....Continued.
Years ago, when I was in high school, the season of Autumn arrived, as is typical for it to do. And Autumn, being a particularly lovely season in our neck of the woods, being particularly resplendent with deep colors and perfectly crisp air, has always been what I would consider to be a particularly good time for a wedding (yes, I intended to use "particularly" three times in a one sentence).
My young Amish neighbor apparently thought so too.
She....we will call her Edna....had been engaged to a man with a cheerful disposition for a while, but as is their custom it only became public knowledge two weeks before when they got "announced" at church.
Wedding prep is a flurry in those two weeks. Friends and relations from literally all over the country make arrangements to halt their life and travel in, all the preparations that have to be done in broad daylight have to be arranged, and goodness sakes is there ever a larger amount of food to make...
Weddings are a BIG DEAL to Amish. This is where you meet potential future spouses, this is where you see family and friends you haven't seen since the last wedding, this is where you get caught up on everyone's life in more detail that what you put into a hand-written letter. It truly is a central feature to their social life, and unlike typical American culture, the men love weddings just as much as the girls do.
But cooking for a crowd as big as a wedding affords poses a problem when you are doing it in a house without refrigeration. In October most things can just be kept out in the cooled-by-autumn-air porch.... but what about all that MEAT?
That is something English-speaking neighbors come in handy for.
Our neighbors further down the road were happy to lend them their spare freezer and they piled and piled and piled in something like 100+ pounds of chicken.
The night before the wedding Jonas, along with two cousins who traveled in from Ohio, went to get the chicken from the neighbor, and on their way home stopped in to hang out with us for a while. Jonas said that he wanted us to meet his cousins, but whether or not that was true, and whether or not that was actually just a ruse so his cousins to see our house and drink our orange pop is neither here nor there.
I remember sitting and talking and having a fun little time like usual with them. Amish or not, 20 year old men are just 20 year old men, with the only exceptions being that a 20 year old Amish man quite potentially is married, has his own business, knows how to build a house with his bare hands from the ground up, can speak and write at least two languages fluently, has a bowl-cut haircut, writes in beautiful cursive much like the forefathers of America, and is essentially an expert in all things equestrian. But besides that, nothing much is different. :) So we had conversation like anyone would have conversation with 20 year old men.
I suppose they left our house around 10 that night and we didn't think much of it. I got ready for bed as usual, and had just retired to my room with a novel when knock-knock-knock, my mother comes to my door.
"Are you up for an adventure?" she asks.
Never one to turn down a closing-in-on-midnight escapade, I responded with a hearty affirmation and got myself redressed.
Upon entering the kitchen I was met by my mother, now also dressed, who said, "Well, the horse has run away.."
"What horse?"
"Jonas' horse. The one that was tied to our house while he was in here with us. The one that is carrying 100 pounds of chicken in the buggy strapped to it for the wedding in the morning....!"
"OH. MY. WORD."
Amish weddings without protein are not to be borne!!
Jonas returned with his cousins, as well as their fathers this time, and we decided that I would take Jonas and two of the cousins in my car, mom would take the dads and a cousin in her van, and off we went; like a fleet of rescue ships in the night.
Not knowing which way the horse had retreated, mom went one way with her troupe and I went the other, declaring the wedding site as our next meeting spot.
Now, despite the fact that the entire wedding meal for 300+ people was hanging in the balance on our Christopher Columbus skills did not seem to dampen our spirits. Even if the stakes are high, chasing a fleeing horse in the midnight hour with a car full of Amish boys and galavanting around the country-side can only be something that elicits quite the blithe set of emotions. We were all in something of a fuss.
On we gaily travelled, turning into every field driveway we came across and scanning the earth with my headlights, surveying every security-light lit yard, and chattering to each other in a cacophony of English and Pennsylvania Dutch, blending together like the proverbial oil and water, until I yelled to be heard "HEY NOW!!! If we are in my car, we speak English, because I know you boys are talking about me!!!" which was met by an even louder chorus of hoops and hollers and whatever the 20-year-old-Amish-boy equivalent to giggling is.
Onward still, ahead into the night we progressed. With no avail of finding the runaway horse with a buggy full of chicken, we came to the home where the wedding festivities were taking place in something less than 12 hours. Now this "driving in the driveway" business might not come across as a strange feat to you, but how often do you think that, not one, but two cars with bright shining headlights drive down a long Amish lane at midnight?!
Exactly.
Strange as it might seem in our hypersonic society, this was not something that goes unnoticed and was most definitely something you write home about, all the more clearly evidenced by every window pane being filled with at least three sleepy Amish heads peering out to see who had come for an ill-timed visit.
The boys rushed the house in a flurry of denim and straw hats to be met by kerosene lanterns now illuminating every crook and cranny of the large abode. Not two minutes later my boys emerge with more flashlights....and more Amish boys.
Everybody wanted in on the midnight foray.
Exceeding the seatbelt limits of my car, into my Dodge stratus now piled two more 20-somethings, making us a hunting party of 6.
The buzz in the vehicle now would have exceeded any hive and I had to lay down my English-only law again in almost no time at all. Do you know how hard it is the understand a punch line when it's said in Pennsylvania Dutch?!!! I would not accept to be left out of all the good jokes.
In a blaze of red tail lights we zipped out of the yard, heading for another place the horse might have known to go, still surveying the land for our runner.
But how had the horse gotten UNTIED I kept wondering? It all seems to me that something was smelling a little fishy...
At last we come to Jonas' best friends' house, thinking that maybe the horse knew to go there because it had been so many time, and to our delight as my headlights scanned the yard..............there was the horse!!!
And there was the buggy!
And there was the chicken!!!
All of them nicely tied up to a post.
WAIT.
What?!?!
Tied up???
:)
It would seem we all had fallen for quite the practical joke.
I don't know that stealing a buggy could quite be considered Grand Theft Auto, but it seemed to me from that point on that I really was right about all these boys. Amish or not, bowl-cut haircut or not, strange accent or not, a 20 year old boy.....is a 20 year old boy.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Amish don't apologize {Part One}
I'm pretty sure I have told you that I spent the majority of my life living in an Amish community.
Now, less than half a mile down the road from my parents' home is an Amish farmstead. All through my childhood years it had been residence to a quintessential Amish family, straw hats and horse & buggy and all the trappings, whose first names may or may not have been Benji and Fanny, and they may or may not have had a son named Benedict. How perfect.
The last handful of years, however, their house had sat empty, because they had moved to Missouri.
I should also mention that the community I grew up in the midst of was not a modern Amish community. They were not "new order" Amish, but "old order." They didn't wear light colors, they had very distinct looking hats and capps (what the women wear) and buggies. No running water in their homes. No electricity. These were not your tourist Amish. They were not either, however, the Amish you see plaguing TLC or Dateline. In my personal opinion, Amish like that are definitely not the norm, New Order OR Old Order. It's like most things, Wolfies, don't believe everything you see.
But in spite of their being an exceptionally conservative and private sect, my parents had somehow gotten to be in good standing with their community. My mom would drive them places when I was a kid, all of us packed into her van like sardines and me and my brothers turning green over their lack of soap and deodorant use. Sometimes on blustery cold winter mornings if we were out and saw the little children walking to school in the frigid temps we would give them rides. We would let them use our telephone for nothing, even though after the passing of a few calls here and there we were gifted with a pie. We were VIP customers to their Christmas candy stands every winter, knowing which shops to pass over because their candies tasted like kerosene and which ones were safe to take to our fancy city Christmas parties.
So maybe things like that is what gave us our good name with these people. I really do think, though, it was because we treated them like people and not like aliens, which is how a lot of people in our area treated them. We accepted them for what they were and built as much of a relationship with them as they would allow.
Ok, that's the history.
So sure enough, fast forward to two weeks after my brother moves out when, right before our eyes, a semi pulls into the neighboring yard one Saturday and out comes a small troupe of Amish we had never met before. Not from the area, they moved to our community because two of their daughters had married men from our community and moved here. So the rest of the family moved, too.
But this family was small and that was unusual to say the least when the average Amish going rate was somewhere north of ten, and somewhere south of 17. What was also unusual was that there was no father. Apparently the dad had left the family to become....one of us.... an "Englisher" as they say. And so as it stood there was a single mother, a daughter (about 24 yrs old), and.....(drum roll please)....a son!!! There was another man in the neighborhood! At about twenty years old, he would definitely fit the bill for the vacant male spot in my dad's life and in virtually no time he became what we started to call "the fourth son."
We will call him Jonas.
And Jonas was different. Not like most Amish boys that we knew. He was not a a head-nodder; one who followed their rules without questioning them. So maybe he was a kindred spirit to us and that's why we all hit it off so well. Oh he didn't do anything bad, don't go thinking that. For instance. He showed up at my house one day not long after they moved in and asked if we had a DVD player. "HOW IN THE WORLD DOES HE KNOW WHAT A DVD PLAYER IS???" my mom and I asked each other after we showed him to our movie room. But the truth was that we did and we didn't think it was a sin for him to use it. After all, it wasn't like he was watching some R-rated nastiness, he was watching an instructional video that came with the deer stand he just bought.
And then there was the time that he came over and asked if he could ever ride one of our bikes....under the cover of darkness, that is. He would return it right to where he had found it, he promised. And so we let him. Sure enough, he returned it, just as he had said. So we kept letting him. Or then there was the time(s) when he and a couple buddies came over and drank orange soda and ate the frozen pizza we made for them while they watched the 1997 comedy For Richer or Poorer, which hilariously depicts what might happen if two Manhattan-ite millionaires evade their taxes and flee to an Amish community to hide. And then there was the time when he and his sister and her fiancé came over and we all played a roaring good card game of Dutch Blitz.
Naturally then, we kept letting Jonas and his friends come over to our house to do these kinds of things because
A. We didn't think they were bad things.
B. We figured they would end up probably staying Amish and not turning into some runaway horror story if they had the ability to "rebel" in our house (i.e. orange pop, bike rides, deer hunting instructional videos, John Wayne movies, non-gambling card games, and the occasional Tim Allen comedy). And
C. My dad said, "Listen, our society would be a lot better if the worst thing our rebels did was ride bikes after dark..."
So we got to know a whole bevy of Amish boys and it made for many an entertaining evening.
But I think my very favorite story......
Will have to be continued.....
No. Of course I was not Amish.
Do I look Amish?
I never thought I looked Amish, but maybe I have been sorely mistaken all these years...
Anyway, I think it's time that I tell you one of my favorite stories about life in the midst of them.
But first, a little background. I have three older brothers and when the youngest of them went to college I thought my dad might go into permanent hibernation, seeing as now for the first time in 24+ years he was a in a house that was by population now dominated by women and not men. We can only imagine it must have been quite the adjustment.
To his elation, this predicament lasted only about two weeks.
Now, less than half a mile down the road from my parents' home is an Amish farmstead. All through my childhood years it had been residence to a quintessential Amish family, straw hats and horse & buggy and all the trappings, whose first names may or may not have been Benji and Fanny, and they may or may not have had a son named Benedict. How perfect.
The last handful of years, however, their house had sat empty, because they had moved to Missouri.
I should also mention that the community I grew up in the midst of was not a modern Amish community. They were not "new order" Amish, but "old order." They didn't wear light colors, they had very distinct looking hats and capps (what the women wear) and buggies. No running water in their homes. No electricity. These were not your tourist Amish. They were not either, however, the Amish you see plaguing TLC or Dateline. In my personal opinion, Amish like that are definitely not the norm, New Order OR Old Order. It's like most things, Wolfies, don't believe everything you see.
But in spite of their being an exceptionally conservative and private sect, my parents had somehow gotten to be in good standing with their community. My mom would drive them places when I was a kid, all of us packed into her van like sardines and me and my brothers turning green over their lack of soap and deodorant use. Sometimes on blustery cold winter mornings if we were out and saw the little children walking to school in the frigid temps we would give them rides. We would let them use our telephone for nothing, even though after the passing of a few calls here and there we were gifted with a pie. We were VIP customers to their Christmas candy stands every winter, knowing which shops to pass over because their candies tasted like kerosene and which ones were safe to take to our fancy city Christmas parties.
So maybe things like that is what gave us our good name with these people. I really do think, though, it was because we treated them like people and not like aliens, which is how a lot of people in our area treated them. We accepted them for what they were and built as much of a relationship with them as they would allow.
Ok, that's the history.
So sure enough, fast forward to two weeks after my brother moves out when, right before our eyes, a semi pulls into the neighboring yard one Saturday and out comes a small troupe of Amish we had never met before. Not from the area, they moved to our community because two of their daughters had married men from our community and moved here. So the rest of the family moved, too.
But this family was small and that was unusual to say the least when the average Amish going rate was somewhere north of ten, and somewhere south of 17. What was also unusual was that there was no father. Apparently the dad had left the family to become....one of us.... an "Englisher" as they say. And so as it stood there was a single mother, a daughter (about 24 yrs old), and.....(drum roll please)....a son!!! There was another man in the neighborhood! At about twenty years old, he would definitely fit the bill for the vacant male spot in my dad's life and in virtually no time he became what we started to call "the fourth son."
We will call him Jonas.
And Jonas was different. Not like most Amish boys that we knew. He was not a a head-nodder; one who followed their rules without questioning them. So maybe he was a kindred spirit to us and that's why we all hit it off so well. Oh he didn't do anything bad, don't go thinking that. For instance. He showed up at my house one day not long after they moved in and asked if we had a DVD player. "HOW IN THE WORLD DOES HE KNOW WHAT A DVD PLAYER IS???" my mom and I asked each other after we showed him to our movie room. But the truth was that we did and we didn't think it was a sin for him to use it. After all, it wasn't like he was watching some R-rated nastiness, he was watching an instructional video that came with the deer stand he just bought.
And then there was the time that he came over and asked if he could ever ride one of our bikes....under the cover of darkness, that is. He would return it right to where he had found it, he promised. And so we let him. Sure enough, he returned it, just as he had said. So we kept letting him. Or then there was the time(s) when he and a couple buddies came over and drank orange soda and ate the frozen pizza we made for them while they watched the 1997 comedy For Richer or Poorer, which hilariously depicts what might happen if two Manhattan-ite millionaires evade their taxes and flee to an Amish community to hide. And then there was the time when he and his sister and her fiancé came over and we all played a roaring good card game of Dutch Blitz.
Naturally then, we kept letting Jonas and his friends come over to our house to do these kinds of things because
A. We didn't think they were bad things.
B. We figured they would end up probably staying Amish and not turning into some runaway horror story if they had the ability to "rebel" in our house (i.e. orange pop, bike rides, deer hunting instructional videos, John Wayne movies, non-gambling card games, and the occasional Tim Allen comedy). And
C. My dad said, "Listen, our society would be a lot better if the worst thing our rebels did was ride bikes after dark..."
So we got to know a whole bevy of Amish boys and it made for many an entertaining evening.
But I think my very favorite story......
Will have to be continued.....
Monday, March 30, 2015
Divisions.
I sat at my computer and cried.
A while back a distant acquaintance of mine posted something to social media, claiming it was detestable, and I read it and, rather than thinking it detestable was so happy I said, "Praise the Lord!"
Some time later, still apparently in the throes of anger that had flared in them due to said post, they made a comment saying that if anyone did not feel their sentiments towards what they had posted that they could count their friendship over. Finito. Done-zo. They were not going to associate anymore with anyone who disagreed with them.
My heart sank.
That would mean me.
I was tempted to send them an email saying that, while I did agree with what they had posted, I would be heartbroken to know that some issue like THAT would make them want to cut off our relationship.
I reconsidered, wondered what the benefit of an email like that would be, suspecting that I would be fanning the flame of their in-vogue wrath all the more, once and for all sealing any kind of good standing or voice into their life I may ever have in the future.
I pronounced then to myself that if the relationship, indeed, was going to be fractured, that I would not be the one casting the final stone. If they wanted it broken, then they were going to have to be the one to break it.
Regardless, I still sat at my computer and cried.
I pondered the vehemence of their words. The frenzied fierceness I knew blazed in their eyes based on what I saw written in their typed words. How could it get to this, I queried.
We had grown up together in a sense. Family friends that lived a long ways away, we still would have the occasional summer weekend together at some middle point between the family homes, I always felt like we were on pretty good terms. Never would I have called us friends now, but never would I have called us enemies, either. When we were children we were closer, but then you know, when you don't live by each other, and when I spent my growing up years in a Believing home and they did not, a divide, no matter how amiable our childhood play times may have been, inevitably came. Somewhere along the way we spent that occassional summer weekend, even though in the same house, in isolation of each other. Our lives no longer overlapped and so our paths eventually stopped crossing.
We were always distant after that, something that grieved my heart both as a child when it first happened and now still, I realized, as an adult. But to be honest I hadn't thought much about it for a long time until I saw that post.
How had it gotten that far, I kept asking myself.
A few days later I was watching something, my mind still plagued by what had happened, and it brought to light the fact that sin divides. The devil wants nothing more than to separate people.
And he always uses sin, for what other tool does he have in his arsenal?
In the case of me and this acquaintance, I could see that our division came all those years ago due to this very thing. As a born-again Christian I was seeking different things from life than they were. I was trying desperately to run away from all of my sins, daily asking the Lord to bury them with him so that he might raise me to new life in him every day, and they did not self-nominate as knowing the Lord. It was the classic example of "The closer you get to Christ, the less like the world you become."
Our stances on sin, it seemed, had divided us.
Jesus talks about this very thing in Mark 3 where he says "If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand" (verse 25). Jesus is clearly pointing out that the enemy's Mode #1 for taking territory is Divide and Conquer; nothing with a sandy foundation can stand against the world, the flesh, and the devil's tempestuous winds (Matthew 7:26-27 & I John 2:15), and so we live in a world of broken, conquered people.
I think I was crying that day because I could see it. In those words on that screen I could see the fire that blazed out of hollow, broken eyes. This acquaintance of mine does not believe in the Lord of the Bible (their own admission, not mine), and therefore the only natural outcome of that can be that they don't know the peace he gives that is unlike anything else, the comfort from his love or the fellowship with his spirit that brings meaning to all our situations, the joy of knowing that all our days are written and are in his hands, and that he will make all things right and bring true justice to all. If "The eye is the lamp of the body...." (Matthew 6:22) as Jesus says, then that day I could see into those blazing eyes, and there was nothing but emptiness behind the fire. Their words on the screen a plea with the world that they had a voice, too; that they did indeed have vindication, is what their desire was.
But it seems they are seeking those things from a world that cannot give it.
And so I wept. I wept over the path of destruction they are following in because it's the trendy path to follow these days. I wept for the emptiness I knew premeditated their biting words. I wept for a heart that did not yet know what it's like to be turned into beating flesh. I wept for their admission that they want no relationships in their life of people that don't agree with them; for the narrow world view that demands that.
And strangely, I wept for me, too. I know, I know, it sounds selfish.
But, and much as is the trend these days, their opinions are the norm. What they think is detestable I think is a "Praise the Lord," and what they think it a good feat for civilization breaks my heart because I believe the Bible says that it breaks His, too.
So in a way I was crying for myself, because I know that in the days ahead I will have fewer and fewer companions on my journey Home. I will have attacks on all sides. Not that I am surprised by this. The words of Jesus have always been true: "In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! For I have overcome the world," (John 16:33) and "Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn 'a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; a man's enemies will be the members of his own household.'" Jesus did not come to bring peace like they wanted (governmental peace that would overthrow the Romans); he brought a different peace. He knew that his words were divisive; what he asks of us some cannot give, much like the Rich Young Ruler who walked away because he could not accept what Jesus had said.
What Jesus has called his people to do has always been hard and it has always been divisive, in that it separates his chosen ones from the World (I Cor. 1:18). We are a people who do not serve two Masters (Luke 16:13) and therefore, we are alienated from the servants of the other master (Romans 6:15-23).
So I am not surprised by the events and trends of a post-modern culture. It just saddens me. If I didn't trust the Lord it would make me fearful; but I will choose to not be anxious. God is still God and he is still on his throne.
In a way it felt like they were persecuting me, even though of course they are unaware that they were. And it made me think about all those times in Acts where the disciples and apostles were flogged and imprisoned and beaten, and they always went away rejoicing that they could be persecuted for the name of Christ. I would hope that if a day like that were ever to come for me that I, too, would end in rejoicing, but I wonder about the other emotional response to persecution; the one I kind of felt like I was having. What about, like Stephen.....like Jesus.....when you look at your persecutors and those who agree with them and say, "Forgive them Lord, for the know not what the do"?
It must be both. Surely it must be both.
And so I encourage you, dear Wolfies, as you face trials of various kinds, do not let your hearts be troubled; but rather, in a spirit of thankfulness that you are a people approved by God and entrusted with the gospel (I Thess. 2:4) and will therefore suffer like him, give all your praise unto the Lord. And pray for your enemies. Or distant acquaintances. Or un-believing spouses. Or close relatives. Or wayward children. Or your sweet as a Georgia peach but still unregenerate neighbor: They know not what they do.
A while back a distant acquaintance of mine posted something to social media, claiming it was detestable, and I read it and, rather than thinking it detestable was so happy I said, "Praise the Lord!"
Some time later, still apparently in the throes of anger that had flared in them due to said post, they made a comment saying that if anyone did not feel their sentiments towards what they had posted that they could count their friendship over. Finito. Done-zo. They were not going to associate anymore with anyone who disagreed with them.
My heart sank.
That would mean me.
I was tempted to send them an email saying that, while I did agree with what they had posted, I would be heartbroken to know that some issue like THAT would make them want to cut off our relationship.
I reconsidered, wondered what the benefit of an email like that would be, suspecting that I would be fanning the flame of their in-vogue wrath all the more, once and for all sealing any kind of good standing or voice into their life I may ever have in the future.
I pronounced then to myself that if the relationship, indeed, was going to be fractured, that I would not be the one casting the final stone. If they wanted it broken, then they were going to have to be the one to break it.
Regardless, I still sat at my computer and cried.
I pondered the vehemence of their words. The frenzied fierceness I knew blazed in their eyes based on what I saw written in their typed words. How could it get to this, I queried.
We had grown up together in a sense. Family friends that lived a long ways away, we still would have the occasional summer weekend together at some middle point between the family homes, I always felt like we were on pretty good terms. Never would I have called us friends now, but never would I have called us enemies, either. When we were children we were closer, but then you know, when you don't live by each other, and when I spent my growing up years in a Believing home and they did not, a divide, no matter how amiable our childhood play times may have been, inevitably came. Somewhere along the way we spent that occassional summer weekend, even though in the same house, in isolation of each other. Our lives no longer overlapped and so our paths eventually stopped crossing.
We were always distant after that, something that grieved my heart both as a child when it first happened and now still, I realized, as an adult. But to be honest I hadn't thought much about it for a long time until I saw that post.
How had it gotten that far, I kept asking myself.
A few days later I was watching something, my mind still plagued by what had happened, and it brought to light the fact that sin divides. The devil wants nothing more than to separate people.
And he always uses sin, for what other tool does he have in his arsenal?
In the case of me and this acquaintance, I could see that our division came all those years ago due to this very thing. As a born-again Christian I was seeking different things from life than they were. I was trying desperately to run away from all of my sins, daily asking the Lord to bury them with him so that he might raise me to new life in him every day, and they did not self-nominate as knowing the Lord. It was the classic example of "The closer you get to Christ, the less like the world you become."
Our stances on sin, it seemed, had divided us.
Jesus talks about this very thing in Mark 3 where he says "If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand" (verse 25). Jesus is clearly pointing out that the enemy's Mode #1 for taking territory is Divide and Conquer; nothing with a sandy foundation can stand against the world, the flesh, and the devil's tempestuous winds (Matthew 7:26-27 & I John 2:15), and so we live in a world of broken, conquered people.
I think I was crying that day because I could see it. In those words on that screen I could see the fire that blazed out of hollow, broken eyes. This acquaintance of mine does not believe in the Lord of the Bible (their own admission, not mine), and therefore the only natural outcome of that can be that they don't know the peace he gives that is unlike anything else, the comfort from his love or the fellowship with his spirit that brings meaning to all our situations, the joy of knowing that all our days are written and are in his hands, and that he will make all things right and bring true justice to all. If "The eye is the lamp of the body...." (Matthew 6:22) as Jesus says, then that day I could see into those blazing eyes, and there was nothing but emptiness behind the fire. Their words on the screen a plea with the world that they had a voice, too; that they did indeed have vindication, is what their desire was.
But it seems they are seeking those things from a world that cannot give it.
And so I wept. I wept over the path of destruction they are following in because it's the trendy path to follow these days. I wept for the emptiness I knew premeditated their biting words. I wept for a heart that did not yet know what it's like to be turned into beating flesh. I wept for their admission that they want no relationships in their life of people that don't agree with them; for the narrow world view that demands that.
And strangely, I wept for me, too. I know, I know, it sounds selfish.
But, and much as is the trend these days, their opinions are the norm. What they think is detestable I think is a "Praise the Lord," and what they think it a good feat for civilization breaks my heart because I believe the Bible says that it breaks His, too.
So in a way I was crying for myself, because I know that in the days ahead I will have fewer and fewer companions on my journey Home. I will have attacks on all sides. Not that I am surprised by this. The words of Jesus have always been true: "In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! For I have overcome the world," (John 16:33) and "Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn 'a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; a man's enemies will be the members of his own household.'" Jesus did not come to bring peace like they wanted (governmental peace that would overthrow the Romans); he brought a different peace. He knew that his words were divisive; what he asks of us some cannot give, much like the Rich Young Ruler who walked away because he could not accept what Jesus had said.
What Jesus has called his people to do has always been hard and it has always been divisive, in that it separates his chosen ones from the World (I Cor. 1:18). We are a people who do not serve two Masters (Luke 16:13) and therefore, we are alienated from the servants of the other master (Romans 6:15-23).
So I am not surprised by the events and trends of a post-modern culture. It just saddens me. If I didn't trust the Lord it would make me fearful; but I will choose to not be anxious. God is still God and he is still on his throne.
In a way it felt like they were persecuting me, even though of course they are unaware that they were. And it made me think about all those times in Acts where the disciples and apostles were flogged and imprisoned and beaten, and they always went away rejoicing that they could be persecuted for the name of Christ. I would hope that if a day like that were ever to come for me that I, too, would end in rejoicing, but I wonder about the other emotional response to persecution; the one I kind of felt like I was having. What about, like Stephen.....like Jesus.....when you look at your persecutors and those who agree with them and say, "Forgive them Lord, for the know not what the do"?
It must be both. Surely it must be both.
And so I encourage you, dear Wolfies, as you face trials of various kinds, do not let your hearts be troubled; but rather, in a spirit of thankfulness that you are a people approved by God and entrusted with the gospel (I Thess. 2:4) and will therefore suffer like him, give all your praise unto the Lord. And pray for your enemies. Or distant acquaintances. Or un-believing spouses. Or close relatives. Or wayward children. Or your sweet as a Georgia peach but still unregenerate neighbor: They know not what they do.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
But I Don't Want To Go Back.
Home again, home again, jiggety jog is what we always used to say in my house as a kid.
It's still true these days. Hubbs and I got back Sunday night from a ten day trip to The Homeland. He had work to do there, I ended up having work to do there, we had people to see there, he officiated a wedding there. All kinds of wonderful things!!! We loved being there!
And while I have gone on and on ad nauseum before about how much I LOVE coming home after a trip, we are not feeling that as truth so much this time. Maybe it's because this here is not our home. Oh sure, our things are here, and the usual don't-have-to-live-out-of-a-suitcase or don't-have-to-ask-someone-how-to-use-their-washing-machine is always a welcomed refresher, but just because your stuff is somewhere doesn't qualify something as "home."
Sunday as we were departing we both looked at each other and knew each other's heart. Much in the same way a little girl would, I looked at him and said with little tears in my eyes, "But...but..but I don't want to go back."
Our situation is different. Where we live right now is only a short stint. 5 months total and we are half way through (glory!). Which is probably why it doesn't feel like home. We love our little rental house, but that's about it. Nothing else seems to fit right. We kept remarking to each other as we were back home how friendly everyone was, as opposed to this stand-off-ish city that has been our experience. "Get this! Not only did my barista ask how my day was going, but a stranger actually smiled at me in Starbucks!" I texted Hubbs one morning, totally elated.
"Do you notice how all the grocery stores here are so bright and organized and clean?!" Hubbs asked me one day, reveling in what used to be "old-hat" to us.
And so coming home was not an experience of sigh and relief. I really noticed the differences via contrast one day we were Home when we went to visit my parents. Having raised me in this house, it still sits in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods and fields, and to this day (and until Hubbs and I create something to usurp it) it truly is HOME.
I stepped out of the car and was shocked by what I heard.
Absolutely nothing.
Nothing but the breeze and birds.
My body gave a true sigh of relief and I realized that, since my wedding almost 4 months ago, I have not been in the country/outside of the city (and I am a country girl, remember), and have therefore not felt as deep of peace due to my surroundings as I did that moment we arrived.
The interesting thing, though, is that I didn't realize I wasn't at peace. Until going home I had thought that we had created a really nice life in our new city. We had set up our house the way we like it, the way that works for us, we had gotten into a routine with work and church, etc. I didn't notice the noise of the city, I didn't notice the constant din until, all of a sudden, it wasn't there.
Isn't it funny how life can surprise you? I really had no idea that where we live is loud until I was somewhere that was quiet.
Needless to say, that is precisely one of the reasons why I didn't want to come back. I like it better there. I like the peace, the calm, the quiet, the slower pace, the friendlier people, all of our family and friends.
As I was pondering all of these things, it occurred to me that this is just the exact same thought I have had before a thousand times, only in reverse. Rather than feel the tremendous peace about coming "home" (to our Five Month house), it was leaving it for somewhere else that brought me peace.
In blogs of the past I wrote about how the feeling of coming home always reminds me of Heaven; it tells me something to look forward to is there. And I still absolutely believe it. It's a truth we cling to. Feeling the peace and calm and serenity of The Homeland made me know that it is still true more than ever.
But what about now? What about this side of Heaven?
Well, coming "home" Sunday made me understand that, too.
In Philippians Paul talks about this very thing. He has just said that "To live is Christ, and to die is gain," and now he gives light on the debate that volleys back and forth in his head.
"If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me." (Philippians 1:21-26)
Like Hubbs and I with our Five Month House and our Five Month City, Paul wanted to be somewhere else. To be departed from this earth was gain to him. He wanted to be with Christ. He wanted to put away his earthly tent it says in II Corinthians 5.
To put it bluntly, he had had enough.
And yet. Because there is always an "And yet" with Jesus, he knew that he was still here because other people NEEDED him here. It was better that he stayed and so he knew that here, on this earth, where he didn't want to be, is where Jesus was going to keep him.
While I wish it was an exact parallel between my life in the 5 Month City in that I was here with a very distinct purpose (Hubbs is the one with that), I do really think that the Lord is using us here, and by George, I PRAY that he is using us here. I pray diligently that we are casting around the aroma of Christ to those we come into contact with (II Cor. 2:14-15) in our neighborhood, our church, and all of our comings and goings, and I trust that He who is Faithful is putting our time here to good use. So that is why we stay.
Even though we would prefer to be home.
And so I was ruminating this in my head, feeling all holy when I thought that here we are, doing what we don't want to do because we are good Christians with long suffering and perseverance when it occurred to me that maybe I still was a little off.
For though it is true that this is a great picture of what Paul is talking about, I was captured by my own mental divulgence in the way of "Yes, B, you are here but want to be elsewhere and this looks like what Paul is talking about, making "The Homeland" quite "The Heaven" in your mind. But what do you do with the fact that "The Homeland" is not HEAVEN????"
Whoa.
Right like that I realized(.....oh Goodness!!!.....it's hard for me to even type it!!!......), I have a skewed relationship to Home.
Oh sure, God has so graciously placed me there and you bet your bottom dollar I praised him every day that I live there for the opportunity to live there, but.....and I have this sinking feeling about it....was I loving it more than Heaven?
See, if I was to go off what Paul say, I should feel about The Homeland how I feel about Five Month City. As in, I know that it's where God has me and I am happy to do the work he has given me to do there, but in the even that I could choose, would I choose Heaven?
I guess to put it bluntly the question is this: am I too comfortable and at home on this earth?
Yes, this IS the only home I have ever known, and like I have said before and believe to the depths of my House Project loving heart, Christian earthly homes are a wonderful glimpse of our True Home, but do I resonate with Paul when he speaks like he does? Do I know beyond doubt in the core of me that Heaven is "Better by far"?
Have I become too engulfed in what this place (earthly existence) has to offer that I love it like a Native and not like the "Temporary Resident and Foreigner" that I actually am (I Peter 2:11)?
Oh Wolfies, my prayer for you is the same as my prayer for my time in the Five Month City....and now my prayer for all the time I will have when we return to The Homeland (and wherever God would choose for us to be), "Lord, let us desire to be with you, knowing that our true home is where you are, but keep us faithful, because you are faithful, to the work that you would have us do here."
Keep up the good work, babies, but remember, true comfort must never come to a Temporary Resident in a foreign land.
It's still true these days. Hubbs and I got back Sunday night from a ten day trip to The Homeland. He had work to do there, I ended up having work to do there, we had people to see there, he officiated a wedding there. All kinds of wonderful things!!! We loved being there!
 |
| Hubbs and Mama on a walk! |
 |
| Morning time in the woods. Feeling like Sacagawea. Which is just how I like to feel in the mornings. |
Sunday as we were departing we both looked at each other and knew each other's heart. Much in the same way a little girl would, I looked at him and said with little tears in my eyes, "But...but..but I don't want to go back."
Our situation is different. Where we live right now is only a short stint. 5 months total and we are half way through (glory!). Which is probably why it doesn't feel like home. We love our little rental house, but that's about it. Nothing else seems to fit right. We kept remarking to each other as we were back home how friendly everyone was, as opposed to this stand-off-ish city that has been our experience. "Get this! Not only did my barista ask how my day was going, but a stranger actually smiled at me in Starbucks!" I texted Hubbs one morning, totally elated.
"Do you notice how all the grocery stores here are so bright and organized and clean?!" Hubbs asked me one day, reveling in what used to be "old-hat" to us.
And so coming home was not an experience of sigh and relief. I really noticed the differences via contrast one day we were Home when we went to visit my parents. Having raised me in this house, it still sits in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods and fields, and to this day (and until Hubbs and I create something to usurp it) it truly is HOME.
I stepped out of the car and was shocked by what I heard.
Absolutely nothing.
Nothing but the breeze and birds.
 |
| See! Look! Nothing! |
The interesting thing, though, is that I didn't realize I wasn't at peace. Until going home I had thought that we had created a really nice life in our new city. We had set up our house the way we like it, the way that works for us, we had gotten into a routine with work and church, etc. I didn't notice the noise of the city, I didn't notice the constant din until, all of a sudden, it wasn't there.
Isn't it funny how life can surprise you? I really had no idea that where we live is loud until I was somewhere that was quiet.
Needless to say, that is precisely one of the reasons why I didn't want to come back. I like it better there. I like the peace, the calm, the quiet, the slower pace, the friendlier people, all of our family and friends.
As I was pondering all of these things, it occurred to me that this is just the exact same thought I have had before a thousand times, only in reverse. Rather than feel the tremendous peace about coming "home" (to our Five Month house), it was leaving it for somewhere else that brought me peace.
In blogs of the past I wrote about how the feeling of coming home always reminds me of Heaven; it tells me something to look forward to is there. And I still absolutely believe it. It's a truth we cling to. Feeling the peace and calm and serenity of The Homeland made me know that it is still true more than ever.
But what about now? What about this side of Heaven?
Well, coming "home" Sunday made me understand that, too.
In Philippians Paul talks about this very thing. He has just said that "To live is Christ, and to die is gain," and now he gives light on the debate that volleys back and forth in his head.
"If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me." (Philippians 1:21-26)
Like Hubbs and I with our Five Month House and our Five Month City, Paul wanted to be somewhere else. To be departed from this earth was gain to him. He wanted to be with Christ. He wanted to put away his earthly tent it says in II Corinthians 5.
To put it bluntly, he had had enough.
And yet. Because there is always an "And yet" with Jesus, he knew that he was still here because other people NEEDED him here. It was better that he stayed and so he knew that here, on this earth, where he didn't want to be, is where Jesus was going to keep him.
While I wish it was an exact parallel between my life in the 5 Month City in that I was here with a very distinct purpose (Hubbs is the one with that), I do really think that the Lord is using us here, and by George, I PRAY that he is using us here. I pray diligently that we are casting around the aroma of Christ to those we come into contact with (II Cor. 2:14-15) in our neighborhood, our church, and all of our comings and goings, and I trust that He who is Faithful is putting our time here to good use. So that is why we stay.
Even though we would prefer to be home.
And so I was ruminating this in my head, feeling all holy when I thought that here we are, doing what we don't want to do because we are good Christians with long suffering and perseverance when it occurred to me that maybe I still was a little off.
For though it is true that this is a great picture of what Paul is talking about, I was captured by my own mental divulgence in the way of "Yes, B, you are here but want to be elsewhere and this looks like what Paul is talking about, making "The Homeland" quite "The Heaven" in your mind. But what do you do with the fact that "The Homeland" is not HEAVEN????"
Whoa.
Right like that I realized(.....oh Goodness!!!.....it's hard for me to even type it!!!......), I have a skewed relationship to Home.
Oh sure, God has so graciously placed me there and you bet your bottom dollar I praised him every day that I live there for the opportunity to live there, but.....and I have this sinking feeling about it....was I loving it more than Heaven?
See, if I was to go off what Paul say, I should feel about The Homeland how I feel about Five Month City. As in, I know that it's where God has me and I am happy to do the work he has given me to do there, but in the even that I could choose, would I choose Heaven?
I guess to put it bluntly the question is this: am I too comfortable and at home on this earth?
Yes, this IS the only home I have ever known, and like I have said before and believe to the depths of my House Project loving heart, Christian earthly homes are a wonderful glimpse of our True Home, but do I resonate with Paul when he speaks like he does? Do I know beyond doubt in the core of me that Heaven is "Better by far"?
Have I become too engulfed in what this place (earthly existence) has to offer that I love it like a Native and not like the "Temporary Resident and Foreigner" that I actually am (I Peter 2:11)?
Oh Wolfies, my prayer for you is the same as my prayer for my time in the Five Month City....and now my prayer for all the time I will have when we return to The Homeland (and wherever God would choose for us to be), "Lord, let us desire to be with you, knowing that our true home is where you are, but keep us faithful, because you are faithful, to the work that you would have us do here."
Keep up the good work, babies, but remember, true comfort must never come to a Temporary Resident in a foreign land.
Friday, March 6, 2015
Before and After.
In keeping you updated, the other chair DID get done! And just in time for company this weekend. Huzzah!
Per usual, here are her "Before pictures":
She was something I acquired from a grandmother along the way. And what a lovely pink-ish, peach-ish, 70's-ish color she was....
But then I had to tear her apart...
And, drum roll, please!
And just in case you were wondering, say, if you have never done a project like this, what the rest of your house looks like during an undertaking of massive proportions such as this, I have evidence.
Now, if you are the creative sort this picture will come as no shock to you. It is a sight you have seen before, no doubt.
But my apologies to you who do not do things like this and are insulted by how I let my house get while creating. If it is any consolation, here is how the living room usually looks, and how it looks now with my two, basically new chairs!
I suppose it's its own brand of "before and after."
And just another sweet shot of the wolf picture for all who wanted to see it. Because I am confident all of you wanted to see it.
Anywho, company is on the way, but I just wanted to do a little follow up to what I wrote in the last post about how there is something so wonderful and spiritual about Before and After pictures.
Really I think it's true.
So often I look at my life and see what the Lord and I still need to work on. I see all the areas where I fail, repeatedly. Where I hurt and disappoint and misunderstand those I love most; those who are my closest "neighbors" ( i.e. the ones I am supposed to "love as myself."). If you ask me, my soul looks more like the messy living room than the sweet new chair. It's easy to get discouraged or overwhelmed with how much needs to still be "remodeled" in the very core of me.
But when was the last time you took a look at your life, a long, hard, honest stare, and with an overwhelming thankfulness blessed the name of the Lord for what he has already done? Those areas where you most certainly are not as you were before you knew Christ.
I think about when it says in Philippians, "If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion...." and I always get lambasted with thoughts about when I DIDN'T have any encouragement, when there was no comfort because I had not his love; when I lived my life without the kind of fellowship that only the Spirit can bring, because it is a fellowship of reverence, while still being so known and kept so closely; I think about all those years I didn't have real compassion or any tenderness, because I did not know his compassion and tenderness....
That's what I think about when I see Before and After pictures and am, consequently, so thankful. For what other response can a change in you for the better that you yourself did not precipitate bring forth from the depths of you but thankfulness?
Thankfulness to the God of the universe who not only saw me in my lost estate...looking worse than any living room or any peach colored 70's era chair....., but chose me in my lost estate, all wrinkled and dirty and messy as I was, and said, "I can make something new out of you. Only I can turn your ashes to beauty."
And then he did.
And today he still does.
Thankfully.
Love you, Wolfies.
Happy Weekend.
Per usual, here are her "Before pictures":
She was something I acquired from a grandmother along the way. And what a lovely pink-ish, peach-ish, 70's-ish color she was....
But then I had to tear her apart...
 |
| So that's how they do it. |
And, drum roll, please!
 |
| Hubbs even picked out the fabric himself for this one too!! |
 |
| The "duringmath" |
But my apologies to you who do not do things like this and are insulted by how I let my house get while creating. If it is any consolation, here is how the living room usually looks, and how it looks now with my two, basically new chairs!
Anywho, company is on the way, but I just wanted to do a little follow up to what I wrote in the last post about how there is something so wonderful and spiritual about Before and After pictures.
Really I think it's true.
So often I look at my life and see what the Lord and I still need to work on. I see all the areas where I fail, repeatedly. Where I hurt and disappoint and misunderstand those I love most; those who are my closest "neighbors" ( i.e. the ones I am supposed to "love as myself."). If you ask me, my soul looks more like the messy living room than the sweet new chair. It's easy to get discouraged or overwhelmed with how much needs to still be "remodeled" in the very core of me.
But when was the last time you took a look at your life, a long, hard, honest stare, and with an overwhelming thankfulness blessed the name of the Lord for what he has already done? Those areas where you most certainly are not as you were before you knew Christ.
I think about when it says in Philippians, "If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion...." and I always get lambasted with thoughts about when I DIDN'T have any encouragement, when there was no comfort because I had not his love; when I lived my life without the kind of fellowship that only the Spirit can bring, because it is a fellowship of reverence, while still being so known and kept so closely; I think about all those years I didn't have real compassion or any tenderness, because I did not know his compassion and tenderness....
That's what I think about when I see Before and After pictures and am, consequently, so thankful. For what other response can a change in you for the better that you yourself did not precipitate bring forth from the depths of you but thankfulness?
Thankfulness to the God of the universe who not only saw me in my lost estate...looking worse than any living room or any peach colored 70's era chair....., but chose me in my lost estate, all wrinkled and dirty and messy as I was, and said, "I can make something new out of you. Only I can turn your ashes to beauty."
And then he did.
And today he still does.
Thankfully.
Love you, Wolfies.
Happy Weekend.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
The Chair Project.
I have written a couple posts since I posted last, but could not publish them for fear of sounding like I was blasting you.
As I was saying to a very dear friend yesterday, writing a blog post when you are upset is a lot like going to the grocery store when you are hungry. Things get purchased (or said, in the case of a blog) that will no doubt be regretted at some point down the road.
For, while I would have sounded like I was blasting YOU, you are not the someones that my little firey heart wants to blast. True, there is a group of people that I would like to give a piece of my mind, but I will not use you as the cat that I proverbially want to kick.
Alas, even though I have told Hubbs that he needs to come up with some Indian Warrior Princess name for me due to how often I have been on a rampage lately (and then subsequently realizing that is ridiculous because OBVIOUSLY I would be called something epic like Running Wolf or the similar, and that would be the end of discussion), I decided I won't bowl you over with my warfare. At least not yet. At least not until I can figure out how it might be edifying to all peoples, you and me included.
So that's why it's been two weeks since we have chatted.
Therefore, today I bring you something else entirely.
I would love to go on and on about how much I love projects, but I have done that before and that's not why you are here, so today I won't. But I got it in my head to reupholster a chair (as I have told you) and by George (since I love projects---*ahem*), I reupholstered that chair.
Isn't she a beauty, if I do say so myself? I was going for kind of the squishy, rumpled, French look, and I think I got it!
Now, you might be thinking, "Well, I suppose it's a nice chair...but it is a just a chair," and you would be right. But look at what it looked like BEFORE:
Isn't there something so wonderful and spiritual about BEFORE pictures? It's a tangible way to see that we are not like how we once were. Amen to that.
Ripping a chair apart was so interesting because I got to see how it was actually made. Brilliant.
In the middle of progress....
And there is the end again.
Huzzah! One chair down!! I have another behemoth that I am going to start tomorrow, so we shall see if success continues.
Now. All of the my happiness with the chair now does not mean that there weren't a few "bumps in the road" as they say. No. To put it mildly, this was not a battle "funly" won.
As Ella warned me, "Oh honey, it's exhausting work. Mentally and physically. You will be exhausted."
She was right. I have done any number of physical labor jobs over the years, but this was the most rigorous. The most backbreaking.
And it also showed a crack in my soul a bit and it all started with two too many trips to Home Depot....
So the story goes that I love Home Depot. Always have. But I didn't at this stage of the game. I had worked for days ripping the old self off this chair, using the pieces as a pattern for the new self to be attached; I had stripped the wood of its old grime and stain, sanded, re-stained, sanded, re-stained, and then applied something like 6 coats of polyurethane. Excessive, I know. I had bought new stuffing, I had cut it all to size, all that was left was to go buy my stapler, my staples, and the sweet upholstery tacks.
Yes.
In one fell swoop at said HD, I made my rounds like a pro, picking up what I thought was exactly what I needed.
Like a flash, I was home again, situating all my pieces, ready to start, when I load my new staple gun with my new staples, push it up to the wooden arms to tack my batting, and BANG! goes the staple gun.
Pleased that I was really doing it (!!!), I pulled the gun back to see that beautiful staple when, looking, I didn't see anything.
WHAT?
Bang, goes the gun again.
Nothing.
Bang bang.
Nothing.
BANG BANG BANG.
NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING.
It turns out, Wolfies, that I had bought light duty staples.
Ugh.
And light duty staples do not go into sold wood chair frames.
Annoyed, but still fired up (I told you I have been on a lot of rampages these days), I hurriedly drove back to HD, returned my staples for a whole $4, bought the heavy duty staples, drove b ack home, and headed straight to the chair.
New staples in hand, gun in other, I go to load the gun chamber when....the chamber won't close.
Seriously annoyed now, and bordering on dejected, I look over all my supplies to realize that, yes, I had bought the right staples this time.....but I had bought the wrong staple gun the first time.
Despite the fact that the package said "Perfect for Upholstery Work," this was, indeed, a LIGHT duty stapler.
And this was still a solid wood chair frame.
Blast.
Blast, blast, blast.
Really dejected now, I head into Hubbs office, in tears, and tell him the whole story. He is nice and gentle, but he has to get back to work. He can't come hang out and help me forget my woes.
Sulking, I walk out to my kitchen and think, "I will make a cup of coffee and drink my sorrows down...." only to be offended by my own thoughts and with the realization that I don't WANT a cup of coffee.
And, more importantly, .....coffee.....won't.....help........I still have to go back to Home Depot.
Have you ever come to that realization? That all the things you typically use to "make things better" don't actually make it better at all? It all makes sense now that you have been deceiving yourself the whole time.
Coffee didn't bring the problem on, and coffee won't let the problem go.
I went and sat on my couch, looking at my Bible on the coffee table that had remained unopened that morning. I had a chair to reupholster, for crying out loud!!
Like a ton of feathers it hit me: my husband can't heal my hurt pride and coffee won't make me feel better in those times that I know I failed.
Only Jesus can.
So, my challenge to you on this point, because I was challenged by it, is, "What are you medicating with that can't fix your problem?" and "Why are you continuing along this same path over and over again?"
Contrary to what Pinterest memes and pop culture alike will tell you, there are some things that can't be fixed by your beverage of choice.
~~~~
Now, as I sat there finding Jesus in the midst of my dashed state, I was alarmed by ANOTHER idol that chose that time to ask me if I could worship him.
It started with the thought: "What if HD won't let me return my stapler, since I have already, for all intensive purposes, destroyed the packaging?"
Let me say, this was not a hugely expensive staple gun. Pretty run of the mill, and yet I was plagued with these fears and doubts about "What if I can't return it???"
Why in the world do I care? It's not a large sum of money I would lose, we are not (by the grace of God) at a time in life where money is tight, etc etc....THIS SHOULDN'T BE A BIG DEAL.
Why, then, was it?
God is so good to give us Lightbulb moments, do you know that?
It was a big deal to me because I realized that this staple gun was the last thing I was going to be able to buy with MY money.
We believe that in marriage what is his is mine and what is mine is his and everything from here on out is ours......or.....well......I thought I believed that. I claimed I believed that.
Clearly, though, I didn't.
We had done all of the typical post-wedding legal and business stuff to make us bound to each other in every way and make practically what is mine his and his mine, but there was this one small account I still had, that rather than transfer the little in there that was left, I was just going to use it all up and then shut the account down. So out of this account I had been purchasing things for the house, Christmas gifts.....upholstery supplies....
.....but my money had run out.
And that was a fact I was not internalizing very well, thus putting me in agony over not being able to return that stapler and get the right one! Because for the first time I would have to use HIS money to get something just for ME.
I would like to blame the feminist movement in this culture for making me feel like I am less of a human being if I don't have MY OWN money, my own security, my own INDEPENDENCE, but it's not them. It's my sin nature that responds to their message. It's the part of Old Me that doesn't want to have to rely on ANYONE. It's the part of me I am struggling to let Christ nail to the cross that says that I am only worth what I can Do and Accomplish and BRING TO THE SITUATION...or marriage...or Home Depot.
Marriage, it would seem, was uncovering a couple of my false deities.
In that Sunday School class I have mentioned to you, the pastor leading it said, "If you see an area of your life where you have a hard time serving others, subjecting yourself to their God-given position and authority, it's probably because you aren't subjecting yourself to the authority of God in that area of your life either."
Yikes.
If that is true, then could it be that my marriage....or rather.....this CHAIR....has shown me that I am having a hard time submitting to God in the area of being autonomous? Independent. Able to do it myself, thank you very much. Could my spirit of going against the grain, which God has used to keep me out of all kinds of bad situations in life, now be causing me conflict with HIM? Not wanting to submit to HIM? And subsequently not wanting to let my husband play his role of being primary provider for our family?
Am I robbing everyone of their job, is really what it all boils down to?
I was not wanting to let God be God and have control. I was, figuratively, not letting Hubbs be Hubbs and provide for me because not only am I his wife, but also because he wants to. And I was robbing myself of knowing the beautiful reality that, ultimately, God doesn't need me get things done, provide for my needs,... or even buy a stapler. He's got me covered. And I can stop striving and rest in that.
He is not finished with me yet, babes. I may be further along than the "Before" picture, but I am most assuredly still in the "In Process" stage.
Thanks, Chair, for showing me these things. You are even prettier now when I look at you.
As I was saying to a very dear friend yesterday, writing a blog post when you are upset is a lot like going to the grocery store when you are hungry. Things get purchased (or said, in the case of a blog) that will no doubt be regretted at some point down the road.
For, while I would have sounded like I was blasting YOU, you are not the someones that my little firey heart wants to blast. True, there is a group of people that I would like to give a piece of my mind, but I will not use you as the cat that I proverbially want to kick.
Alas, even though I have told Hubbs that he needs to come up with some Indian Warrior Princess name for me due to how often I have been on a rampage lately (and then subsequently realizing that is ridiculous because OBVIOUSLY I would be called something epic like Running Wolf or the similar, and that would be the end of discussion), I decided I won't bowl you over with my warfare. At least not yet. At least not until I can figure out how it might be edifying to all peoples, you and me included.
So that's why it's been two weeks since we have chatted.
Therefore, today I bring you something else entirely.
I would love to go on and on about how much I love projects, but I have done that before and that's not why you are here, so today I won't. But I got it in my head to reupholster a chair (as I have told you) and by George (since I love projects---*ahem*), I reupholstered that chair.
Isn't she a beauty, if I do say so myself? I was going for kind of the squishy, rumpled, French look, and I think I got it!
Now, you might be thinking, "Well, I suppose it's a nice chair...but it is a just a chair," and you would be right. But look at what it looked like BEFORE:
Isn't there something so wonderful and spiritual about BEFORE pictures? It's a tangible way to see that we are not like how we once were. Amen to that.
Ripping a chair apart was so interesting because I got to see how it was actually made. Brilliant.
In the middle of progress....
And there is the end again.
 |
| And yes, that is a sweet wolf hanging in my living room. Did you expect anything less? |
Now. All of the my happiness with the chair now does not mean that there weren't a few "bumps in the road" as they say. No. To put it mildly, this was not a battle "funly" won.
As Ella warned me, "Oh honey, it's exhausting work. Mentally and physically. You will be exhausted."
She was right. I have done any number of physical labor jobs over the years, but this was the most rigorous. The most backbreaking.
And it also showed a crack in my soul a bit and it all started with two too many trips to Home Depot....
So the story goes that I love Home Depot. Always have. But I didn't at this stage of the game. I had worked for days ripping the old self off this chair, using the pieces as a pattern for the new self to be attached; I had stripped the wood of its old grime and stain, sanded, re-stained, sanded, re-stained, and then applied something like 6 coats of polyurethane. Excessive, I know. I had bought new stuffing, I had cut it all to size, all that was left was to go buy my stapler, my staples, and the sweet upholstery tacks.
Yes.
In one fell swoop at said HD, I made my rounds like a pro, picking up what I thought was exactly what I needed.
Like a flash, I was home again, situating all my pieces, ready to start, when I load my new staple gun with my new staples, push it up to the wooden arms to tack my batting, and BANG! goes the staple gun.
Pleased that I was really doing it (!!!), I pulled the gun back to see that beautiful staple when, looking, I didn't see anything.
WHAT?
Bang, goes the gun again.
Nothing.
Bang bang.
Nothing.
BANG BANG BANG.
NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING.
It turns out, Wolfies, that I had bought light duty staples.
Ugh.
And light duty staples do not go into sold wood chair frames.
Annoyed, but still fired up (I told you I have been on a lot of rampages these days), I hurriedly drove back to HD, returned my staples for a whole $4, bought the heavy duty staples, drove b ack home, and headed straight to the chair.
New staples in hand, gun in other, I go to load the gun chamber when....the chamber won't close.
Seriously annoyed now, and bordering on dejected, I look over all my supplies to realize that, yes, I had bought the right staples this time.....but I had bought the wrong staple gun the first time.
Despite the fact that the package said "Perfect for Upholstery Work," this was, indeed, a LIGHT duty stapler.
And this was still a solid wood chair frame.
Blast.
Blast, blast, blast.
Really dejected now, I head into Hubbs office, in tears, and tell him the whole story. He is nice and gentle, but he has to get back to work. He can't come hang out and help me forget my woes.
Sulking, I walk out to my kitchen and think, "I will make a cup of coffee and drink my sorrows down...." only to be offended by my own thoughts and with the realization that I don't WANT a cup of coffee.
And, more importantly, .....coffee.....won't.....help........I still have to go back to Home Depot.
Have you ever come to that realization? That all the things you typically use to "make things better" don't actually make it better at all? It all makes sense now that you have been deceiving yourself the whole time.
Coffee didn't bring the problem on, and coffee won't let the problem go.
I went and sat on my couch, looking at my Bible on the coffee table that had remained unopened that morning. I had a chair to reupholster, for crying out loud!!
Like a ton of feathers it hit me: my husband can't heal my hurt pride and coffee won't make me feel better in those times that I know I failed.
Only Jesus can.
So, my challenge to you on this point, because I was challenged by it, is, "What are you medicating with that can't fix your problem?" and "Why are you continuing along this same path over and over again?"
Contrary to what Pinterest memes and pop culture alike will tell you, there are some things that can't be fixed by your beverage of choice.
~~~~
Now, as I sat there finding Jesus in the midst of my dashed state, I was alarmed by ANOTHER idol that chose that time to ask me if I could worship him.
It started with the thought: "What if HD won't let me return my stapler, since I have already, for all intensive purposes, destroyed the packaging?"
Let me say, this was not a hugely expensive staple gun. Pretty run of the mill, and yet I was plagued with these fears and doubts about "What if I can't return it???"
Why in the world do I care? It's not a large sum of money I would lose, we are not (by the grace of God) at a time in life where money is tight, etc etc....THIS SHOULDN'T BE A BIG DEAL.
Why, then, was it?
God is so good to give us Lightbulb moments, do you know that?
It was a big deal to me because I realized that this staple gun was the last thing I was going to be able to buy with MY money.
We believe that in marriage what is his is mine and what is mine is his and everything from here on out is ours......or.....well......I thought I believed that. I claimed I believed that.
Clearly, though, I didn't.
We had done all of the typical post-wedding legal and business stuff to make us bound to each other in every way and make practically what is mine his and his mine, but there was this one small account I still had, that rather than transfer the little in there that was left, I was just going to use it all up and then shut the account down. So out of this account I had been purchasing things for the house, Christmas gifts.....upholstery supplies....
.....but my money had run out.
And that was a fact I was not internalizing very well, thus putting me in agony over not being able to return that stapler and get the right one! Because for the first time I would have to use HIS money to get something just for ME.
I would like to blame the feminist movement in this culture for making me feel like I am less of a human being if I don't have MY OWN money, my own security, my own INDEPENDENCE, but it's not them. It's my sin nature that responds to their message. It's the part of Old Me that doesn't want to have to rely on ANYONE. It's the part of me I am struggling to let Christ nail to the cross that says that I am only worth what I can Do and Accomplish and BRING TO THE SITUATION...or marriage...or Home Depot.
Marriage, it would seem, was uncovering a couple of my false deities.
In that Sunday School class I have mentioned to you, the pastor leading it said, "If you see an area of your life where you have a hard time serving others, subjecting yourself to their God-given position and authority, it's probably because you aren't subjecting yourself to the authority of God in that area of your life either."
Yikes.
If that is true, then could it be that my marriage....or rather.....this CHAIR....has shown me that I am having a hard time submitting to God in the area of being autonomous? Independent. Able to do it myself, thank you very much. Could my spirit of going against the grain, which God has used to keep me out of all kinds of bad situations in life, now be causing me conflict with HIM? Not wanting to submit to HIM? And subsequently not wanting to let my husband play his role of being primary provider for our family?
Am I robbing everyone of their job, is really what it all boils down to?
I was not wanting to let God be God and have control. I was, figuratively, not letting Hubbs be Hubbs and provide for me because not only am I his wife, but also because he wants to. And I was robbing myself of knowing the beautiful reality that, ultimately, God doesn't need me get things done, provide for my needs,... or even buy a stapler. He's got me covered. And I can stop striving and rest in that.
He is not finished with me yet, babes. I may be further along than the "Before" picture, but I am most assuredly still in the "In Process" stage.
Thanks, Chair, for showing me these things. You are even prettier now when I look at you.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Whatever you do....
Happy Friday there, Wolfies!! This morning I am scurrying about, getting ready for the weekend and my house currently looks like this, which clearly means that I should probably cut this short and not be my typical long-winded self.
Hubbs and I are off to see some great friends a few states away (but closer from here than the homeland!), so we are eagerly anticipating some Jesus-loving conversation and fun, copious amounts of great coffee, some down time (for him), and (for me), driving X number of hours there and back!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I realize maybe all of those exclamation points might seem like overkill. But, indeed, they are not.
Why, you might ask, are they not overkill?
Because Hubbs has told me for a LONG time that the only time I will ever drive in my entire life when he is in the car is if he is incapacitated beyond safety and consciousness.
Now, Hubbs is neither of those things this weekend.
BUT!!!! He has a boatload of work to get done and, THEREFORE, he is recanting----probably just this once----on his previous boast and I, yes, ME, I am going to drive there AND BACK.
What a momentous weekend, indeed!!
It's the little things, babes.
The last couple of mornings I have been reading in I Timothy and it is all about being people of sound doctrine, not shipwrecking your faith, etc etc etc.
And it has just been weighing heavy on my heart these days especially today, what with the coming out of....................that.....................movie. If I grant it show much grace as to call it that, rather than what it really is.
A pornographic film.
It seriously hurts my heart. It reminds me so much of Romans 1 where, to add an emphasis, Paul says about the depraved people, "Even THEIR WOMEN exchanged natural relations....." (Romans 1:26). Women, generally, are more spiritually intuitive than men, so when a culture's women "exchange the truth of God for a lie" (Romans 1:25) (---which is exactly what this is; it's all the lies that will kill you wrapped up in a little leather and chains package----), then we really have reached the bottom.
On our way to hell in a handbasket.
Please. I plead with you. Whatever you do, don't watch this movie. And for heaven's sake don't read the books.
You cannot unsee what has been seen.
Albert Mohler says it way better than I can. Please read this. And please, please, please please please please please, don't shipwreck your faith by seeing Shades...
Wolfies, I love you so. That's why I say this. Whatever you do.....don't.
 |
| Keepin' it real.... |
Hubbs and I are off to see some great friends a few states away (but closer from here than the homeland!), so we are eagerly anticipating some Jesus-loving conversation and fun, copious amounts of great coffee, some down time (for him), and (for me), driving X number of hours there and back!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I realize maybe all of those exclamation points might seem like overkill. But, indeed, they are not.
Why, you might ask, are they not overkill?
Because Hubbs has told me for a LONG time that the only time I will ever drive in my entire life when he is in the car is if he is incapacitated beyond safety and consciousness.
Now, Hubbs is neither of those things this weekend.
BUT!!!! He has a boatload of work to get done and, THEREFORE, he is recanting----probably just this once----on his previous boast and I, yes, ME, I am going to drive there AND BACK.
What a momentous weekend, indeed!!
It's the little things, babes.
The last couple of mornings I have been reading in I Timothy and it is all about being people of sound doctrine, not shipwrecking your faith, etc etc etc.
And it has just been weighing heavy on my heart these days especially today, what with the coming out of....................that.....................movie. If I grant it show much grace as to call it that, rather than what it really is.
A pornographic film.
It seriously hurts my heart. It reminds me so much of Romans 1 where, to add an emphasis, Paul says about the depraved people, "Even THEIR WOMEN exchanged natural relations....." (Romans 1:26). Women, generally, are more spiritually intuitive than men, so when a culture's women "exchange the truth of God for a lie" (Romans 1:25) (---which is exactly what this is; it's all the lies that will kill you wrapped up in a little leather and chains package----), then we really have reached the bottom.
On our way to hell in a handbasket.
Please. I plead with you. Whatever you do, don't watch this movie. And for heaven's sake don't read the books.
You cannot unsee what has been seen.
Albert Mohler says it way better than I can. Please read this. And please, please, please please please please please, don't shipwreck your faith by seeing Shades...
Wolfies, I love you so. That's why I say this. Whatever you do.....don't.
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