braves fan who got beer spilled on me EVERY single time I went to a game at Atlanta Fulton County Stadium. In those days, the games weren't hard to get tickets to because the teams were terrible. Also, the design of the stands made it very possible for someone to set their beer down on the row behind you, accidentally kick it, and thus send it streaming down the back of your shirt. It was a lovely experience. But it was baseball. I grew to love it then and I still love it now. There's a caveat though. I love BRAVES baseball. I probably won't watch the World Series this year because I'm loyal to my team, and when my team's out, I don't care anymore. I still love baseball, but I just don't feel any emotional connectivity to it when my boys are gone.

So...heading to the first postseason game of my life, Chipper's farewell season...I was unhinged with excitement, but I was containing it pretty well. I got out the t-shirts, set out my tomahawk earrings, gathered things for the children who were going to my parents house, we planned our Marta route, I asked Jeffrey twenty two thousand times if he had the e-tickets for paperless entry to the ballpark and then we were off. We dropped off the kids, got to Marta and began riding. My leg was pumping (if you don't know me, that's my stress-release mechanism...I pump my leg), so we were riding and I was intermittently clapping with glee. Jeffrey would just look at me and smile. He cares nothing about sports, by the way. In fact, as we were walking from Marta to the Braves shuttle, someone said to him "Hey! Who are the Braves playing tonight?" He just looked over at me blankly. I said "Cardinals." Now, THAT'S spousal support. He cares nothing about it and doesn't even know who's playing. He just knows it is making. my. life. at this moment.  Marta and the Braves shuttle were a breeze (get it? because you get a Breeze card to ride...) and before we knew it, we were at Turner Field.

They were giving away 45,000 tomahawks at the gate, so we got our foam props and headed to our seats. We were way up high in the 400's and once we got to our seats, I was so glad. The view was really magnificent. We could see everything and I couldn't wait to get things started. The atmosphere was electric in every way. People who didn't know one another were all united in a common bond. GO. BRAVES. This was it. This was finally the season we'd go all the way again. It was Chipper's swan song. You could feel the anticipation...it hung thick all over the stadium. The starting lineups were announced and every single manager, coach, player, trainer and assistant was named and came out to line up on down the first base line. Fans were anticipating the big moment and then it was upon us... "playing 3rd base, number 10, CHIPPER JONES!!!!" We lost our collective minds. This was the postseason! The bunting hung all around the ballpark and matched perfectly the huge American flag that was unfurled in the outfield. Every hat was off, every heart had a hand on it and Travis Tritt, country singer and Atlanta native (of "here's a quarter, call someone who cares..." fame) began the National Anthem. We all sang, we were all appropriately reverent and as the second to last cliffhanger line rang out... "o'er the land of the FREEEEEEEEE"... the cheers erupted and we all finished together..."and the HOME of the BRAAAAAAVVVVVVEEEEEEE." That, my friends, is unity.

Now it's time for the game. Kris Medlen came out and blew through the first inning, striking out the side. I've never seen 50,000 people so in sync with one little white ball. Then, came Ross's homer. We knew it. We were going to win. Unfortunately, the game progressed and so did the errors for the Braves, the men left on base and the frustration in the stands. But...it's baseball. It ain't over 'til it's over. During the game we honored one of our country's servicemen and even in the midst of the frustrating score, we were on our feet cheering and expressing our gratitude for this man and all of our men and women in uniform. Then, Timothy Miller soared on God Bless America and once again, we were united. At some point during the game, two Cardinals fans came and sat next to me and even they were kind, appropriately appreciative of Chipper and not remotely obnoxious. It's just a friendly game of baseball after all. I leaned over to Jeffrey at the end of the top of the 8th inning and said "I'm believing for big things in the bottom of the 8th and 9th innings." Truer words were never spoken.

As we all know by now, the wheels completely came off in the bottom of the 8th. The most horrible call in the history of baseball was made, momentum shifted and most of all, some fans completely lost it. As it was unfolding, it was truly surreal. Of the 50,000 of us that were there, maybe 1,000 were throwing things on the field. Maybe not even that many. But, today, the embarrassment is over "Atlanta's fans." To be fair, the feeling that accompanied the actions was completely understandable. It was a hugely ridiculous late and improper call. But, in that moment...in the extremes between the total elation of a one out bases loaded scoring opportunity that could tie the game and the utter despair of a two-out ridiculous call literally out of left field, everyone's metaphorical cup got jostled. And, when our cups get jostled, what's in them spills out.

Interestingly, the unity from prior innings began to fray. And, as those 19 minutes of delay passed, there was division even among the Braves faithful. There were fans throwing beer bottles and actually hitting umpires with them. They were leading the charge of disruption and rebellion over what was an agreeably unjust ruling. There were other fans, half drunk, who were always going to follow the crowd, no matter what the crowd did...so they were throwing their trash on the field as well. Behind them, there were those who, though agreeing with the horribleness of the call, were even more angry at those throwing trash...so they began to swear and taunt and fight with those who were throwing trash. Then there were the eternal optimists who tried unsuccessfully to start chants of "Let's Go Braves!" to try and swing the momentum back in a positive direction. They were drowned out by the boos of their fellow fans before they could even gain strength. Then, there were the rest of us. We were pretty much dumbfounded by what was occurring and since we didn't have the benefit of radio and tv, an understanding of how things were shaking out was slow to unfold. Parents around me were growing increasingly concerned about their young children being exposed to this much language and mob mentality. I saw several of the parents in our section picking up and holding their children, talking to them, covering their ears and some electing to leave all together. What a sad end to a childhood postseason baseball memory.

The most astonishing (and ultimately convicting) part for me was that in the name of support of our team, fans were throwing trash and beer bottles all over our field, in our stadium, leaving our grounds crew to scurry around picking up every single bit of it. Just as they'd get an area cleared, more bottles would rain down from our people and again, our grounds crew would bear the burden of getting it cleaned up. As an announcement was made by "the voice" that continued behavior of this kind would result in our team having to forfeit the game, a chorus of boos drowned out his voice and more bottles rained down. Understandably assuming that maybe a face-to-face communication was warranted, our familiar Turner Field emcee came on to let fans know that while we are the most passionate fans anywhere, the way we were showing it was inappropriate. He attempted to spin the situation positively by encouraging us to use our voices and not throw trash. This resulted in boos...and more trash.

Remember, we all came into that game united. We all believed in the same thing and we were all pulling for it and united behind it. There hadn't been any outside forces introduced, like umpires, to cause our cups to get jostled. At that moment, no one knew what was really IN everyone's cup, we just knew that for the most part, all of our cups were Braves cups. It wasn't until the outside force of umpires was introduced and we were taken to the two extremes of emotion in a matter of seconds that the cups began to run over. Then, in no time, the real issue had been long forgotten in the chaos of turning on one another as we disagreed about how to disagree, making our own people clean up our mess and putting the entire game in jeopardy by our behavior. Through it all, the Cardinals fans beside me were quietly watching us self-destruct. Then, the game went on to its inevitable conclusion clouding the last moments of an otherwise storied Chipper Jones career by controversy and chaos.

Though I was completely shocked last night as I watched it all unfold, it's not an unfamiliar scene. As believers, we do exactly the same thing pretty quickly. We all unite together behind Christ, we attend conferences and churches and camps and conventions, we gather to link arms behind this cause or that because we truly believe in it and, when united, amazing things are accomplished by God for His kingdom and many are drawn to Jesus through the evidence of Him that they see in our lives. But, introduce one outside force (elections? fast food controversies, anyone?) and it's not long before we turn on one another and segregate into our various denominations and belief systems...excluding, judging and taunting anyone who isn't behind the particular line we've drawn. When we get jostled, what's in our cup spills out.

It happens personally too. As I watched the pandemonium unfold last night I was really glad that I wasn't one of those people with a short fuse and no control of my actions. Well, I mean, I wasn't one of those people last night. But, I was earlier that day when I got an email and immediately texted the guy who sent it to me with an incredulous "what in the world are they thinking with this???" comment. I am that person when something happens and I immediately get amped up and emotional before I take time to take a deep breath and consider a more appropriate response. I am one of those people because I have to be better about taking stock of what's in my cup...in my heart. Because the overflow of my heart is on display every time I open my mouth or respond with my actions.

“You don’t get wormy apples off a healthy tree, nor good apples off a diseased tree. The health of the apple tells the health of the tree. You must begin with your own life-giving lives. It’s who you are, not what you say and do, that counts. Your true being brims over into true words and deeds." Luke 6:43-45 (The Message)

The worst part about having sinful actions, emotions and words spill out of my cup? It's not just my reputation that's on the line. I weaken my own witness to be sure, but I also endanger the reputation of everyone that claims to be on my "team" and since I'm on Christ's team...I endanger His reputation with those who are watching. And, much like the Cardinals fans beside me yesterday, others may not have to wait very long to watch us self-destruct. I'm really aware today of what's in my cup. I'm aware of things that have been buried in my cup for awhile and that I've forgotten are there (until the cup gets jostled, that is)... I want my heart to be rid of things that will damage the holiness path I'm on. I also don't want people to have reason to disbelieve my commitment.

So, yes, I went to a game and had an experience I'll remember for a lifetime. But I'm also grateful for the wake-up call that being witness to last night's debacle afforded me and consequently, our kids. Today, as things have come against the kids, we've been able to ask the question: "What's spilling out of your cup right now?" They are allowed to ask us as well. Praying that the Holy Spirit keeps this front and center for me. And, if you know me, you're allowed to ask me...

"What's in your cup?"