Matthew 8:19-20 (KJV)

And a certain scribe came, and said unto him, Master, I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest. And Jesus saith unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.

Until that interview and the corresponding book are ready, though, I do actually have something to blog. This is a throwback to when my blog was actually read, I guess. But I still think these words are worth repeating.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.      1 Cor. 13:4-7 (NIV)

In recent months, I have become enraptured by the goodness of God presented boldly and plainly in the Old Testament. Now, some of you are thinking, “Oh, no, God was mean in the Old Testament!” Though, if you call yourself a Christian you might not admit that thought out-loud. Others of you are thinking, “Duh! Of course He was good in the Old Testament! Our God is good all the time!” And of course, you are 100% correct.

To give you specific examples of what I’m feeling, though, let’s just think about Adam and Eve. God created a perfect world and plopped them down in its center. He gave them one law. One law. Obey me. Eat. Prosper. Enjoy. But don’t eat from that one tree in the middle of the garden.  Why did God even say that? Have you ever wondered that? Why did He make the fruit pleasing to the eyes? Why didn’t He place flaming swords to bar the way to that one tree?!

Before I offer my minor opinion on that point, let’s look at another story. In Exodus nineteen, when God came down from Heaven to give the law and to essentially marry Israel, have you ever noticed what He said?

“The Lord descended to the top of Mount Sinai and called Moses to the top of the mountain. So Moses went up and the Lord said to him, ‘Go down and warn the people so they do not force their way through to see the Lord and many of them perish.’ “ Exodus 19:20-21 (NIV)

God is good, and because He’s good, He can know how fully awesome He is without any measure of arrogance. He is the very definition of awesomeness. No one is better. It’s not bragging if it’s true. And so, knowing full well of His own greatness and the measure of love He is capable of bestowing, God expected the Israelites to run full speed at the mountain. He warned them not to because He’s also aware of what His holiness does to unholiness. He wanted to protect them, and He thought that warning was necessary because He couldn’t even imagine His people not being eager about meeting with Him.

If your heart is anything like mine, you might need tissues before reading what happened next. Because, you see, our perfect God was not mobbed by throngs of adoring fans. The mountain was not charged. They did not approach to the point they’d been allowed to in hopes of catching a glimpse of His glory. No, they stayed at a distance and sent Moses with pathetic high school love notes addressed to the Creator of the Universe who’d rescued them to make them His.

When the people saw the thunder and lightning and heard the trumpet and saw the mountain in smoke, they trembled with fear. They stayed at a distance and said to Moses, “Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die.” Moses said to the people, “Do not be afraid. God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning.” The people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick darkness where God was. Exodus 20:18-21 (NIV)

We know that God is love, but do we stop to think about all that that means? Do we stop to consider that the all-knowing God of the universe will actually set His knowing aside and assume that we will love Him correctly, obey Him perfectly, and reach the full potential He intended in our creation? He is love.

“Love always trusts, always hopes.”

Love is not concerned about looking silly or being let down. Love doesn’t care about those things. Love continues to assume the very best even when history would prove that a foolish thing to do. Our Creator assumes the best about us, even though—at the very same time—He knows exactly what we will do. He never lets the knowledge of our future failures taint the hope He has for our success. He’s been rooting for our obedience and love since the Garden of Eden.

If, like me, you have just a sampling of this kind of love, hope, trust for another human being…don’t let the world steal it. They have no right to take what you have received directly from your Father. And after all, you’re just daring to follow in the footsteps of a God who fully believes you can.

About an hour ago, the kids and I were sitting around watching my laptop through the t.v. streaming our favorite Sabbath preacher. That might be a lazy way to have “church,” but it’s something below zero outside–and I don’t want to know how big that something is. This was the state of my windows, from the inside, this afternoon…

…which is why I reheated my coffee.

As we sat there, and the preacher spoke on our relationship with Jesus and how everything we do should be done out of a deep desire to please Him, my youngest daughter slipped from her spot and sneaked into the kitchen. My reflex action was to address her sneakiness, but the words caught in my throat. I coughed, and I turned to eye the rustling behind me, but I couldn’t see my daughter as she crouched behind the counter. Again, I intended to rebuke her. Again, I choked on the words.

I heard the tinkling of ceramic and the clang of metal, and I turned to look a third time. I watched as a chubby little hand attached to a tiny arm slipped my favorite coffee carafe back onto the counter. She tried to do so silently. She was almost successful. I couldn’t see past her elbow cause she was still crouching on the floor. I worried she was hittin’ the java until I noticed that my favorite mug was missing, too.

I turned my head back to the t.v. as she slowly, stealthily broke cover and headed toward the microwave. Out of the corner of my tearing eye, I watched as she tried to find the right buttons in the dark. I covered my mouth to hide elated giggles as the microwave beeped like crazy. She was able to warm the coffee about twenty seconds before opening the door in frustration and removing a barely warmed mug.

She carried it over to me quietly, not announcing her presence until she was standing directly before me–holding her offering in outstretched arms. The secrecy was important to her, obeying my wishes in the absence of an order. My children already know what I like, and coffee’s at the top of the list. She wasn’t appeasing me after a bad day or earning my love or my favor, she just wanted me to know that she loves me. She just wanted me to know that she knows me. I scooped her up and I thanked her. As I eyed the trail of little spills and tasted the lukewarm coffee, I nodded along to the words of my Father as He whispered, “Just like that. I want to be loved just like that.”

Now I think I’ll zap the coffee one more time as I open the Book that shares His heart and find out more about what He loves.

Jeremiah 6:16 Thus saith the LORD, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls. But they said, We will not walk therein. –KJV

I have long since struggled, still do, to find my place in the Old Testament. Jesus saves, no amount of law abiding can do that. Yet, I’ve known that there is righteousness in the law. God’s heart is there. David loved God and was blown away by His law! Like the bounds of marriage that are there to cradle and protect the home, David felt at home–gloriously cradled–within God’s law. He loved it even though he had to make continual sacrifice to absolve his inevitable lack of righteousness.

A once-for-all sacrifice has already been made for me. But does that mean that I don’t ask my God for the old paths? Does that mean that I don’t seek His heart for the treasures that lies in His law?

Matthew 5:¹⁴ “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. ¹⁵ Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.¹⁷ “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. ¹⁸ For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. ¹⁹ Therefore anyone who sets aside one of the least of these commands and teaches others accordingly will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. ²⁰ For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven. — NIV

When I was nineteen, I lived with and trained under a Jewish midwife and was quickly made part of the family. Not once in all the months I was there did I ever notice that bacon was missing. The love in that household flowed like wine–and so did the wine, come to think of it. I looked forward to her Friday night Erev, and even though she practiced quietly in the kitchen, that candle–her prayer was my favorite part of every week. The subtle ways in which she taught me were powerful. She reclined on the couch and joined us, and something was different. I now understand; it was the Sabbath.

Mark 2:²⁷ Then he said to them, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.  –NIV

To make a long story a little bit shorter, I’ve decided that the thing missing from my life, the reason for my exhaustion and unrest, was that oddly misplaced fourth commandment.

Exodus 20:8-11 “Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work,  but the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your male or female servant, nor your animals, nor any foreigner residing in your towns. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day.Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.” –NIV

I’ve felt God wooing me toward the Feasts and the Sabbath for quite some time; but apparently, my American mind rebels against fun and rest. And I joke, because we free in Christ are the best at these things, right? Funnily, I’ve never experienced the kind of rest that is now present in my life, and I’ve never had so much time to do everything He’s asked me to do. 

I’ve titled this post Sabbath for Americans, because this is simply the rough and inarticulate way in which we choose to honor the seventh day. There are so many fun and mysterious jewels involved in the traditional–old paths–practicing, but we’ve scratched the surface and adopted a few things as our own.

Two years ago, maybe closer to three, I decided that I wanted to observe the Sabbath. The only problem was that I almost completely forgot Preparation Day! So, by lunch-time, I was attempting to rest in what was basically a FEMA intervention waiting to happen. Not restful. What’s so great about the Sabbath, anyway?!

Ah! So to tell you about our Sabbath, I’m really going to tell you about our Preparation Day. I’ve just lived through one (a few hours ago) so it’s fresh in my mind. Preparation Day is the day Jesus was taken down from the cross. I didn’t know that, but now my kids do. We were listening to the Gospels a few nights ago and they all exclaimed, “Preparation Day! They’d better hurry!” I’m kinda in love with my kids.

Preparation Day starts at sundown on Thursday   as soon as the sun comes up on Friday on Friday morning, after I’ve had my coffee. Truthfully, I start to think about Preparation Day on Wednesday. That’s when I take a look at my laundry basket (which is usually not very full because I do one load–not counting pee, poop, or vomit induced extra loads–every day). Should I wash the blankets with the sheets this week? Whose pillows need to be bleached and fluffed? Does the slip cover on the couch need to be washed? And, umm…that last one is always a yes. I think about food, and I check my pantry. When Thursday comes, I step up the cleaning a bit. I might even move the couch when I sweep. Friday, though, that’s when the all out cleaning and cooking war commences. Friday is when we blare TobyMac so loudly that the neighbors start to think about moving. Friday is Preparation Day, and it looks a little something like this:

Today, I made eight loves of bread (four apple cinnamon, four garlic). I made dinner and dessert for tonight and breakfast for tomorrow. We’ll have leftovers for lunch. I washed every blanket and pillow in the house, cleaned out the fridge, cleaned the microwave, and finally organized my bedroom while my children swept, mopped, washed dishes, and put away laundry. I have to honor Tiny Dancer, here, because she has truly learned how to be a help. I don’t feel like I did much at all today, actually. That’s definitely thanks to her.

The great thing about Preparation Day is that you don’t cook and clean until you’re done (done might never happen). No, you just go, go, go until sunset. We’ve adopted the three stars tradition, and Lil Prince is our star spotter. He loudly announces the evening’s first star, and when the third star appears, he orders the neighborhood to ”Stop working!!!” Thankfully, my parents are my next door neighbors, so they appreciate his exuberance.

We’re usually seated at the table for awhile before he spots the first star. Sometimes, we even have time to wash a few of our dishes before the third star is excitedly spotted. The pots and pans have been cleaned in advance, our glasses stay on the table for the next day, and any remaining dirty dishes are stacked neatly beside the sink–because we’re done, put down your pencils and stop working d.o.n.e.

When we sit at our Sabbath table, time stands still. We’re exhausted from cleaning and overwhelmingly excited to enjoy our rest–to enjoy each other. To reflect. To pause. The kids are up past their normal bedtime on Friday night because we sit around the Sabbath table for at least an hour, laughing beneath the glow of a flickering candle. Heavy, earned, deep sighs are breathed as we soak in our love for each other and the Father’s love for us. I hear about what God has been teaching my children; I whisper what He’s been revealing to me. And as I tuck them into bed, I can hardly contain my joy at the last words they whisper before dreaming, “Happy Sabbath, Mama.” And tonight Bay Bit added, “God is Holy.”

Then, of course, there is all day Saturday. But I think this picture speaks for itself.

Once Papa Bear and I were married, we almost immediately began talking about children. I didn’t know I would want them so quickly, but watching that skinny Marine long for the fullness of family was the most endearing thing in the world. As I began to daydream about babies and children, I discovered something absolutely amazing about myself: I was the most incredible mother in the world!

Can anyone relate to that?

I wasn’t judgmental. I rarely, if ever, saw someone parenting contrary to my dreamed up methods and thought, “Oh, I will never let my kids act like that.” I just sat in quiet expectation and waited for my newly planted dreams to become a reality. I might as well admit that these dreams began to wilt about thirty-seconds after conception, though. I spent the first twelve of those thirty-six weeks in bed while my husband lived on Ramen and other such bachelor foods. To move meant to vomit uncontrollably, and to vomit meant to die–or to wish I would.

At twenty-weeks, doctors would learn what I’d known for awhile. The cause of my hyperemesis gravidarum was a pair of wrestling, trouble making girls. I knew then that God was giving me the gift of daughters. I know now that He was also holding out two precious children, handing them to me ever so lovingly and saying, “Here, hurry up and fail. I’ll be here when you finally realize you can’t do this.”

On my list of pre-pregnant musts and “to-dos” was a very strict no-yelling rule. I broke that one about twelve weeks into parenting in a sleep-deprived, colic-induced panic. I’m not sure I’ve ever admitted that to anyone. I yelled at my twelve week old infants! Once I had four (just thirteen months later), yelling–struggling not to yell–became a weekly battleground. I would not yell. I was not a yeller. I was not was not was not that mom!

But if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck…

I was quickly becoming the one thing I had determined never to be.

Over the course of the past six years, I’ve talked about my tone with friends and mentors and pastors. I’ve pleaded for prayer and told them how desperately I desired to be the honey-speeched mother who led her children through encouraging whispers. They’ve prayed over me, advised me, comforted me. But when I’ve woken to find the results of a midnight raid or found my favorite face wash used as Barbie’s bubble bath…I’ve still yelled. I’ve yelled (lost it, blown-up) and apologized, yelled and apologized. I’ve repented through tears. And I’ve gone to bed, on so many nights, feeling like the world’s biggest failure–at the very least, the world’s worst mom.

A month and a few days ago, after my regular bi-monthly Bible study where we’re taught all things parenting and marriage, a sweet friend and I sat up late and talked. We talked until three in the morning. We were both struggling, first and foremost, with the same issue in our parenting; we lamented our lack of success and then both agreed to pray continually for each other.

So many things can be said between eleven p.m. and three a.m., but I remember mourning one thing specifically, “I know God can deliver me from this curse of yelling, but I just wish He’d done it while my kids were too young to ever remember a yelling mom.” We both agreed on that point. We both sighed.

When I finally crawled into bed that night, it was close to four a.m. I felt certain I had ruined my Wednesday before it really started, and I mumbled half a prayer before falling asleep mid-breath. I woke up at seven with the same hair color, the same stretch marks, and the same ten extra pounds as the day before. I wasn’t taller or shorter. But before I opened my eyes I saw a picture in my mind. It was of a simple glass jar, and scrawled on the front in black Sharpie was one word: “Mean!”

I was as happy as a pig on Hanukkah. I knew God was showing me something important! I sat up in bed and asked Him about what I had just seen, and then I ran to the living room to greet my children and to tell them about our new plan.

I stuffed about twenty tickets into a large brown envelope, and I wrote the following on the front:

If I yell at you, put a ticket in the jar.

If I receive ten tickets in four days, I owe you an “I’m sorry” party.

If I receive zero tickets in four days, we’ll have a victory party!

I’ll empty the jar every fourth day.

I explained the plan to the kids, and they were all excited to help. Everyone was rooting for a victory party, and we threw our very first one only four days later. Two weeks and no tickets later, I sat in tears in my bathroom and talked with God about what had shifted. What had happened? It was then that He revealed to me the day He’d chosen to give me our simple, vastly ineloquent no-yelling plan. Some people call it the Day of Atonement. It’s also called Yom Kippur. From now on, I’ll call it the day I stopped yelling–the day I stopped trying to stop yelling–the day God stepped in and took over. It’s now the day I stopped apologizing to my kids for something I couldn’t change and instead let them battle with me. If think you’ve known joy, just wait until your six year old zooms through the living room, eyes your jar, and elates, “Mom, it’s still empty!! We’re beating the Devil!!” If you think your children respect you because you’ve done your best to hide your sin and struggles, just wait till you’re washed in the respect that comes after laying bare your flesh and allowing them to witness your victory.

When you come to my house, you’re welcome to take a peek in the “Mean!” jar. It’s right out for all to see. Right now, there are two tickets in there. I earned one while I was trying to take a shower in the middle of the day and the other one while I was trying to pay a bill via an automated system. I’m so excited I get to empty the jar tomorrow morning! I’m a human being, and that’s OK–or at least, it’s been paid for. He knows all about my failure. He knows all about what I can’t do without following step for step in His plan. When He gave me my wonderful children, God winked at me and said, “Here, fail.” For it is only in my failure that I learn, and it is only in my weakness that I fall broken into the arms of my Savior.

My sweet, wonderful, incredibly beautiful, ten years covered in prayer sister-in-law became my sister, tonight. Never give up hope, y’all.

And now what are you waiting for? Get up, be baptized and wash your sins away, calling on his name.

This Martian bakery was like nothing I’d ever seen. I apologize in advance for the dream you will have after reading this. If you live within driving distance of a Krispe Creme, you might ask a neighbor to lock your house from the outside tonight. There were doughnuts filled with rich creme in all flavors. There were doughnuts with crumbled cookies as sprinkles. There were cherry doughnuts filled with real cherries. If you can dream it (or, more accurately, if I can dream it), it was there.

In true Martian form (I’m guessing), these doughnuts were in large bins and everyone pushed undersized shopping carts which they would fill to the brim with these apparently raw doughnuts. They didn’t look raw, but they must have been. Why else would people (and of course, I mean Martians) have been tossing them into a vat of hot oil upon reaching the end of the line?

There is absolutely no way I would remember this dream if I hadn’t dreamed it while summering with my best friend. When you tell someone your hilarious dream (surely to be at peak hilarity immediately upon waking), it has a tendency to stick–especially if that person reminds you of it at least once a year.

A few days after dreaming my dream, about twenty-four hours after the cravings waned, I sat in a large-circle family meeting with the family that is almost mine. My best friend’s dad–my longest running second dad–led the meeting and asked everyone to share what the Lord was speaking in our quiet times and in our dreams. I can’t remember who spoke or what they said, I just remember the eventual lull in conversation, and that it was in that lull that my friend leaned in and whispered, “Tell them about your dream.” And then I ruined the rest of the meeting with repressed and explosive giggles.

Some of you, at least one of you, are in a season of doughnut dreams. The world is speaking at least a little bit louder than the Spirit. And maybe you’re bummed about this. Maybe you desire a fresh taste of the Gospel, fresh fire that dims your world. I want to encourage you that as long as you keep on craving it–seeking Him, revival is coming. But don’t be afraid to embrace the silliness. Despise unholiness, yes. Doughnuts, no.

On the 15th of February, I was minding my own business, lounging on Bossman’s couch with a cup of coffee, when God told me to write a book–a devotional–on forgiveness. Y’all know that the topic of forgiveness is near and dear to my heart, so I was immediately excited! He even gave me the title, which is lovely–you’ll have to wait for the official release to know more, though. I promise that will be very soon.

Papa Bear was in the room, and as I heard “clues” in my spirit regarding the book, I immediately relayed them to him. As outside my own body, I heard myself say, “And I’m supposed to write it from the first of March to the thirty-first of March…and then publish it a few months later!” What?! How on earth was I supposed to write a book in 31 days while homeschooling, parenting, packing, and moving?!  Impossible. I must not have heard from God.

Still, the excitement lingered so intensely that I couldn’t shake it. I kept telling people about it; I couldn’t help it. This was going to happen, somehow. But on the first of March we were just barely moved into our newest in the series of temporary housing. Papa Bear was getting his toes wet in his new business. Life was as chaotic as it has ever been. It was not the time to write a book, so I very sternly rebuked myself for thinking I could hear that clearly and specifically from God. After all, we all know that God does not ask people to do impossible things!

Ahem.

I could tell this story in such detail that no one would reach the end of this post alive. Instead, I think I’ll just skip ahead. I don’t know how it happened, I didn’t make myself a schedule or follow a plan, but when I stopped writing, when the book was completely unedited but finished, it was 12:05 on the morning of April 1st. It wasn’t until then that I was even fully convinced God had spoken to me. My mouth fell open, and then I dropped to my knees and I cried.

Of course, I then wanted to know if the book was any good, so I began dragging ladies from the four corners of friendship into a private focus group on Facebook. They read it, liked it, commented on it, and critiqued it. Now I understood why I was not instructed to publish it immediately after writing–or so I thought. My spare minutes were consumed with editing, planning, commissioning artwork, and taking pictures. There was not a single person on the whole entire planet I was mad at. I was ready to publish my book on forgiveness and change the hearts and lives of women everywhere!

And then my husband walked out the door.

When Papa Bear left, in December of 2010, I was shocked. We’d hit a rough patch, but I never dreamed he’d walk out. We were over four years removed from what had been the powerful destructive forces in our marriage. We’d survived so much and had overwhelming victory. I no longer felt that I was fighting for my marriage…I was enjoying it. Satan convinced my husband of the opposite, however, and that led to an eight month separation that I vehemently opposed and, at least in prayer, protested.

When Papa Bear came back home last summer, he wasn’t ready. And I knew he wasn’t ready, but I hoped God would continue to heal his heart as he lived in and led our home. I’m going to be very real with you here and risk dishonoring my husband, but Papa Bear never did allow God to heal him. So, sadly, when he walked out again in the second week of this past April, I wasn’t shocked. I was sad, but I wasn’t shocked.

Now, I know some of you are wondering what I plan to do about moving on. It is with fear and trembling that I tell you I am still not fully ready to give up on my marriage. And it’s with terror (because I hate confrontation), that I tell you the Bible does not–God does not–allow for Christians falling out of love simply for the sake of falling out of love. Love is effort, love is evident…true love is not an emotion. If the unbeliever departs, we [the immovable believer] are to let them depart. But the one in love with Jesus simply loves.

Yes, there are valid, more than valid, reasons for divorce! But people in love with the Lord Jesus do not get divorced due to lack of feelings. Not ever. That is the world’s doctrine, but it should not be adopted by the Church. I believe that my husband was created to walk with Jesus and be the vibrant and successful head of our home. I know that God has spoken that on several occasions. Do I know that Papa Bear will become a radically changed man after God’s heart and begin to seek God’s will for his life and for our marriage? No, I do not know that. If I say that I “know” that, I’m speaking out of faith–words of life–not out of delusion. I plan to continue speaking life for as long as HE empowers me to do so. But I do not “know” what the end result of my faith will be.

When I’ve thought about my marriage over the past few months, God has continually brought Mary, Martha, and Lazarus to my mind. Specifically, He’s reminded me of these few verses from John 11:

5When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” ⁵ Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. ⁶ So when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days, ⁷ and then he said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”

 

It was not in spite of, but because of Jesus’ great love for Lazarus and his sisters that he stayed away long enough for Lazarus to die. There can be no resurrection without a complete, coroner stamped death. And Jesus loves raising things [people, dreams, callings] back to life!  Jesus’ words regarding her brother’s sickness must have made their way back to Mary. Her Savior promised that her brother’s sickness would not end in death, so her mind probably swam in dark circles as she wrapped his body and relinquished him to the darkness of their family tomb. When Jesus finally arrived, she wept at his feet when what she wanted to do was grab Him and shake Him…making sure He fully felt her pain. “Jesus, if you’d only been here!!” she wailed, still cautiously hopeful that He’d come to help.  And He had, He always does, but before raising Lazarus from the dead, Jesus wept. He feels every ounce of our pain!

Currently, I’m planning to accept my marriage’s death with a certificate of divorce (one that I will be filing). I am still hopeful for a resurrection, but what God does with my hope is up to Him. I am willing, and I will trust Him, either way. I now know more confidently than ever that I do hear Him. And it is that voice, and that voice alone, that will guide me from here.

Needless to say, there was a pause in the progression of my book after Papa Bear left. A few pages would even have to be rewritten to reflect what was now true in our home. But somehow, after just a few days of freeze tag, my muscles burning from standing so still, God reached down and pressed play. I begin to watch life move and grow all around me, and I realized something I might never have known in a happy marriage: I had fully, finally forgiven my husband. I had fully, finally learned how to forgive.

And, based solely on the things written in Jesus’ manual, I’d written it all down in a book.

P.S. While I love to hear from you and would always regret closing the comments, this is a place for encouragement and exhortation. I have many people, as I hope you all do, who have the authority to speak into my life directly and in person. Please understand that the comments section of a blog is not the place for directive or instructive comments. Additionally, disrespect toward my husband will not be tolerated. Based on this criteria, all comments will now be moderated by an outside party. I hope you will understand.

Hey, I can dream, can’t I?!

Involving Baby Bear in the cleaning process is interesting, to say the least. He’s often so little help, or the opposite of help, that the older kids prefer me to take him away. But the kid has gotta learn how to clean, so lately I’ve been insisting.

“Baby, you be the trash man,” I said, handing him the bathroom trash can and asking him to pick up the small pieces of paper that are always, and quite mysteriously, covering my children’s bedroom floor.

“Trash Man!!” he hollered. And then he ran off to find a cape.

Apparently, when you are a three year old boy, any title ending in “man” denotes super powers.

He stomped and strutted and occasionally flew around the room…all the while picking up trash.

He even asked me to stoop for a whisper. And when we were mouth to ear, he promised me, “I will save you because I am trash man.”

What if we were all so excited about our gifts and callings? What would the church look like if we did everything with exuberance, in superhuman strength, to the glory of God…

…even if we were only picking up trash?

I wonder.