The cost of choosing choice

According to at least a couple of sources I found, the word "count" appears in the Bible 105 times.

Here are few examples...

• Genesis 13:  "...if anyone could count the dust of the earth, then your offspring could be counted."
• Numbers 12: "...Oh, my lord, please don't count this sin against us, in which we have done foolishly, and in which we have sinned."
• 1 Chronicles 21: "David said to God, 'Wasn’t I the one who gave the order to count the people? I am the one who has sinned and acted very wickedly. But these sheep, what have they done? My Lord God, please let Your hand be against me and against my father’s family, but don’t let the plague be against Your people.' "
• Job 13: "Why do you hide your face and count me as your enemy?"
• Psalm 40: "Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders which You have done, And Your thoughts toward us; There is none to compare with You. If I would declare and speak of them, They would be too numerous to count."
• Luke 1: “For He has had regard for the humble state of His bondslave; For behold, from this time on all generations will count me blessed."
• Luke 14: "For who of you, willing to build a tower, doth not first, having sat down, count the expense, whether he have the things for completing?"
• Philippians 3: "...I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ.... Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

Count. It is a verb, an action word.

Sometimes, it was an action commanded by God allowing us to see the infinite benefit and inestimable bounty found in him - trusting him and forsaking all to follow him. 

Other times it was an action prohibited by God, particularly because that action would lead to pride, self-sufficiency and idolatry.

But it always includes a reckoning, a computation or estimation identifying and demonstrating the value we place upon something.

In Jesus' discourse (Luke 14),  this verb referred specifically to determining a value, a cost, that his followers had to decide whether or not they were willing to pay.

It was never a question of if such a decision would cost. 

Regardless of the decision, there would be a cost. 

That was a given. 

The question was which one those those listening were willing to pay.

When we chose missionary life, we knew there would be a cost to pay. Sometimes, the cost has seemed so nonexistent that momentary benefits far outweighed any expense. Other times, that cost has been far steeper than we ever imagined having to pay, leading to consequences that 1) we didn't choose and 2) we never desired.

More than anything else, it has reinforced the value of the ministry we have been gifted.

Today, I watched a documentary on Rick Rescorla, the director of security for Morgan Stanley, a financial securities firm housed in the North Tower of the World Trade Center in 2001. Rescorla recognized the possibility of terrorist attacks on such symbolic buildings, and insisted on evacuation drills which, when were implemented on September 11 and probably saved over 3000 lives. Not his own, however. Rescorla counted the cost, re-entering the building (while speaking on the phone with his wife) to do a final sweep, just prior to the building's collapse.  

In light of our world's current events, I've been asking myself how it is that people want to be able to make a choice, theoretically after having weighed all the information and counted the cost, but then scream and fuss when faced with the results of their choice? 

Why are they not willing to live the consequences inherent to their decision? 

The consequences might stink; they may seem discriminating, frustrating, unfair, detestable, abhorrent... but they shouldn't be surprising.

People want to decide, and in our society, they currently have that freedom. But that doesn't seem to be all that is desired. People want the freedom to choose without any cost.

If the choice really was that important, that essential, that precious... the cost should be willingly and readily paid.   

Five Minute Friday ~ Neighbor{hoods} and Community

I've spent the majority of my Labor Day Weekend out wandering around several different neighborhoods...  My sore and tired back and legs attest to that fact every time I try to move! My littlest littler would agree, as she was hoofin' it along right beside me - at least most of the time! We were busy helping friends distribute door hanger advertisements, and for their participation, our kids earn a little bit of cash they'll use to help finance basketball participation this school year.

Showing off her blue "raspberry" tongue - from the Slurpy she earned because of her great attitude, even though this weekend consisted of a LOT of hard work and effort.

Then, the one day in our long weekend when I wasn't supervising M&M's child labor efforts, hubby and I decided to go exploring in our new neighborhood. Please note the elevation change: down 53 m, up 70 m - one way. We had to do the reverse returning home, over a round trip distance of just shy of km.

We jokingly (?) wondered if we'd stumbled through a secret wardrobe and tripped into Narnia...

We live in a beautiful neighborhood that is part of a truly lovely city. We even mentioned it as we were walking: sometimes we feel the need to pinch ourselves to make sure we aren't dreaming. 

Just down the road and around the corner, an easy walk from chez nous (i.e. our house) is a hair stylist who has her salon in the basement of her home. Tori has a new hair cut (one of the ladies in the school office told her she was "just a tiny bit of a rebel" with her new do)  that requires regular maintenance and so we stopped in the other day to see if it was something they could do. We made appointments for both Tori and me. I had mine the other day and the gal did a fabulous job - at least she did what I asked. She cut it so that I could make it look like the photo AND so that it also still looks passable even on those days (actually most days) I don't have time to style it. I know that for a fact because after I supervised M&M the other day, we went swimming in the pool for a few minutes and then went out to see a super cool performance. I did NOTHING to my hair, literally. Like I ran my fingers through it, finger parted and didn't touch it again. The result?

In all my walking time the past three days, however, I've been thinking: We can land in wonderful neighborhoods and thank God for placing us there. However, the ball is then in our court. He leaves it up to us to start building community - finding things we have in common with our neighbors and using those commonalities to nurture relationships. 

And we are getting some of those opportunities: the hairdresser, our neighborly neighbor who came over late one night to let us know that our pool was overflowing (and apologized profusely for disturbing me late in the evening, but he and his wife had been so impressed with our little girls and their willingness to do do semi-polar plunges just because they loved the pool), the lady who walks her dog down our street and her dog looks a lot like our Monty, the kids who are playing at the park at the end of our street, others who frequent the "leave a book, take a book" mini-library just on the other side of the golf course, our neighbor who has gardens to die for and I wonder if he'd be willing to give us a few tips for next summer...

But it takes a little courage, a little gumption and a willingness to be more extroverted than I am normally, to listen to the Spirit and to know when to try and open my mouth to start those initial conversations.

The Illusion of Control

There was what some have labeled "a terrorist attack" in our town last night. One or two armed men went into a mosque at the end of evening prayers and started shooting. Six dead. Several more injured, some gravely.

I spent a nice chunk of time today listening to radio commentators discuss the event, listening to some of my Quebecois friends talk about the event, listening to my daughter explain how orchestra practice today was watching a movie because the teacher was stressed and distressed by the event. Each of these conversations was characterized by disbelief that such an event had happened here, and by a trepidation of what else might happen - of what such an attack signified for their future.

People here, at least for the next few days, will feel unsettled and as though life seems out of control. Distant events and tragedies that only happen in far away places on the news just happened down the hill. It isn't supposed to happen like that - and unless you live life like a roller coaster junkie, most don't like that feeling, especially when it touches things that are valued and precious, like life. When terrorism and violence strike close to home (i.e. less than 10 miles from my house), you get a healthy glimpse of what is reality for many in this world.

It makes people used to the insulation very uncomfortable, indignant and wondering if their world is careening out of control.

It is - if they are wondering about their ability to keep "life" under control.

One of the things I learned quickly after moving overseas was that most of the control that I thought I had was, in reality, nothing more than illusion.

The first time I felt terrorist activity hit close to home, the owner of a radio station where Tim had some of our weekly radio programs broadcast drove over a bomb buried in the sand, in town, in Niamey. He died. The next day we were warned when driving on unpaved roads to make sure you followed the clear tracks of a previous vehicle and to never drive through loose sand. At first it was scary. Then it became habit, one that I didn't even realize was so ingrained until we moved back to the States and I actually drove down a dirt road. I felt uneasy and didn't know why until I realized that it was because I couldn't follow any tracks - it had been too dry and the wind quickly did away with any tracks.

The next time, two expats were kidnapped from a restaurant, literally just down the street from our doctor's office and a few blocks distant from our organization's office.

Next, it was watching helicopters fly up the river, by and over our house, fighting terrorists who'd captured several cities in the northern part of Mali.

Then it was the admonition to take a different path to any regular place so that habits and patterns weren't obvious.

Or having soldiers search through the groceries in the back of the car because we lived within the security perimeter surrounding the US Embassy.

Or having our pastor call us and tell us to stay home from church because they feared expat presence might further draw attention to their worship service.

Or being told to shelter in place the day my parents were to arrive for a visit. There'd been a prison break, and no one knew for sure what was going on in town. My biggest fear was that we wouldn't be able to get to the airport to get my mom and dad.

Or reading that almost every church in the city had been burned and looted.

Or receiving a message from one friend still serving in Niamey that another friend from a sister organization had been kidnapped by terrorists.

The nature of these sorts of events is that usually, you don't know you are in danger until it is too late. There is no way to know. You are going about life, not engaging in any sort of risky behavior and then...

I don't fear terrorism. I despise it. My heart aches for those who've lost because of it, for those touched by it, for those who feel they have to resort to using it. I don't want such violence to touch me or those I know and love. I don't want it to touch anyone, anywhere. I think there are things we can do to be wise and to minimize danger. But apart from God's protection and His decision that He still has things on this earth for me to do, I don't think I can control if such an event happens to me or not. Not by where I choose to live. Not by who I choose to allow into my life. Not by who I choose to try and keep out of my country.

What I do fear is the potential influence that such events have on those around me, those who still live with this illusion that some formula or set of procedures will give them control and keep such an event from taking place in their town, or from harming them or someone they care about. Those aren't bad desires, but decisions and procedures and policies that develop out of a spirit of fear - that is the real power given to those who choose to manipulate by terror. "God has not given us a spirit of fear, but has given us His Spirit, who fills us with power, love and sound mind." (how one back translation of 2 Timothy 2.7 - my life verse - has been rendered, but I don't remember which one any more).

I fear the me-first, sensationalistic and materialistic world - and what my children are learning as they become adults in a society that worships self, fame, money, sex and power. I fear that even with diligence, it will creep into our worldviews, and? We. Won't. Even. Notice.

As I was talking with one of my girls about the events that transpired in Quebec City last night, and the reactions she saw at school today, she made an interesting observation: "Mama, we aren't like other religions. We don't need the government protecting us because we already have an all powerful Someone protecting us." We have God on our side.

I'm not in control. It isn't a comfortable feeling. And I don't want to imply that I've figured out the right course of action to take. But what I've been reading of late makes me very, very uncomfortable...

Not being in control isn't nearly as scary as wondering what consequences there will be if we allow fear to become the motivating factor in our decisions - all to try and maintain some illusion of control.

photo credit: gmayster01 on & off 

... Ryder in the storm " via photopin (license)

photo credit: P. Marioné 

armée du salut via photopin (license)

Five Minute Friday ~ How the word EAT got me thinking about THIRD CULTURE KIDS, particularly my own.

We left Niger-home to move to temporary-Michigan-home on June 9, 2013. 

That was more than three years ago... 40 and one half months... 1257 days... I won't bore you with the hours... minutes... seconds...

Since the last ride on the tire swing by the front porch and the last hug from Madam Safana... 

Since we last snuggled Sasha and Hera (our two cats) and pulled away from our house - waving goodbye to Butterscotch and Beethoven (our two dogs), the Niger river just down the hill, the night guard... the place that we'd learned to love and the only place that our littlest ones really thought of and knew as home. 

We'd been home for several months when a little voice from the back seat asked, "When will I get to see Butterscotch and Beethoven again?" And I realized that even though we'd talked much, cried much, imagined much, experienced much together, at least one little one hadn't grasped the idea that we had no idea when... if... we'd be returning to Niger-home. That when she said goodbye late that 9th of June, she didn't understand that it was a very long goodbye. She certainly didn't grasp that is was most likely, at least as far as the pets were concerned, a forever one.

I did a quick survey of my gang: "If I say home, what's the first thing that you think of?"

"Africa"

"Quebec and Africa"

"my bed, wherever it is"

"family" 

"I don't know"

"Why do you ask such hard questions?... (sigh)"

"wherever I am right now"

*eyes rolling*

(gutteral groan and dramatic falling back, sprawled as though knocked out, into the chair)

"MMMUUUTTTHHHEEERRR!!!!!!"

"Ugh! Why?"

"Wherever you, Dad and the majority of my sibs are."

"I don't even know... location wise."

"I think wherever family is."

It was a question no one wanted to answer... one they didn't know how to answer... one that was significantly harder for the older ones. That's why I received more answers than I have kids. Sometimes I wonder, as parents... what our life choices and callings, as parents have "done" to these sweet kids. 

I always said I didn't want our kids to grow up to be those "different" and "interesting" MKs I'd encountered growing up in church, the ones that didn't know how to talk to their home country peers, dressed a little weird, told unbelievable cool stories, and that always seemed to feel awkwardly out of place even when they looked like they could be fitting in.

From where I stand, from what others say... and most importantly - based on what my children say - Tim and I have both succeeded and failed in our efforts to achieve that goal.

It is something I think about... wonder about... almost every single day.

Because every single day, at least one - if not all - children present ask if they can eat peanut butter for breakfast.

Madam Safana's peanut butter (the most amazing peanut butter, ever, by the way) on homemade bread... on fresh pancakes... on made-from-scratch waffles... on hot biscuits... as part of the glaze on fresh from the oil doughnuts... We ate it for breakfast almost every single morning we lived in W. Africa. Unless the jar was empty, of course. This family of 10 could easily eat 1 kg of peanut butter in three or four days. 

Too much peanut butter actually put one in the hospital. The power went out. We were busy looking for candles. That one found the jar - a full kilo - and ate about one-fourth of it. Plain. Then said child started throwing up and having a hard time breathing cause it stuck in the throat. Trip to the ER... we had to try two because the first one was closed for the night (don't ask). Doctors kept the kid on IVs in the hospital until they were sure the peanut butter wouldn't form a blockage in the intestine, as you get dehydrated fast in African heat when vomiting. 

That's our only traumatic peanut butter eating memory. The rest are all good... if not great! Up to this date, thankfully, no one is allergic. That would be a tragedy in our family, on so many counts.

You know what just might be the first thing I hear tomorrow morning (I'll be up early, finishing prep for the Sunday School lesson I'm scheduled to teach):  "Mama? Can I eat some peanut butter on my toast today?" 

Illustrations included in this blog post are from this book - a fave in our family.

(By the way, if you are wondering. This was a 15 minute Friday, written on Saturday, when I should have been preparing for Sunday School. I'm teaching 4-6 year olds about Daniel's faithfulness in prayer, even if it meant the lion's den...)

Of Sheep and Wolves, of Serpents and Doves

It happened in the car while bringing the kids home from school sometime this year… nothing extraordinary or life changing, but I can’t stop thinking about it.

As missionaries on support learning a new ministry in a new place (that is just about as polar opposite as possible from where we were), we are still figuring out how to make everything work: daily schedules, doctor appointments, health insurance, where to go for car repairs, credits for graduation, future college plans, the budget… Recently, we ran into that not uncommon problem of “more month than money” requiring, for one, creativity in the kitchen – the idea being to use up what was there without running to the store for more. 

A frequent after school car ride occurrence is a kids’ critique of the lunches I packed and sent. That day, most of what I’d heard was that lunch was “Yummy!” but there weren’t enough crackers to go with the soup. So I looked over at my girl who’d only received a handful of broken cracker pieces and crumbs from the bottom of the bag and asked her if she was upset. She smiled and said, “No, Mama. I really just thought it was sweet of you to crumble up the crackers for me to put in my soup.”

Wow! My eyes filled with tears. I was both speechless… and immediately convicted!

She knows I love her. She trusts me. She assumed the best possible motivation for what she found in her lunch that day.

Do you ever wonder what our world would be like if we all chose to act and believe like my teenage daughter did that afternoon?

First? What if those of us who follow Christ as Savior and King rested in His sovereignty? What if we believed that whatever He allowed/allows, somehow He works so that it is for good. What if we then acted correspondingly, instead of allowing fear or anger or jealousy to dictate thoughts, words, actions and reactions?

Secondly? What if we chose to first assume good intentions, especially by those who’ve demonstrated time and again that they love and/or care about us? What if we chose to trust proven confidence, even when we don’t exactly see why we should.

Thirdly? What if we recognized that the image of God stamped upon and within each human means that sometimes (by God’s grace and mercy), men and women are capable of amazing sacrifice, generosity, wisdom, creativeness and perseverance? And I don’t just mean the Christians of the world. What if our initial response was to look for that image of God in others, regardless of faith profession, because God’s Word teaches it is there?

Perhaps that is a "utopic" view of the world.

I was taught through years of Sunday school truths like:

• “The heart is deceitful, above all things, and desperately wicked....

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Five Minute Friday ~ Weary

Well, it wasn't the word that I WOULD have chosen...

But it does describe, quite accurately, how I'm feeling today.

The last few weeks have been challenging - not in the totally-overwhelmed-can't-do-this-another-day sort of way...

...but rather in the we've-been-at-this-for-a-really-long-time-and-I'm-way-past-ready-to-see-the-last-bend-in-this-mini-marathon sort of way.

First, one kid got sick... the upchuck-throw-it-up-kind that even after twenty years of parenting - including parenting eight kids in a land where abundant amoebas and giardias and plasmodia meant not unfrequent bouts of vomiting chez nous - that particular illness always leaves me nauseated and sick feeling even when I'm not. It also means I was running up and down the stairs at intervals during sick nights to check on said child.

Then, two more got sick... thankfully it was just the sneazy, snotty nose stuff. Until it turned into the coughing at night until we did the steamy shower so that everyone could rest for a few hours before the coughing started all over again. That lasted two weeks.

But, about halfway through that round, another one fell. Same story, different verse. Sometimes, I wish I was one of those moms who could sleep through others coughing at night. I used to be able to. Then we had our own mini-epidemic of pertussis. Four out of eight, including one still not a year old. Now, I awake in a panic during night-time coughing spells. ALMOST. EVERY. TIME. 

We'd reached what I was thinking was the final bend in this race. I started to relax, thinking I'd be able to get to all those things that needed to be done, but that I'd pushed aside because I was just weary and lacking the oomph to get anything much past the critical-urgent done. Then a night time tap and a hubby with severe abdominal pain. A next day trip to the ER, two days of waiting rooms, tests and consulting with doctors ended with a diagnosis of diverticulitis.

Of course, don't forget that in the midst of this, children are trying to study for end of marking period exams in their second language - one that two of them really don't get very much at all.

It has been a wearying three weeks.

At the same time, we've seen such neat evidences of God's care through it all:

• People wanting to contribute to Anna's missions trip in February;
• Teachers going the extra mile to help our children succeed in this latest language adventure;
• Friends willing to transport then sit with and keep company in waiting rooms;
• Pray-ers who ask how things are going;
• Nurses who make midnight house calls to correct mistakes and bring forgotten meds.

Hard isn't bad. But it can be wearying.

Thankful God, in His omniscient providence, planned a three day weekend for our family!

Thankful our church leadership planned a soup and salad luncheon for Sunday... and for the excitement of kids preparing to go to church this Sunday disguised as Anna and Elsa, Tom and Jerry, Mario and Luigi, Tuareg bride and Michigan hunter

We need both: the rest and the fun!

THIS Song

GOD OF HEAVEN

Words and Music by Heather Sorenson
Sung by Ben Everson

God of Heaven, God of all the earth and sky.

Great Creator, Master of all nature.

Who gives birth to snow from heaven,

Holds the waves at ocean's edge,

Gives the orders to the morning,

Shows each dawn its place to shine?

God of Heaven, God of all the earth and sky.

God of Ages, God who wrote the Book of Time.

Sovereign Ruler, Alpha and Omega.

Saints before, He's guided safely.

History's pages signed by Him.

Author of our days and hours; 

Things to come are held secure.

God of Ages, Alpha and Omega.

God of Power!  God who breaks the darkness.

Righteous Warrior, Champion of His children,

Goes before us into battle;

Good and evil bow to Him,

Those in bondage freed forever,

Victories won at  His command!

God who heals us, God who gives us peace and hope.

God who listens, Carries all our fragile

Dreams and heartaches, wins and failures;

Binds the broken; hides the weak.

New beginnings freely offered;

Who can make us whole again?

God who heals us, God of Power,

God of Ages, God of Heaven,

God of all the earth and sky.

~ Sobering, Scary... and Rings SO True ~

I don't remember where I first saw this title, exactly what prompted me to get a copy of this book, or how long I've been slowly working my way through it,

...but doing so has taken me on a HUGE learning curve.

NARCISSISM ~

inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity.

also: self-centeredness, smugness, egocentrism.

There's even something called Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), or a condition in which people have 

1. an excessive sense of self-importance, 
2. an extreme preoccupation with themselves, and 
3. a lack of empathy for others.

It was one of those words I'd heard, and certainly understood when I read it in context, but not one that I'd spent much time thinking about, until recently... until reading this book.

Basically I was hooked from the moment I read the following words: 

"Personality does not exist in isolation. This increase in narcissism in individuals is, we believe, just an outcome of a massive shift in culture toward a greater focus on self-admiration. Narcissism has spread through the generations like a particularly pernicious virus - one with multiple means of entry and transmission. First, Americans' immunity to narcissism has weakened. At one time, strong social pressures kept people's egos in check. Mothers asked children "Who do you think you are?" (instead of "What do you want for dinner, princess?") Religious leaders stressed humility and modesty. Strong communities and stable relationships discouraged arrogance and made it less necessary to meet and impress new people. Narcissism has also been transmitted as an unintended consequence of good intentions, as in the self-esteem movement and less authoritative parenting. Instead of creating friendly, happy children, however, these practices often produce self-centered, narcissistic young people. 

In addition, norms for self-presentation have shifted with cultural trends and new technology.... Internet social networking sites and celebrity culture have raised the bar for narcissistic behavior and standards. Using MySpace [or Facebook] to post a picture of yourself half naked and posturing provocatively is now considered totally normal -- even though it is also deeply narcissistic. Americans are being persuaded that becoming more vain, materialistic, and self-centered is actually a good thing. This can happen even if you're not particularly narcissistic but just get drawn into what everyone else is doing. Today, if you don't get your teeth whitened, everyone thinks you are either poor or an espresso-drinking, cigarette-smoking European. Ten years ago, nobody would have noticed." (pp. 38-39)

This book is a difficult read, if you are willing to ask yourself hard questions as you make your way through the text - especially when the authors identify what their research has revealed to be the "root causes of the epidemic:" 1) current parenting and teaching practices focusing on the uniqueness and the special-ness of each child; 2) current obsessions with celebrities and everything about their lives; 3) social networking sites and the the quest for attention and self-promotion of a carefully crafted image; and 4) easy credit and never allowing real consequences to play out because of the mentality that "I deserve the best right now, regardless of the cost or future consequence!" 

This book is a scary and sobering read, especially when you see symptoms of narcissism stealthily creeping or full-out lambasting their way into the lives of those you love, into the organizations with which you affiliate. What are those symptoms? They include a growing focus on self-importance and a beautiful, appearance often at the expense of genuine caring or sweet personalities (i.e. vanity), materialism, the insistence on believing that "I'm special and therefore better or more deserving...," increasing acceptability of antisocial behavior, less and less civility and insistence on "my rights" instead of learning to get along, feeling entitled, and serving not to help others but to help your own image and self-impression.

Having spent most of the past fifteen years living on the backside of the Sahara Desert, while not immune or insulated from all of these pressures, we can clearly see the symptoms more and more pronounced each time we return to the States. It is revolting, especially as you listen to people you love and trust and admire... as you hear your own thoughts... justify behaviors the Bible clearly condemns. We, as a society, are so busy loving and worshiping ourselves, there is very little... if any... room left for God. We've made life into an "All about me" sort of drama, on so many levels. And frankly, this is what terrifies me the most about bringing our family back to this world... it is what concerns me when I ponder what it will mean to raise the younger half of our family in this world and culture so that they can function as aware and relevant - but without losing them to a value system that is so far from what God created us to be. 

It is the researched opinion of the authors of The Narcissism Epidemic: Living in the Age of Entitlement that, "As a society, we have a chance to slow the epidemic of narcissism if we learn to identify it, minimize the forces that sustain and transmit it, and treat it. If we are unwilling to make... changes, reality always wins in the end. The only question is how long it will be before our nation buckles..." (p. 302-303)

photo credit: deborah is lola via photopin cc

Five Minute Friday ~ Of Joy and Sleigh Bells

It happened on a cold, windy Michigan Sunday winter afternoon ~

We'd spent all morning and early afternoon with one of our partnering churches ~ an hour + drive on snowy roads with lots of drifting snow, Sunday School, the service, a yummy potluck followed by an immediate afternoon service. Our big girls were excited about being home in time for the evening service at our home church, except ~

Earlier the preceding week, the pastor had called my hubby and said he wanted to arrange a little afternoon surprise for our family... and detailed the for Tim. Tim grinned really big, readily agreed and then decided that he wanted to really keep this as a surprise for the girls and so other than telling them to take some warm clothes to change in to, we told them nothing about what to expect... just that there would be a surprise.

And it had something to do with horses.

Just hear those sleigh bells jingle-ing

Ring ting tingle-ing too

Come on, it's lovely weather

For a sleigh ride together with you

Outside the snow is falling

And friends are calling "Yoo Hoo"

Come on, it's lovely weather

For a sleigh ride together with you

Giddy-yap giddy-yap giddy-yap

let's go

Let's look at the snow

We're riding in a wonderland of snow

Our very own, personal right through a winter wonderland sleigh ride.

With a sled attached to the back of the sleigh where the kids took turns riding.

  

Jonathan and Elsie were taking their second turn riding in the back - Jonathan was riding in the back when the sleigh dragging the sled went around a corner and up and over a rise at the same time...

...and Jonathan rolled right off the back of the sled.

Those of us on the sleigh quietly talked, asking questions about the horses, finding out about those amazingly beautiful and HUGE work animals that are a part of our host's livelihood. We enjoyed the sound of nothing but the runners over the snow and bells jingling through the silence of the woods... when all of a sudden, Elsie Mae began to laugh. A smile provoking soon deteriorating into giggles, belling busting cackle that rang out loud and clear joy that shattering the silence of a snowy silva. Turning around, we saw Jonathan running to recapture his spot on the sled, stumbling through knee deep snow and laughing almost as hard as his sister.

You know that both yawns and laughter are contagious, don't you? Laughter is a lot more fun, however... Have you seen this video? Needless to say, pretty soon we all had caught the bug and everyone had cracked up: chuckling, tittering, snorting, howling, guffawing... it all ensued. Even Tucker the dog was standing at the back of the sleigh amusedly watching Jon try to run and catch up and barking encouragement.

Jon did eventually catch up and all of the laughter did eventually settle down. Thankfully he's a great sport most of the time and he found the whole situation hilarious, too. Gotta love that about little boys! He did insist that Elsie Mae hang on to the back for the rest of the ride, however.

Everyone settled except for Elsie Mae, that is. All evening long, at odd moments, her joy in the memory bubbled out and spilled over into more contagious giggles and laughter... even in her sleep that night.

(Yeah... In case you were wondering, this was about a 7 minute Friday... 

I just had to finish the story!)

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Head on over to Lisa-Jo's and join us, if you feel like spilling some joy out on pen and paper... or computer screen. Hope to see you there.

When friends come and hang out on Sunday afternoon and play with treasures reclaimed after dumpster diving ~

Pile of coats and boots/shoots near the door for ready access - 

quite necessary when the thermometer reads 23 ' ...

Friday night, the kids had their fall elementary music program.

The theme was "The Armour of God,"

so the stage set included two castle towers.

Saturday, a couple of my munchkins 

(who apparently are "in" to dumpster diving and finding treasures in the trash)

rescued the castle towers from the church/school dumpster.

Now they have perfect fort material to play with and fight over with their friends.

I bet the inside of the guys' fort didn't look anything like this... but I wasn't taking the photos (thanks, Victoria and Elsie Mae) so I don't really know. I've just been monitoring the noise volume from upstairs.

Wasn't too long before the guys moved into legos and minecraft 

(prompted by Mom, when the downstairs territorial battles 

became too noisy for Dad's Sunday afternoon nap),

and the girls started talking and visiting.

Thankful for friends who can come and play, impromptu and unplanned-like!

And didn't Elsie Mae do an awesome job on this last picture?

You SHOULD be ashamed of yourself ~

Have you ever been told that?

I have.

Apparently a lot of other people have, as well.

And it doesn't seem to be anything that anyone anywhere ever likes to hear.

Shame...

doesn't seem to be anything that anyone anywhere ever likes to feel.

Ever.

I agree. I hate being shamed. I hate feeling shame.

(On the other hand, I can't claim I'm completely above shaming - or trying to shame -someone else... More on that, later...)

And lately, it would seem the church (at large) has determined, almost militantly to remove any and all concept of shame...

That is wrong. That is sad.

It is, in fact, something to be ashamed of... We've become ashamed of the fact that without Christ, His sacrifice and His gifting of His covering to all who will simply ask, we ARE infinitely shameful. That sounds a lot like the Gospel. It's a fine twisting of what God gifted as a powerful tool to drive us to Him.

Afternoons this year, I have Mary Michelle, who only goes to school half days... and also the privilege of her cousin - who comes to play while her mama works.

Earlier this week, they were watching Tom and Jerry while I was trying to get some work accomplished around our house. The TV is back in our bedroom, so I poked my head in and told them I had to run downstairs, pull the dry stuff out of the dryer and put the wet stuff in, and then start another load of laundry. When I ran down, I discovered that I'd forgotten to start the dryer the last time, so I pushed the button and came back up to discover that my sweet girlies had closed the bedroom door. I've already learned that a closed door often means kids up to no good... 

When I opened the door, those sweet little girls were clearly up to no good. I knew it, but more importantly, they knew it and instantly, completely, their shame clothed them like a garment... before I ever said a word... before they even turned heads to see the look in my eyes. All it took was the mere sound of mama opening the door and walking in the room, and immediately, shame swaddled them in their knowledge that the one to whom they were accountable had witnessed a depth of their depravity.

Shame is a bad word in American culture at large... but also in the evangelical church. A well-known, very popular blogger whom I read from time to time (I often appreciate what is said, but struggle with the way it is written) recently wrote: 

Jesus stands on the side of the broken, the outcast, the scandalous. He sees us at the very core of creation, naked and unashamed, meant to walk in a garden now locked to humanity. He sees us, hungry for knowledge and starved for love, eating from the first tree in front of our faces, plucking the fruits of deceit and selfish ambition, snacking on lust, stuffing ourselves with greed, sucking away at vanity. And still He comes to us without condemnation - without shame.

Shame is a byproduct of a dying world. It's a shackle that binds us to our brokenness. It is Shame who first points a finger and cries out, “Look at you! You're NAKED!”, and tells you to run and hide. Shame warns you to cover up, hide your junk, don't get caught. Shame clothed us in fig leaves and nestled us in the bushes; shame led the way right out of Eden, and still it barricades the door. 

If you believe shame is the pathway to obedience, I'm sorry, but your gospel is twisted. Shame is no friend of Jesus. 

I agree that much of what is written above is truth. 

Shame is not the pathway to obedience. Jesus does stand by the broken. He can and does see each one of us as we could be without our sinfulness and shame. Shame is a byproduct of a dying world... 

...but we cannot forget that this world is dying because man choose sin and disobedience and man continues to make that very same choice time and time and time again. Shame socked Adam and Eve right in the gut and in that doubled over place, they recognized their nakedness and shame. More importantly, shame showed them they were naked and that covering was desperately and absolutely needed to stand in the Presence of the High and Holy One. 

People can't really shame us, though they may try... But they don't need to... All they can do is lovingly or hatefully remind us of what we already know. I found it interesting that the very first mention of shame in the Bible - Genesis 2: "And the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed."  - refers specifically to the presence of shame as we stand in the presence of other men and women... not shame as we stand before a holy God.

Apart from Jesus, we ALL blatantly wear our shame, all of the time. We try to cover it up with gorgeous words, good deeds, great sacrifice, grand giving... but like the fig leaves Adam and Eve "coutured," our deeds, done at our own initiative to keep others from seeing the realities of our heart are nothing more than attempts to preserve an image, gain favor or convince others to believe a lie... and they are woefully inadequate to earn any favor with God. 

Frankly? That is why we need Jesus - Only He can cover shame... I cannot deny the powerful benefit of recognizing my shame, because it is often what motivates me to run to Him...

Christ alone replaces our shameful sin sullied robes with His very own...

HIS ROBES FOR MINE 

His robes for mine: O wonderful exchange!

Clothed in my sin, Christ suffered 'neath God's rage.

Draped in His righteousness I'm justified.

In Christ I live, for in my place He died.

His robes for mine: what cause have I for dread?

God's daunting Law, Christ mastered in my stead.

Faultless I stand, with righteous works not mine.

Saved by my Lord's vicarious death and life.

His robes for mine: God's justice is appeased.

Jesus is crushed, and thus the Father's pleased.

Christ drank God's wrath on sin, then cried, "Tis done!"

Sin's wage is paid, propitiation won.

His robes for mine: such anguish none can know.

Christ, God's beloved, condemned as though His foe.

He, as though I, accursed and left alone.

I, as though He, embraced and welcomed home!

I cling to Christ and marvel at the cost.

Jesus forsaken, God estranged from God.

Bought by such love, my life is not my own.

My praise, my all, shall be for Christ alone.

--Chris Anderson/words 

--Greg Habegger/music