The German Bible

It's all because of Martin Luther, the Dreher family, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and C.S. Lewis...not necessarily in that order.  

In 1988, two 12-year-olds scribbled foreign words in notebooks in an attempt to learn another language. Corinne and I were best friends, both only children, both bilingual. My mom was Cuban; her parents were Swiss. We decided to teach each other Spanish and Swiss-German. Those lessons didn't last long, but the informal ones I was exposed to around the Dreher family have lasted my whole life.

I understood about immigration to America, and the community that forms around a language-speaking group. When my mom's family came to the Unites States in the early '60's, my grandparents grew a group of tightly-knit Spanish-speaking friends. Not all were Cuban; back then, anyone who spoke Spanish was a welcome friend for them in this strange land. I grew up around this circle of amigos, loving their culture and community. 

Vreni and Werner Dreher had a similar community of German-speaking friends. I would go to their house and be saturated in the Swiss-German they spoke to Corinne. I picked up some words, and especially felt the love of their culture. I went to their Lutheran church. Once, the entire service was in German! I didn't understand much, but was captivated by the sound and by the worshipers who had grown up speaking this strange language that was becoming familiar. 

Werner worked for a Swiss company. Corinne and I attended the Christmas party and I loved every minute of being around his colleagues and their families. He was an involved member of the Swiss American Society in our town, and in spring, Corinne and I worked at their booth overseeing the sale of desserts at the Spring Fling. I can still smell the meats, and hear the boisterous, cheerful, German music. This was a highlight of spring for us.

Vreni and her friend Rosemarie owned and operated the Deli Korner, a haven of food and products from German-speaking countries. My mouth waters when I think of the Fleischkäse and tea. I loved sitting there and laughing over lunch and conversation with friends like Barbel and Gerd. 

I try not to dwell on the regret I have over thirty years later that I didn't pursue German in school, or take advantage of having the Drehers at my disposal to teach me. Kids don't always appreciate the asset of another language, then as adults, we wish we'd have taken it seriously. I remind my children that now as I teach them Spanish. I'm eternally grateful to have been brought up bilingual, even though as a child I was shy about speaking it around others. I know that if children are exposed, the effort won't return void.

And for me, the German (or Swiss-German) hasn't been entirely lost. It's been there all along, simmering on the back burner of my brain. I've always had an interest in Alpine countries, in the charm of their folklore, in the pep of their people. I love tales of chalets, of animals deep in the forest. I had my own cardboard chalet as a child, that came with a Swiss Miss doll. It was big enough for my friends and me to play in, like an actual club house. I even married into a  Swiss family; my husband's ancestors came from St. Gallen. Corinne and he have said they might even be related, as her people were also from that area!

A pioneer of the faith that I admire greatly is Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He was martyred at the end of World War II for preaching Christ in Nazi Germany. I read the same book every Christmas of collections of his sermons and letters, God is in the Manger. Bonhoeffer's books are meaty and taxing to read. He has added to my interest in the German language.

Earlier this month, I read an outstanding book: Becoming Mrs. Lewis by Patti Callahan. This is the story of how Joy Davidman Gresham came to meet and marry C.S. Lewis. I've read many of Lewis's books, but Callahan's depiction of "Jack," as he was known, is captivating. I found myself envious of those who were invited to his lectures, and to talk about literature and life at his home in The Kilns. One tiny mention moved the long-simmering German pot from the back to the front burner for me: One quiet afternoon, Joy saw Jack reading his Bible; she wondered if it was perhaps in Latin, or in German.

I like to read my bilingual Spanish Bible, and I even have a Spanish-Latin book of prayers and Bible readings that I'll take down every now and then. But German! Now, there was an idea! 

Am I weird?, I wondered. Perhaps, but so was Jack Lewis. He and Tolkien made up entire languages, for Pete's sake! I felt like this was yet another way God was drawing me to who He created me to be, the girl who loves languages and learning, and ultimately toward Him, for His glory. I can't say exactly how He is using this, but I know there are probably a thousand reasons that I may never understand. 

I got online and found a Luther Bible. My girls and I had read in a school book that Luther had translated the Bible so that all Germans could understand God's Word, even before our King James was published. I read in the reviews that someone else had purchased a copy for the same reason, and that it had helped him immensely, not only to learn German, but to grow in God's Word.

I've started a special time that I look forward to every afternoon. God and I take this Bible and sit either at my desk with a candle, or outside on my bench. We first read the English, then the German. I pull out my translator and closely examine the words. We read over it another time or two. Then comes the really fun part: I listen to the audio on the Bible app! Boy, does that rattle off those words fast! As he speaks, I follow along in the Bible, enjoying the cadence of the speech. I ask God to help me understand! Sometimes I repeat phrases aloud. By the end of this time, my brain has fed on serious protein, and I've had a good mind workout! 

Thank you, my friend Jack Lewis: 

(There may be a German Bible on this desk!)

Thank you, brave Martin Luther: 

Thank you, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, for spurring me on in the cost of discipleship: 

And to Vreni, Corinne, and Werner, and their Swiss and German-speaking community, Danke vielmals! Gott liebt euch alle. 

(Vreni, Corinne, and Werner with Rosemarie Schwendeler [bottom center], and Corinne's aunt and uncle [from Switzerland]). 

 
Memories of what started it all: 

Werner played Santa (he sounded like St. Nikolaus!) at his work Christmas party, counting on Corinne and me to act as elves and hand out candy. (1990)

Corinne's confirmation, St. John's Lutheran Church, Spartanburg, SC, 1991. I was trying hard to be cool, surrounded by Corinne's family: Werner's sister, Rosemarie in background, Grossmami, Corinne, Vreni, me, and Vreni's brother. Werner must've taken the photo. 

With dear Werner, 1994. 

Just two weeks ago, sweet Vreni went to be with the Lord. She and Werner, who passed away in 2010, both knew Christ as their Savior. I wish I could practice my German with them, and hear Werner's booming voice correcting my pronunciation. He'd probably laugh at the "old-sounding" 1500's German I'm learning, as one who might learn English from the KJV. I liked to make him laugh!

Dank dir Jesus ❤️

To all the wonderful people in the Swiss and German-speaking community: Please excuse the use of "German" when the idea might be Swiss. It's kind of like in the Spanish-speaking community, when referring to the "Spanish" language while someone is from the Caribbean, or South America. Now we have the word "latino" to help us express anyone from any Spanish-speaking area. I wasn't sure how to get around this with my Swiss or German-speaking friends, and hope not to offend. I appreciate all of you, and your countries and culture!

--JBW

Coming Down From Chaos

When you've had a succession of busy days or months (or years), do you feel the need to "come down" from the chaos? I certainly do! The things filling up this time might all be good, but even so, they leave me breathless and desperate for a rest. God made our bodies to need rest, and He demonstrated this by resting after creating the universe. Jesus confirmed that the Sabbath was made for our rest. But, boy...it can be hard to stop!

The funny thing is, it can take me a while to rest, even on rest days! I find myself finding it hard to settle down all morning, and not really "resting" until two or three in the afternoon! In his book Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, Peter Scazzerro addresses this in detail. He speaks to the fact that although it's counterculture these days to stop and rest (he even calls it "doing nothing"), God's design for us never changes. We're left tired because we go, go, go. 

Isn't this little spread lovely? Several weary women flopped down at this outdoor table one Thursday evening some weeks ago. We chatted, laughed, shared stories, threw in some talk about Charlotte Mason's methods, and enjoyed each others' company. What refreshment!

Back to the busyness. The past few months have consisted of us deciding to downsize, getting rid of stuff (where did all of that come from??), launching into a whirlwind adventure of a fast house sale and buying one half its size, having a charming three-week respite at Ravenswood (see past post), then moving to our sweet tucked-away, over-fifty-year-old "new" house. 

Somehow we started back with school, then the month of May brought three tennis tournaments, two of which are big, special, out-of-town ones. As much as our family enjoys the sport and our daughters love to play, we are intentional about participating just once or twice a month. However, May is always the busy tennis month, and this year proved challenging because of our tiredness from the move. This is what prompted me to reevaluate the Sabbath, making sure that we are intentional about keeping days of rest. Per Scazzero's encouragement, I also like to take mini-moments of rest throughout the day. I've been known to drop my cares outside:

Poetry is something I'm also learning to love. Homeschooling has done that for me; my own experience in school caused me to dread poetry, as I was forced to write it while uninspired, or pick it apart for something my teacher was looking for. How refreshing it is to experience it for poetry's sake, to use it for cursive practice, and for our enjoyment of something beautiful:

May also brought several end-of-year activities, which meant planning and preparing. I felt sometimes like I was drowning in a fog, thinking about school, laundry, menu planning, cleaning, and when to practice for all those tournaments. These things that I love on a regular basis started to suffocate me. The devil loves to do this to us, take things in which we normally delight, and cause them to create havoc in our lives. I daily had to step back and breathe. Normally, we don't live activity to activity, in a state of chaos. No wonder people these days are frazzled, with no time. I had to purposely get lost in the roses: 

I said yes to my mom's invitations to the lake, even when there was housework and other stuff to do. 

Who wouldn't be invigorated after an afternoon at this place? There's no question that the hot South Carolina sun, the wind whipping my face and hair on a boat ride, and Jim's hot dogs followed by the ever-expected ice cream sandwich, all contribute to putting my brain back in order. 

One of our tournaments was in Greensboro. We found a cottage from 1900 in Winston-Salem, and stayed there for the weekend. The neighborhood is being revitalized, and houses over a century old are coming back to life: 

On the Saturday morning of our stay, I relished some moments on the front porch, praying and reading Scripture, enjoying the view of an old street, gazing at the big, red house across on the corner, and examining a blue jay who became my momentary companion.

During this time of unusual busyness, my dad developed an infection that landed him unexpectedly in surgery and in a long recovery, where he still is. Another thing continuously looming about in my mind is church. As our move put us over 40 minutes from our church home, we've been searching closer to where we live. I've long desired for church and community to be in the same place, and the search for a church home is neither easy nor a quick process. We've been surprised by the idea of home church, and are exploring this with great care and lots of prayer. 

Alongside all the activity and mind exercise, I've suffered physical anxiety and been very near to panic. People respond to stress in different ways. My stomach takes a beating, and in extreme times, I launch into a fog, losing focus, feeling short of breath and almost like an elephant is standing on my chest. There has been lots of prayer, and lots of stopping to regain focus. 

Thankfully during this time, my daughter made homemade monkey bread! 

When we were putting our house on the market, I had a few moments of tears as I sat in my cherished "red room." This room is where I started my days, at my grandmother's old secretary desk, after prayer in a yellow chair I bought some years ago at an antique store. I couldn't bear the thought of giving up my red room, and prayed for a new spot, one that I'd enjoy just as much.

This photo of my grandmother's living room was taken sometime in the 1970's: 

I remember when this furniture was reupholstered. It was around 1984, because I was about eight years old. I went into the house, and the room was empty. When I inquired about the furniture's whereabouts, my joking Papi said that some man had come by and said it was his, and had taken it. I knew better.

This furniture was acquired by my great uncle, Narcy Quintero, in New Jersey. Evidently, a friendly neighbor old lady left it to him, and she had gotten it from England. He offered it to my grandmother, who had to pay a whopping $25 to have it shipped to South Carolina. And the rest is history.

That furniture (still covered in the upholstery from '84) now sits in my new special place, the room that is the answer to my prayers:

 ...and I still spend my quiet times at the secretary: 

It's among these things that I'll be taking some good, long rests for the rest of this week. The final trip for a while was a four-day stint in Cary, the home of an incredible tennis facility where my daughter played in a southern level junior tournament. She kept winning, so we kept staying! I love the buzz of excitement at these events, the friendships made between girls and their parents, and the fellowship of seeing these friends, especially those we've gotten to know from all over our state of North Carolina. The competition was fantastic, and the time spent with my girls was wonderful. The highlight of the trip was watching my daughter play on a stadium court, with its own chair umpire calling the score! 

But now we're home, and are purposefully taking the next few days off from much of anything. I think I'll need several days to "come down" from it all!

Until next time...

Shame & Vulnerability

Aren't they serene? I have wished often for quietness of mind, and there's much behind this that I've discovered over the past few years. Currently, I'm wrestling through Curt Thompson's The Soul of Shame. This book is for everyone, since we are all sinners who deal daily with the effects of shame. Most people have no idea of the role that shame has played in our personal disintegration. 

As the Lord uproots this painful shame, I'm drawn to the call to be vulnerable with others and with Christ, rather than allowing certain situations to cause mental paralysis, or "stasis," as Thompson calls it. I've felt this often, the state of almost complete mental breakdown or fog when I feel shame. Just today an incident occurred that required my vulnerability with God, and I feel that it can be further brought into the light by sharing it with you.

One thing to note: It's true that "shameful" incidents aren't necessarily what the world would see as a big deal, or something that seems overly traumatic. The enemy is crafty in setting up years and decades of subtle shaming tactics. 

Because our move put us farther from our beloved Missio Dei Church, our family decided to start the process of finding a church closer to where we now live. As community is vital to vulnerability, we long to be close to our church, able to attend regular functions. We've been attending a church that we really like, and were there today. At the end of the service, my family exited ahead of me. I knew we needed to get home to have lunch and change before an outing the kids were taking, but stayed behind chatting with some kind ladies who had introduced themselves.

When I eventually turned to leave, I noticed that the line out the door was long; the pastor sits at the doorway and shakes everyone's hand as they exit. I realized it would take a while to reach the door if I stood at the end of the line, so I went to the side, bypassing the line. I saw a side door and considered going out of it, but being new, I feared ending up somewhere I didn't want to be, since we still don't know our way around the building. I decided the easiest move was to slip behind the pastor at the door, but this required me to also go past everyone in the line. 

When I reached the doorway I saw a dear acquaintance there with her kids, to whom I said a few words, and I also excused myself for going through the people. For a split second, I turned and faced the people in line, many of whom seemed to be looking at me. I caught a glimpse of Mrs. C--'s sweet, kind face. Suddenly, I had a horrible feeling: I looked like I was breaking in line to see the pastor, rather than simply slipping past the people and out the door to find my family! And just when I attempted to tiptoe behind him, he turned directly to me, and addressed me by name! I wanted to pass out from the shame of seemingly cutting in front of that whole line. Just when I thought I'd squeeze past everyone, Pastor M. looked me squarely in the face!

All I could think was, We're new, and those people will now recognize me as the Lady Who Cuts in Line! I felt sick, wondering why I hadn't gone through that blasted side door. I worried all the way home, feeling the crippling shame described by Dr. Thompson in his book. I knew God was inviting me to walk into this feeling with Him, to have a discussion about what's really happening in my heart. 

This seems to be how healing happens. When I recognize this feeling of shame, I must walk into it with Christ and others rather than suffocating in it alone. I sat by the archway in my new back yard in the sun, looking at the blue sky, green grass, and colorful flowers, and had a transparent talk with Jesus. I told him I worry about being like others who I've seen push their way to the front. I felt like I did twenty years ago when I did just that, and a lady called me on it. I felt like the whole church would now see me as the Lady Who Cuts In and is Inconsiderate (picture that in neon lights). I kept seeing Mrs. C--'s kind face, and Pastor M's, full of grace and understanding, entirely void of condemnation. 

I moved to the bench on my front porch and dared to ask God again to erase the incident (which I describe in detail in another post, God Erases), which led to more discussion. Do I hesitate to believe and receive this because it seems unbelievable? Aren't God's ways indeed infinitely past understanding? Do I feel like asking Him to (again) "erase" it is one time too many, and a copout to boot? If I know that He delights to give me bread and not a serpent, and that He is able to do exceedingly and abundantly above all that I think or ask, why do I hesitate to believe He'll "erase" again and again? Christ talked to His disciples about believing they'd receive, about not having because they didn't ask, and about how it delights the Father to give good gifts to His children.

What I'm writing in this blog is a transcript of a lot that I wrote in my journal. In the journaling part of this process, I was reminded about my friend Pastor Jim's comment to me a while back, that I was "overthinking" another certain situation. Perhaps that's the case here, too; maybe none of those people thought a thing of it. I probably wouldn't have, and if someone else told me this, I may even think it was funny, like something that would happen to Ben Stiller. But to me, who I believe I am is very real. When something bumps up against a shameful spot in my heart, I now want to get to the bottom of it, and stop being in bondage. 

I believe the devil has worked hard to convince me that I have no sense, no social skills, that I'm uncouth and uncultivated. The Lord whispers to me that my deep concern shows the opposite. He and I continued this discussion over ninety minutes. He's teaching me many things, leading me into freedom. I feel like I have to be put in certain situations in order to face my shame and move toward healing it. The very thing I don't want to feel is precisely what I have to face with vulnerability. And by the way...this goes for all of us.

From the mouth of My Savior:

"Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full." John 16:24

"If you ask anything in My name, I will do it." John 14:14

"...whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you receive them, and you will have them." Mark 11:24

My soul is panting for Him, as the deer pants for water. May it always be so! 

Until next time...

Here & There

As you know, I find little bits here and there that I like to post. Here are some from the past two weeks:

We try to do nature study at least once a week. It's easier than it sounds: we venture out into the yard and find something from God's creation to draw. Sometimes we choose the same item; other times, our drawings are different. When there was stress about making this a masterpiece, a friend gave me good advice: in nature study, we're scientists, not artists. We try to capture the intricate details of that living thing, like the dots on a petal, or the tear in a leaf. Whether you're eight or eighty, create your own nature notebook! This is our second year working in the same book.

How about a day at the spa...for your Barbies?

We found some old baby bath wash and the girls delighted in treating those tired, worn-out gals to a time of pampering! No Barbie tub needed; just a container and some imagination. Old baby washcloths make great doll towels, too: 

Here is a book that I just finished and highly recommend. Cindy Rollins's story is captivating, not just for moms or homeschoolers, but for any adult interested in education or family life: 

You can hear Cindy on the Circe Institute podcast, The Mason Jar. She and her guests impart much wisdom about teaching our children, as they share specific resources and personal stories about their own experiences. As a mother of nine, Cindy's point of view is valuable to all parents and educators. 

Speaking of a pearl of wisdom, here is one:

This quote was aptly timed in The Optimist's Good Morning, a devotional I enjoy every day, right after a group of friends and I discussed this very issue. We had a rich discussion around our dinner table Tuesday night about what a tragedy it is that children are being shoved these days into a one-size-fits-all model of learning. Well-meaning parents push their teenagers into four-year college without regards to the fact that that individual might rather study plumbing, cosmetology, or work to save money while seeking God's path for his or her life. Thousands of dollars in debt pile up, often binding the student to a career that he realized (only too late) isn't his heart's desire. The work of a mail carrier is no less noble than that of a physician; the world would be a mess if we all walked the same road.  

On a lighter note, how about some kitchen-floor hockey?

A yard stick, some tape and cardboard...throw in that oversized checker from the Cracker Barrel game, and presto! Instant fun, and lots of goals!

Here is a funny page from How to Keep Well by Albert F. Blaisdell, M.D., published in 1895. This is the kind of living book from which our children should be learning about the human body and it's wondrous design. Our kids learn so much about language and expression from reading such poetic prose. The lines before the ones in the following picture read, "Get at the market a knuckle of ham or mutton. Open the joint by cutting into it, and study what you see. Our own joints are made exactly after the same general..." (now keep reading):

This is much more fascinating than a dry textbook. Why not use a living book like this to teach children about the wonders of the human body? I encourage adults to read rich literature for your own growth, then pass it along to your kids. Have them tell back (without your interfering) what they remember in their own words. Students crave depth, not the sterile, insipid material they're presented these days. Try this method in lieu of the lifeless "comprehension" paragraph with silly questions that hardly any sane person can "comprehend."

Here is another example of delightful reading, from Gyo Fujikawa's A Child's Book of Poems:

Stop being afraid of poetry! All you have to do is read it and enjoy it! We associate poetry with the dreaded assignment of being forced to write it when not all of us are poets. Again, there's no need to force anything. Learning can indeed be fun. This poem was followed by gleeful requests to "Read it again!"

As I've mentioned, our community group meets every Tuesday. Each week, our meal looks something like this:

We eat to our fullest, and love each other with messy, real brotherly love. There's nothing like fellowship around the table with my people, breaking bread and growing together. And what's in that pot in the left corner of the photo?

Boiled peanuts! You've not experienced the true south until you've tried Jeremy's all-day-long, salty, boiled peanuts. 

Finally, here's a quote that stuck with me. If only we truly grasped how God sees our sin once we repent with brokenhearted contrition...He doesn't. His Son's blood secured that for us, and may we find peace in this truth:

Until next time!

Hello from Nibbles!

Jumping Off the Train

"You're so lucky you get to stay home!"

"We're on my insurance, so I have to work."

"I'd go crazy at home all day!"

"I don't know how you do it."

My husband encouraged me to write this post in response to comments like these that I hear on a regular basis. He and I often discuss our culture train, and that many intelligent people seem to have a hard time swimming against the current. They want to complain all day, yet experience near-insanity because nothing changes. 

It makes me think of the scene in "Fried Green Tomatoes" where Idgie and Ruth are on the train, throwing canned goods to the poor, and they realize they have to jump off. With the train still moving at full speed, the two plunge off, Idgie with a triumphant "Tawanda!!!", both rolling some distance and choking on flying dust until they realize they made it. I can attest that making the plunge off the train is scary. I incur remarks because I've jumped and survived. If you're fearful, please stop attempting to cover your own anxiety by patronizing those who have made the leap.

Let me say clearly that this is for those who have brought up these things with either us or someone else. I'm not addressing the single parent who may be making the best of an unfortunate situation. This is for those who love to bemoan their busyness and lot in life...especially those who are professed Christ-followers...yet refuse to step off the treadmill. 

This is hard to live out:

"I beseech you, therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service." (Romans 12:2, my italics).

Aren't we wowed by stories of folks who decide to sell everything, quit their jobs, and tackle missionary work in some dangerous country where they don't know the language or customs? No doubt it's the calling of some, and a noble one. Because of their obedience, the good Gospel news is being shared, and Christ is glorified.

The truth is, it's no less noble (or scary) to be obedient to that same call, to go out on a limb and tackle the missionary work of being busy at home. Yes, you may be called to radically sacrifice. It could be cutting back hours or quitting your job altogether; it might mean not going out to dinner as much, or refraining from vacations in order to afford more time with your kids and spouse. It might look like finding your own insurance, or selling your house and down-grading so you can stay home. The issue I see in our culture is that many folks are either afraid or simply aren't willing to "cut back" anything; me-time and my "identity" trump sacrifice and reasonable service. If I have to give up my [fill in blank], forget it. And the saddest part is that it remains a chasing after the wind, because that train just keeps going and going, and we can't keep up. We weren't meant to.

Eleven years ago, this was my situation: I had a high-paying job selling pharmaceuticals; in fact, I made more than my husband, whose business was in the uncertain stage of infancy. My car was paid for, as was all gas, insurance, and maintenance; we didn't pay a dime for my cell phone. I made bonuses of at least $10,000 regularly, sometimes more. My insurance package covered any medical condition for both my husband and me. We lived in an affluent neighborhood with no worries about paying our mortgage. 

When the double pink line showed up on the stick, there was no question about my continuing to work. Why wouldn't I? We had a lifestyle to maintain; the insurance was because of my job, and my car and phone were paid for. How else would we keep all that, plus live in that expensive house? I'd have to find someone to keep my child...isn't that how things roll in this culture? 

Then the gnawing started....the Holy Spirit. My husband was in total agreement; although numerically it seemed impossible, I would have the baby and quit my job. 

Goodbye, car.

So long, insurance.

See ya, cell phone.

House, it was nice knowing you.

If God calls us, we can trust Him to work out the details. Please read that sentence again. That goes for the missionary to Africa, or the missionary at home changing diapers and wiping spit-up off your clothes. Your role is no less noble. Why on earth would I trade raising my children for pampering ungrateful doctors who complain that the free lunch set before them isn't gluten-free? For insurance and a car...really? Let's please re-think this.

I feel ridiculous even comparing this to the "living sacrifice" that those in other countries endure for Christ. Some folks have no choice, and I get that. Again, this is for those who could get off the train, but won't because of crutches that have become too easy in our country. They shouldn't be allowed to be the norm. Some have endured beatings for obedience to the Lord; others have been beheaded. If you know God is calling you to radically change your lifestyle (and it wouldn't be "radical" anywhere but here), why are you being dragged kicking and screaming to do that which is your reasonable service?  

Frazzled chasing after the wind will never suddenly morph into satisfaction and joy. It's imperative to say these things because too many people talk to me about the overwhelming inertia of daily life, and how things are just "crazy." If this touches a nerve or tugs at your heart, maybe it's for you. I told these things to a lady once, and she went nuts, turning on me about how I needed to mind my own business. People want to vent as long as their frustration is affirmed. About six months later, this lady was ecstatic to tell me the changes she had made in her life, and how she was getting off the train. She has allowed God to see her family through in obedience, and she's not sorry that she jumped. You'll never regret for putting family first, no matter how weird it looks to the rest of the world. It's what you're supposed to do.

I didn't finish my story that I began! The dreaded call to my boss was met with, "You're doing the right thing. My wife has never been sorry she stayed home." It honestly wouldn't have mattered if he'd have told me to go jump. I knew God gave me that baby because no one else could be a better mom to her. We bought an eight-year-old van from a local professor. It wasn't fancy, didn't have leather seats, and had a tape player....it was four wheels, paid for in cash from savings. I was thrilled!

The day the "For Sale" sign went into the front lawn, a couple from Hawaii begged to see the house. Sold! We moved to a county with lower taxes, down-grading to a house that was $100k less. This was back in the days when individuals could manage their own insurance through a Health Savings Account (don't get me started), so we put aside money each month for that. Today, we participate in a plan called Medishare, a catastrophic plan where we pay as if we were cash-payers. And you know what? If a big bill ever comes (and it has), hospitals are happy working out a plan. Don't be scared that you don't have $10,000 to pay back all at once.

We eat out occasionally and it's a treat. We don't have credit cards, and if we can't afford it, we don't buy it. We're every retailer's worst nightmare. My idea of thrills is browsing Goodwill, or paying a quarter at the library for a discarded book. We don't have cable, but pay ten bucks a month for Netflix. Aldi is my home away from home.

All of this didn't come overnight. I was able to trade the hardwood for stained carpet and thin walls because I knew it was right, but it still was strange...for a while. What a blessing those years at that house were! I watched my babies grow, started homeschooling, and delighted in friendships with my neighbors. We had cookouts, played on the swing set (it had come with the house!), blew bubbles in the yard, colored pictures, and learned to live simply. I learned to grieve deeply in that house as I lost two babies in early pregnancy and a dear friend across the street. That house is part of my walk with God; it's part of who I am today, even though we've moved on.

If you're feeling empty because you're stuck on the train, I say with complete confidence that, although it's scary and weird at first, you will not regret jumping off. Rarely do we know what's involved in getting away from cultural norms, but we can guarantee there's a sacrifice. We have no idea what it has cost someone to be obedient; don't throw condescending statements at those who have had the courage to live contrary to the culture. Anything worth doing will indeed come with a price. Take it to the One who knows all about sacrifice, and let His blood cover yours.

On that note...

Here are some pictures I snapped of our pal Chippy, the sparrow who is delighting us with his presence for the second year in a row:

Singing at the feeder

His other favorite perch, outside the kitchen window

Until next time!

Advent Season

The season of waiting before Christmas, Advent, is meant to be savored in anticipation of the coming of Christ. I began last year to be more intentional about not getting caught in the trappings our culture has come to think are what Christmas is all about. While none of our favorite seasonal activities are wrong, it's too easy for me to become overwhelmed if I'm not careful. Nothing should be allowed to creep in and steal our focus on Christ's entrance into the world. The late Barbara Johnson, one of my favorites, wrote, "Set priorities, and practice saying no. Don't be afraid to change traditions if you can't cope with doing things the old way." I have to remain constantly vigilant.

I found this verse tucked in the folds of the seldom-read book of Amos, the Old Testament prophet. It popped off the page. Life comes when we seek the Lord! Jesus said this, too: "I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly." (John 10:10)

There is freedom in focusing on Christ...after all, He is the reason we celebrate Christmas! He enables us to find joy in those special things we associate with this season so that they don't become trappings. Eyes set on the Giver of Life  are able to enjoy the season and not become enslaved to it. Bondage to Christmas is the antithesis of the holiday; it's falling into the enemy's trap and contrary to the whole reason Christ came. I cringe when I hear people talk about Christmas as something weary, complaining of all they have to do, and what little time they have. Seek the Lord, and live.

Here I am at one of my favorite places, with one of my favorite people:

My friend Liz and I were at church about two weeks ago, and I had to have a photo of her gorgeous dress. She makes all her own dresses, and they are works of art! Liz is well-known at Missio Dei church (and, I guess in our area) for her exquisite wardrobe. She uses her God-given talent to glorify Him and spread the joy of Christmas in a unique way.

The girls and I couldn't ignore this in school:

I was taken aback when I realized that the attack on Pearl Harbor happened seventy-five years ago this year. I remember when I was in high school, it had been "fifty years ago," which seemed like a long time. The "Greatest Generation" is rapidly being taken from us by time, which has to march on. We are blessed to have had them as our grandparents, and to have heard their stories. Soon our World War II veterans will be but a cherished memory. This sentence was our copywork for the day, which the girls carefully put into their notebooks. 

Something we look forward to all year is baking gingerbread. This is not an activity to be hurried or crammed in between other events. There's the dough preparation, cutting out various shapes, baking the cookies, then finally the girls' favorite part: the decorating! I reserve several hours, and often an entire morning or afternoon for gingerbread. The fun and memories (as well as the finished product!) are well worth the time.

The girls had a blast and put hard work and time into these cookies. They are the folks at the racquet club where the girls practice tennis, and we took them right over as soon as they were ready. Notice the animals; these are the club dogs, Daisy and Dinho!

And you might guess who these are...the girls made cookies of themselves this year!

Our pastor recommended this book for Advent this year, and I'm enjoying spending time in it daily:

In addition to my usual reading of The Cloud of Witness (which begins daily readings during Advent and goes throughout the year), Bonhoeffer's selections provide profound growth during Advent. Each daily devotion takes only a few minutes to read, rich in ideas on which to meditate during the day. I like to read this in the morning and The Cloud at night. 

Here is a note from today's reading in God is in the Manger:

"...look up and lift up your heads, because your redemption draws near." Luke 21:28

I have written before about our church group that comes over every Tuesday. Our church serves several counties in western North Carolina, so we have people who go from near and far. During the week, groups meet in homes all over the area so that we can get to know those from the church who live close to us. Our group consists of thirteen adults and seven kids; the adults vary in age from twenty-five to forty-five, with some married, some engaged, some single, and some separated and standing for their marriages. We share a meal every week, then spend rich time in the Word and prayer. 

We have come to love each individual in the group as we share our lives together. Life is messy, and our group is a safe place. People can share deeply or not. I have noticed that it never takes long for a newcomer to feel like a part of our group. We are brothers and sisters in Christ who sharpen each other and spur one another on, growing more confidence to know each other and be fully known. 

This week, we decided to all provide appetizers and desserts, then we did a "white elephant" gift exchange with old stuff from our own homes that we didn't want anymore. One thing about our group: not only do we laugh and cry together...we EAT together! I wanted to make something special, but there was that time factor I mentioned earlier. 

I decided to try an easy Pinterest bark recipe. The girls and I used one bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips, a bag of Andes mint chips (a seasonal item; can also crush regular Andes mints), and some crushed Kit-Kats. All we did was put foil on a shallow baking pan, dump and combine the chips and mints, and put them in the oven for two minutes at 325. Once they were slightly melted, we took them out and the girls swirled it with toothpicks while I drizzled the Kit-Kat pieces over the top. This process took a total of maybe five minutes. We placed the creation in the refrigerator for a half hour to harden, then I took it out and broke the sheet into pieces. Instant Christmas bark!

This will be a must for future Christmases because of its ease, and the little time it takes. The possibilities are endless: omit the mint chips and just do chocolate with drizzled bits of coconut and almond for the Almond Joy fans in your life, or use white chocolate instead and drizzle it with crushed candy canes. Broken Reese's peanut butter cups would make a yummy topping for a plain chocolate version, too.

Liz and Burney were first to arrive, and he was donning his own unparalleled creation:

This wins the Christmas sweater contest! Burney is a coffee roaster and spoils us with freshly roasted and brewed coffee every week. This time, as he went around the kitchen and dining room serving it, he jingled everywhere he went!

What a feast we had!!!!!! I love the foretaste of heaven, fellowshipping over the table with my brothers and sisters. 

There was apple-cream cheese spread, regular cheese spread, ham croissants, a  beautiful meat tray, pizza bites, biscuits and a veggie plate that arrived later, corn, ambrosia, Oreos and Nilla wafers, chocolate chip melt-aways, mini chocolate chip cookies and ice cream, candy canes, and the bark. Our group knows how to have a meal!

Until next time....focus on the real reason for Christmas, our Creator and Sustainer, the Giver of Life. Although He should not be overshadowed by anything, don't be afraid to receive the joy that this season brings in the form of fun things. It is our receiving with gladness and not guilt or tiredness that we prepare to receive Him, our greatest Gift.

MERRY CHRISTMAS