Stowaway

At year’s end we are subject to endless lists of the year in review: top songs, most influential people, and significant events.  It is a time for contemplation, a time to become intentional about the year ahead.  Like many, my year contained both delightful and painful moments.  But as I reflect upon 2014, one amusing incident keeps coming to mind. It made my top ten list.  

Blogging is tricky if you want to keep your friends.  It becomes perilous when you write about an incident that happened to someone else.  It changes to dangerous if you found the event humorous but your friends didn't. Perhaps they will find it more amusing the second time around.   I don’t really believe that but it’s not going to stop me from trying. 

It started with a chipmunk in a Washington State Park.  More accurately, a chipmunk and its hundred closest relatives.  Some years ago, on a camping trip, these creatures captivated my friends.  They have daughters who love critters.  Feathered, furry or fleecy, the girls will admire whatever you put in front of them.  Which is why a chipmunk feeding frenzy became part of their annual pilgrimage.  This year was no exception. By all accounts, it was a delightful afternoon.  Peanuts were provided thanks to Dad, and when they were finished, the girls were happy and the chipmunks had raised their BMI by about 15%. 

The camping trip was a success and they arrived home happy and exhausted.  Over the next few days, laundry was done, the coolers put away, and the trip was about to go down in family history until their Dad noticed something strange about the back seat of his car.  The back seat in the car had been chewed.  Chewed significantly by something that was not his friend. 

And this dear reader, is where the love affair with the genus Tamias ended. 

I could give you a blow by blow account of the following week.  It was a week of discovery, wherein my friend learned how expensive it is to harbor a peanut addicted stowaway chipmunk. A week where frustration reigned, and maniacal chipmunk laughter rang through suburbia. A week when a fat chipmunk from east of the mountains was last seen exiting a Honda at a small local business that rhymes with rowing. 

But I’m not going to do that.

It would be unkind.

You would be surprised if I told you how many times I thought of that chipmunk this year.  I thought of it every time I talked to a young heart about the foolishness of allowing certain sins into their lives.  Inevitably, what started out as a “harmless” event, took root and grew into a problem that was damaging to themselves and others.  Too many times, we make friends with our weaknesses instead of standing against them.  We feed a habit and end up with an unwanted practice that we must pay for.  It can cost far more than we ever expected.

And so dear friend, as the year draws to a close and the New Year’s resolution game begins, why not give some thought to what you would like to leave behind this year.  Find a friend and have a heart to heart.  Ask them to pray with you, to pray for you.   

Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. Matt 5:16

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. Heb 12:1

Don’t step into the New Year without praying friend.  We live in difficult times and need the strength of God.  God has a plan for you.  Come to Him, seek His face and bring him anything that would try stowaway into your New Year.  He will provide.  He is faithful.

Praying for you this week,

xoxKaren 

The Real Christmas Tree

I hope this post finds you well and ready for Jesus birthday.  I am reposting this from last year.  I haven't found a better way to say it yet.  For those of  you who are experiencing Christmas during a broken season,  I want to tell you that you are brave.  I pray that God would hold you close, and speak peace that passes understanding to your heart.   May God place hope underneath your tree this week. 
Happy Christmas,

xoxKaren

“Well, that’s different.” I thought to myself as I drove by the large cross stuck in the front lawn.  “Wait!  Is that blood?”  By the time I asked the question we had passed the house.  “That was strange,” I said to no one in particular.  Everyone in the car ignored me and the conversation turned to Christmas lights and holiday travel.   “Can we drive by that again?  Go around the block.” Straining my neck to see through the back window, I tapped my friend on the shoulder, “please?”  My friend sighed, “No Karen, let’s leave it, I don’t want to turn around.”  She looked at me apologetically.  “It was weird; you can see it next time.  It’s not hard to miss!”

My friend had a point.  It wasn’t often you saw a bloody cross posted on a main road.  I had never seen anything like it.  It was 1989 and I was spending my first December away from home.  Victoria was a beautiful city and I was enjoying watching it dress up for Christmas.  Lights, banners and ornaments were bursting from shop windows and sidewalk spaces.  Tinsel, ribbons and lights were everywhere; why did I care about one strange cross on someone’s lawn?  “Fine,” I sighed.  “But let’s go home that way if we can.”

 I made it back to the same spot a week later to ensure I had seen what I remembered.  I was right; it was a Christmas display unlike any I had seen.  To call it ugly might be unfair: solemn, stark and disturbing, but not ugly.   The cross was large and the wood aged by the island’s constant winter rain.  I remember the cross being draped in a white banner and red paint smudges where Jesus hands and feet would have been.  There was a white flood light at its base which caught the words, “And still He came.”  It was barren, simple and disconcerting.

I lived in Victoria for ten years and every Christmas I went out of my way to view that display.  It appeared at the end of November.  I wondered if the owner of the house on Shelbourne was tempted to scrap that cross and put up a Christmas tree instead.  “Leave the cross for Easter and decorate a tree buddy,” I thought. But every year, the cross would faithfully appear and to be honest, it brought a secret thrill to my soul.  I was unable to articulate it at the time, but I knew I was witnessing a form of rebellion.  This hideous cross was cramping Christmas’ style.  Something was screaming and I could not hear it clearly.

At this point in my story you need to know I love Christmas trees.  I do not love plastic trees.  If you have an artificial tree I can still love you, but while you are not looking I will lay hands on your tree and pray that next year your tree will live.  I am not put off by you telling me you hate pine needles in your carpet.  It means nothing to me that the plastic tree is the best thing that happened to your Christmas.  I don’t care if it was $3000 and you got it for $18 at a garage sale.  I am not fazed by the fact that you are allergic to trees and they make you sneeze.  I will still sit by your tree and agree with it in prayer, “Dear Jesus, next year make this tree a real boy.”

I tell you this darling friend, so that you are able to understand what I am going to say next. Would you walk with me a moment dear heart?  Could we use the language of pictures, memory and experience to allow the Lord to prepare our hearts for Christmas?

I have many precious Christmas memories.  I was given the gift of a childhood by my parents and I enjoy Christmas. But as I get older, I notice a battle brewing between the Christmas tree and the Cross.  I noticed the battle 24 years ago, when my friend on Shelbourne placed that unattractive cross on his front lawn.  He defiantly decorated it with red smudges and the words, “And still He came.”

Christmas can be difficult.   When the year draws to a close, the world of media starts it full on assault on our sanity.  The airwaves scream the message that a perfect Christmas is available for a price.  Satellites bombard the planet with messages of sales and sequins, trinkets and tinsel that will usher in great happiness and joy.  Decorate your Christmas tree, put presents under it, adorn your house with lights and the sickening loneliness of the season will disappear.  Worship at the altar of perfection and strive to belong to a class of happy folk.  Make the most perfectly, perfect Christmas tree and all will be well. 

The problem is the perfect Christmas tree doesn’t have room for me and many of the people I know.  My friends, who love Jesus daily with their weaknesses, don’t have lives that make perfect Christmas possible.  One has a mother who is a raging alcoholic, while the other struggles daily with a mentally ill brother.  One of my teachers is grieving the loss of her husband while another is in a season of such tempest, she fights hourly to hold on to faith.  Many of them are working hard to restore shattered relationships and set a good example for their children.  Grace, addiction, despair, unanswered prayer, hope, intercession, these are the words that decorate my community.  Thank heaven, thank Jesus, there is a tree for the likes of us to gather around and worship at this Christmas season.

Our Christmas tree is the cross.   Those who love Jesus and are suffering during this Christmas season are welcome underneath this tree.  Fear not, your brokenness will not diminish its glow.  Your shameful relative has a place in the very heart of Him who bled and died here.  The God of this tree is big enough to deal with your anxiety and pain.  We worship here because Jesus decided to leave the glory of heaven and to condescend to become Emmanuel, God with us.  He came knowing we would fail.  He came knowing that you would despair.  He came because He loves you.  He came knowing that He would be betrayed.  He came knowing that He would die a gruesome death.  He came knowing….and still He came……

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Luke 2:8-14

   

Geronimo!

I had the joy of being raised in a big house that was built in 1929.  It had three floors and a dozen rooms that were filled to the brim with cats, children, and chaos.  My dad was a doctor, my mother was a mother and my parents had the habit of acquiring every stray creature that crossed their path.   Friends frequently brought over injured birds or animals for my father to nurse back to health.  Wildlife was part of our normal.   It wasn't a surprise then, to have a box appear at the bottom of my parent’s lawn one Saturday morning.  There was no note or writing on the box.  It was folded shut, and looked almost empty when Mum went to retrieve it.

Inside the box was a kitten, old enough to have left its mother but young enough to need help.  She had a slender frame and a luxurious long black coat.  Her eyes were a rich yellow and when she closed them, you couldn't see any other facial features. She took one look at my mother, smiled and made herself at home.  I don’t remember how Geronimo got her name, but “Mo” was a gorgeous feline.   She was a friendly cat who loved outdoors and climbing.  When inside, she could be found in the basement on my father’s bookshelf or upstairs in my mother’s bedroom. Petite, black fur, big yellow eyes; Geronimo was the perfect Halloween cat.  So perfect, my parents kept her confined to the house the end of every October for fear she would be taken by Halloween revelers.

As November progressed, thoughts of cat abduction subsided and preparations for the holiday began.  A Christmas tree was central to my family’s sense of celebration.  Because our ceilings were twelve feet high, we had room to bring a large tree indoors.  Each year we would set out, intent on finding the biggest tree Dad would allow.  My family has never owned large cars, and how we got those trees home on top of a Mazda or a Celica I will never know.  Yet, home the trees came and when dusted off, they were taken indoors, to our hearts delight.

We didn't have a tree stand as the circumference of the trunk was too large.  Instead, My Dad would grab a bucket, stand the tree inside it and while we held it off kilter, would wedge large rocks and pieces of coal in the bucket to secure the tree.  Yes, coal.  I grew up with a coal bunker behind the house, my parents immigrated from England in the 60’s and felt a cultural drive to bring smog to the new world.  Decorating the tree was pure joy.  In the 70’s, we didn't go in for plastic ornaments.  Most of them were made of glass.  We had the awesome kind of tinsel you could stick in-between your teeth and blow out making it spew in dragon like fashion.  The downside was you could suck it back into your lungs if you weren't careful.   

After the lights were placed on the tree, one of my older sisters would climb the ladder.  We put ornaments on hooks and passed them along.  The record player would be singing carols in the background as we laughed and shared stories about the ornaments.  We would drink tea, eat cookies and have a delightful time.  When the tree was finished, we turned out the lights and sat in its glow.  We often light the room by tree and candles only, which to a child’s heart, was simply magic.

Apparently, it was magic to a cat’s heart as well. 

Who knew?

When Geronimo saw the Christmas tree, the best part of nature right there in the living room, something in her feline soul exploded.  She came racing down the hall, took a running leap across the back of the settee and landed midway up the tree.  The tree, adjusting to life without a root system, was a little unsteady, and as Mo ran up the branch to the trunk and started climbing, the whole tree listed to the left.  In surreal slow motion, the tree tipped past the point of recovery and crashed onto the rustic hard wood floor.  The noise itself was both thrilling and horrifying.  Thrilling because as the glass ornaments shattered, they made a beautiful tinkling noise as the shards fell to the floor. Horrifying because the cat yowled like a demon, as she shot up stairs and left us standing there as my parents came running into the room.  Up to that point, we children had done some fairly stupid things, but knocking over a fully decorated, twelve foot tree was not one of them.  The exhilaration was palpable.

After shouting orders to stand still,  pull the baby out of the tree limbs, and shake the glass from our hair, my father re balanced the tree.  Mum put the kettle back on, and my older sister ran to grab the broom.   My younger sister and I cleaned the floor, while the eldest perched precariously on a chair, pulling off the shattered ornaments.  After the shock passed, we started to laugh and relive the experience verbally.  New ornaments were pulled from boxes, light bulbs replaced and harmony restored.  It had been quite an afternoon.

Dinner was late, due to the tree fiasco, and no one was actually present when Geronimo attacked the tree the second time.  We were setting the table and getting seated when the almighty crash echoed through the hall.  The only difference was this time, my mother had filled the bucket supporting the tree with water so it could have a drink at its leisure.  Something about being felled twice might have driven the tree to drink if it wasn't already dead.   As it turns out, the dead tree was not thirsty and our second clean up included flood management.   

Decorating the tree the third time was definitely not as fun as the first two.  We waited until dinner was done and in truth, we had lost the heart for tree decoration.  We were simply on damage control at that point.  We swept the floor again, rotated the tree to hide smashed bulbs and adjusted the lights as best we could.  Inevitably, laughter resumed as we expressed our amazement to Mo’s antics.  The kettle was put on again and the cat was shut in my parent’s room for the night.

I cannot help laughing when I remember Geronimo’s first Christmas.  In total, she knocked the tree over three times.  We actually ended up tethering the tree to the wall because Mo simply would not stay away from it.   We placed a small table near the tree in order to keep her off the trunk but more than once she made people scream in terror, as they walked by the Christmas tree to be swatted on the head by a soft paw.  It was funny in a mildly crazy kind of way.  When we finally took the tree down after the twelfth day of Christmas, it looked like it had been in a war zone.  Smashed bulbs, dented ornaments and headless angels were everywhere.  It was awesome.  To this day I praise God my parents were not materialistic because if they were, that Christmas tree would have ruined Christmas forever.   As it stands, it is a beautiful memory.

And you friend, how is your Christmas joy holding?  Are you focusing on the coming of our Savior or are you getting caught up in trivial Christmas trappings?  Any Christmas mishaps yet?  Burn any cookies or send any cards to the wrong person? 

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Phil 4:4-8

Do not let mishaps and mistakes seize your heart this season friend.  Keep rejoicing.  We have so much to be thankful for, and one to place our hope in.  It is such a wonderful season to rejoice.

Good Christian men, rejoice
With heart and soul and voice
Now ye need not fear the grave:
Peace! Peace!
Jesus Christ was born to save
Calls you one and calls you all
To gain His everlasting hall
Christ was born to save
Christ was born to save

Praying that you might truly rejoice this week,

xoxKaren

    

Time Out

On any other day of the year, a donkey on display could be forgiven for getting tired of crowds.  After hours of human interaction, a discerning parent might say, “I think the donkey is tired sweetheart.  Look but don’t touch him.”  But on this particular day, the situation was more complicated.  To start with, the donkey in question was not actually a donkey, she was a horse.  A miniature horse to be specific, who was being loved on by everyone around her. 

Willow’s long mane was a shade of cream that matched her brown winter coat.  She looked like she had slipped on fancy socks for her evening out, which complimented her ensemble beautifully.  She was clean, ridiculously fluffy and entirely adorable.

On this special evening, Willow was the marquee draw of the living nativity.  All the regulars were in attendance.  The shepherds had donned their requisite dish towels and Joseph and his family were present.  The heavenly host though beautiful, decked in tinsel and nylon wings, had nothing on the donkey impersonator.  Willow was a rock star and it was causing problems. 

Willow’s fans were composed primarily of children under five years of age; toddlers who had not mastered the art of walking.  They took one look at their horse-donkey hero, squealed with delight and launched themselves straight at her muzzle.  Their chubby fingers could not get enough of Willow’s plush locks.  Laughter filled the air, as child after child pet the pretty animal. 

I was recruited by a friend to volunteer at a dinner held for at-risk pregnant women and their families.  I and a couple hundred stranger-friends were working to create a special night out for approximately one hundred families.  The evening itself was a miracle.  Tens of strangers waltzing to the tune of organized chaos.  Children, face paint, cookie sprinkles, slot cars and mashed potatoes were all crafted into a celebration held together by generous hearts and willing hands.  It was a delightful event. 

My role took me all over the building to check on volunteers and solve small problems as they arose.  I went outside to the nativity several times throughout the evening. After two hours, I noticed Willow was not tethered next to the Holy family anymore.  She had been relocated to a place beside the celestial choir.  I found Willow’s owner/agent and asked her if everything was okay.  “It’s great!” She exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.  She was bundled in a hat and scarf, but excess fabric couldn’t dull her shiny heart.  “Ummm…and your horsey?” I inquired, not wanting to cast aspersions on Willow’s commitment to her role.  She threw back her head and laughed, “Yep, a bit grumpy,” she confessed.  “She’s getting a lot of admirers this evening.”  I hovered for a while longer, watching families enjoy the display, until duty called me back inside.

The night continued at a rapid pace.  Happiness and mayhem, decked the halls.   When I checked in on Bethlehem forty minutes later, the scene had shifted yet again.  The angels were gathered around a propane heater drinking hot chocolate, Jesus was being held by an extended relative and the donkey was nowhere to be seen.  “Where’s Willow?” I asked.  My friend rolled her eyes heavenward.  “Willow needed some time alone,” she giggled.  “She is behind the stable, the crowds have done her in.”  I walked around the makeshift stable to the railing.  There, shaggy head buried in a bucket of feed, was Willow the horse-donkey.  She had intentionally been tethered so her head was turned away from the crowds, facing into the corner. 

The donkey was in timeout.

Because I have a bizarre sense of humor, I must confess the sight thrilled my soul.  At a time of celebration, I understood how all the merriment could drive someone around the bend.  I could sympathize.  It is so easy to lose your patience and sense of peace at during the holidays.  Half an hour in a shopping mall is enough to make me question the meaning of Christmas and I’m a believer.  The demons of consumerism sing a captivating carol at Christmas time.  “Worship here and lift your spirits” they croon.  “Where is my visa?” the chorus echoes in reply.  It is enough to bring distress to any faithful heart. 

I encourage you not to become dismayed this season.  If you, like Willow, are being pulled away from the view of your Savior, take some time out with your favorite Christmas Carol.  Remember the truth behind the celebration and return to your place at his feet.

God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray
O tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

The world may have gone crazy, but you know the truth.  May you find comfort and joy this season dear friend.

I’m praying for you,

xoxKaren

Splinters

I would have forgotten the poem if the policeman hadn't knocked on our door early Thanksgiving morning.  The sharp knock made my youngest jump and my eldest look at me in shock that bordered on panic.  The sleepy critters were wrapped in blankets in the living room, enjoying a lazy morning with Dad.  We were not dressed for company.  “I’ll get it.” My hubby reassured my eldest and strode to the door.

Everyone was surprised to see a policeman on our doorstep, but he greeted us politely then jumped straight into questioning.  Within a few minutes, the girls were peering out from behind their blankets, adding information.  The exchange lasted a few minutes, but its impact would hover round the flat a while longer.

The policeman thanked us and excused himself.  From the home downstairs came some barking, knocking, and yelling.  Within half an hour, the sergeant left with a reluctant passenger.  The whole affair was sad and it took my husband a while to put the experience in a context the children could comprehend.  I managed to keep my thanksgiving groove and continued baking in the kitchen, but I found myself upset and praying.

The poem was written by David Roderick and is found in his new book The Americans.   It was titled Dear Suburb and the last line of the poem came washing over me,  

The next time you text me, I’ll be high

On magnolia pollen

and munching chips

near the bluebird house,

amazed I can thrive here so close

to a city’s lost eminence,

where you bring a golden stillness

to everything

I touch, where I go whole years

Without suffering

So much as a splinter 1.

Confession: I deeply miss suburbia and living in a house.  I hate living in an apartment with its insta-community crazies and the blatant thoughtless behavior.  I miss the splinter-less bubble a house provides.  Apartment life isn't for cowards and this Thanksgiving morning grief was making a bold play for my heart.  But before I could step into my freshly drawn bath of self-pity, a parallel metaphor came zipping across my kitchen.  

Church life can be a lot like the suburbs.  I can wake up in my Christian house, put my children in Christian schools, allow them to join Christian sports, send them to Christian youth groups in order to live as far from pagans as possible.   I confess this was the life I was building for myself, the life I desired, before God interrupted some years ago and my world got smashed… to splinters.

The Merriam Webster Dictionary defines a splinter as “a thin, sharp piece of something (such as wood, glass, etc.) that has broken off a larger piece.”  They hurt, sometimes a great deal, and it takes time to fish them out.  They are inconvenient, unpleasant and vexing.

At Christmas time, the world of unbelief doesn't like to talk about splinters.  It prefers to paint pictures happiness without any problems or shortages.  But on this first day of Advent dear friend, as we prepare to remember incarnation of Jesus, I think splinters are worthy of discussion.

Do you have any splinters in your life or heart this Christmas?  Any people or circumstances that you would gladly part with? Celebration is easy when there is no lack, but it takes a believer to worship when an illness takes over and all strength is gone. A perfect Christmas dinner is wonderful, but a Christmas dinner that extends to an unpleasant lonely relative is glorious. So many of us are living non-perfect lives, will you come, problems and all and worship with us?   

My hope friend, is that you would decorate, celebrate and meditate your way through the season.  My fear, is that you will try to create a Christmas without splinters and in doing so, you will miss the cross from which they come.  Many things that drive us to our knees are pieces of His cross.  A piece of suffering, broken from the wood of glory and given to you, overseen by a loving God.  Do not despise your pain and grief this season.  Bring it to the light of Christmas and allow him to touch your brokenness.  It might not be a perfect Christmas, but if it involves the reality of suffering, the very reason why he came, it will be glorious.  

Praying for you this week,
xoxKaren


1.  Roderick, David. "Dear Suburb." The Americans.© 2014 University of Pittsburgh Press. P63-64 

Fill Up

I knew it was going to be a bad morning when I couldn't find my glasses.  The instant I reached across my pillow and grasped air instead of my specs was the moment I should have cried,” Stay in bed children, we’re cancelling Thursday!”  Sadly, years of training and misplaced optimism kicked in and I stumbled out of bed, sightless, to start my morning routine.

On the way to the bathroom, I stepped on a plate of half eaten peanut butter toast and tripped over a curtain road that was used as a wizard’s staff the night before.  I cursed, retraced my steps back to my night table and started the hunt for my glasses.

Few things are as vexing as being sightless looking for your glasses, but over time I have developed a system to retrieve them.  I immediately blame my entire family for moving my belongings and making my role as a mother more difficult.  Then I scream at people to help me while attacking them for asking useful questions such as, “When do you last remember having them?”  When irritation has morphed into a feeling of unjust persecution, I stomp around the flat begging the Lord for his help, because I've lost my glasses and my brilliant family can’t find them.  Inevitably, after I have made everyone miserable, my eye wear is found and I begin my ungracious apologies. 

It’s not as fun as it sounds, which was why I gave thanks when my return trip was rewarded by a glimpse of my glasses on the floor.  Thanking Jesus for small victories, I danced around the toast plate and headed for the shower.

To be honest friend, finding my glasses was not enough to keep my mood in check.  The last week had presented a cocktail of discouragement, to which I added a shot of self-pity, my hormones contributing a dash of irrationality.  Instead of talking with my hubby or a friend, I had decided to tough it out, hoping the sadness in my heart would lift because I knew I was being silly.  It didn’t.  Which might explain why I  started weeping when I piled my children in the car and found the gas tank empty.

Sighing deeply, I went to the gas station.  Pulling in, I thanked the Lord for low gas prices and started to talk sternly to myself about the goodness of God.  My therapy session was interrupted almost immediately by a woman on the other side of the pump.

It was a cold day and she was wearing sunglasses and a delightfully fuzzy white jacket.  (The expensive faux fur type not the ewok-gone-wrong kind.)  Waving the pump handle around in an unsafe manner, she was doing a sort of dance with the hose.  I wasn’t sure what was going on, but because I am a brave empathetic Christian, I decided to hide behind the gas pump. 

Add some more dancing and waving, and insert me looking around to ensure no one nearby was juggling with fire.  Too late, I had been spotted.

"Excuse!!" She shouted.  "EXCUSE!!"
I bravely peered out from behind the pump. "Hello??" I replied.  She didn't look too scary, minus the whole waving-a-flammable-liquid-around thing.  "Umm....Hi?"  I stepped out of hididng.
"Do you need help?" She asked me, pointing to the pump nozzle.  
I stared blankly at her, while my ESL subroutines kicked in.  "Excuse?"  I countered.  I didn't need any help.  I needed to be left alone.  What was this woman saying?
"Do....you....need....help?" My Asian friend repeated the phrase slowly because clearly I was having trouble speaking English.  To further demonstrate, she swung the nozzle at her gas tank and declared, "Fill, no!"
It suddenly became clear and I smiled, "You need help?  You can't fill your car?"
Relief swept across her face, "Yes!" she replied.  "Help."
The next 5 minutes were taken up with me feeling clever, showing my new friend how to pump gas.

                                 

Dear heart, this week kicks off holiday mayhem here in America.  Chances are between now and Jan 2, 2015 you will have a moment of feeling unsupported, unappreciated and underfunded.  You are going to need help maintaining a thankful heart and getting through the season.  Nothing brings out depression and melancholy like the media’s finest pagans, lying their faces off about what constitutes a meaningful Christmas.

My new friend provided a delightful picture of what you can do when you feel blue and need some help surviving the holiday.  If you are in need of assistance ask someone, “Can I help you?”

Restore our fortunes, O Lord,

like streams in the Negev!

Those who sow in tears

shall reap with shouts of joy!

He who goes out weeping,

bearing the seed for sowing,

shall come home with shouts of joy,

bringing his sheaves with him.

Ps 126: 4-6

Look for opportunities to sow a seed when you find yourself weeping dear friend.  While you are praying for the Lord to encourage you and lift your spirits, be kind to someone else.  You cannot begin to fathom how many people find the holidays difficult.  Is your sister an addict who will be absent from your Christmas celebration?  Write a 5 sentence note to an addictions counselor in your church or community thanking them for their work.  Are you desperately lonely, missing a loved one? Look for a way to visit a senior’s home, bring cookies, read a book to a sad heart. 

Is this a broken season for you?  Are you barely able to lift your head from your tear stained pillow?  Try brave heart, to write one note of encouragement this season to one who is struggling as you are.  Helping others will not cure all the wounds in your heart, but it will help.

God of All Comfort

3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 5 For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.  2 Cor 1:3-5

And so we are marching bravely friend, into the holidays.  Into our dark world, where beautiful and horrible things will happen, where you can choose to shine brightly.  You can choose, to be a light no matter how overwhelmed you may feel.  With your God, you can be in need of help, but still have the grace to ask, “Can I help you?”

God is our strength, it’s time to fill up.

Praying for you.

xoxK

Costly Coffee

One of the challenges of parenting is the sheer amount of time it requires.  There are many tasks to complete in 24 hours.  I enjoy the demands of parenting but some days, I miss my friends.  A woman I don’t see enough is a radical disciple of Jesus who I’ll call Jess.  Jess is a five foot three-ish tiny blonde wonder.  She maintains four children, two households, one husband and is the bookkeeper for the family business.  Yet she is the type of woman who wouldn't blink if I suddenly dropped in for lunch unannounced with five extra guests.  She would look up and say, ”Karen, I’m so glad you are here!” while she set to adding peanut butter and jam sandwiches to whatever she was serving.

I fell in love with her while looking through her tea stash (an entire drawer filled with black teas, no chamomile anywhere), but decided she had to be my friend when we had a conversation about suffering.  I was having a bad day and found myself in her home, sipping tea and eating a seemingly endless supply of banana chips. 

After explaining the faith challenges before me, she started to recount the trials facing the persecuted church.  Then she brought out almonds and chocolate while she proceeded to list off biblical characters who faced overwhelming hardship.  The entire afternoon was cozy, surreal and refreshing.  It was the first time I had shared my pain only to be asked if I was blessed by indoor plumbing.  I knew at that instant, she was a treasure.

The fact that Jess gets anywhere on time is a miracle.  This particular Wednesday, she found herself distracted as she managed to get her children buckled into the car.  Bible study was the destination, but there was time to stop and grab coffee before class.  I’m not clear what had my friend so preoccupied that morning, but as a result, she raced into an unfamiliar coffee stand to get her drink.

Had Jess being driving slower, she might have noticed the sign lining the driveway.  Let me state, that bikini barista is a misnomer in the coffee business, like the terms guinea pig or king crab.  The woman work these stands don’t always wear bikinis.  You can imagine then, how surprised Jess was, to find an almost naked woman asking her what type of coffee she wanted.

Did I mention Jess was on her way to bible study?

When she had picked her eyeballs off the floor, Jess decided that acting casual was the best way to deal with the encounter.  She calmly placed her order and prayed very, very, very hard that her children would remain oblivious to their surroundings.  Her plan was working pretty well until her four year old boy looked up, caught sight of the server and started screaming.  In his defense, his mother had never purchased coffee from a bare naked person before.  Determined to remain calm Jess shouted, “Boys stop!! Put your faces in your chairs and I’ll tell you when you can lift them!!!”  She thanked her mostly naked server, concluded her purchase, drove off and started explaining. 

I thought the whole misadventure was a pretty remarkable picture of how things can go sideways.

Sometimes sin catches us by surprise and we find ourselves in a distressing situation, unsure how to cope.  Because we dislike making a scene, we tough out situation when we should flee.  Then the screaming starts….

Now the works of the flesh are evident:  sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealously, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these.  I warn you, as I warned you before that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.  Gal 5 19-21.

Friend, before the holiday season begins, can I challenge you to do something different? Sit down and examine your heart.  What sins have you been fighting against his year?   Ask the Lord for the gift of repentance but don’t stop there.  To forsake something means to renounce or give up something valued or pleasant.  Ask God to give you the grace to forsake the sin that is hindering you.  Break up with it entirely.  If surfing the web leads to porn, take up reading books.  If talking on the phone with a specific friend leads to gossip, send an email instead.  Let’s not waste one more minute with activities that lead us to places of shame.  With God’s grace, let us enter this holiday season with hearts ready to celebrate the coming of our King.

Jess would be the first person to tell you, for the price you pay, the coffee isn’t worth it.

Praying for you this week.

xoxK

Clipped and Close

We have to talk about the budgie again. I don’t want to become a crazy bird blogger, but I need to explain Carl’s last attempt to assassinate me was my fault.   Not that anyone was concerned about my wellbeing, most comments contained inquiries about the bird. 

Carl arrived at our household with “clipped wings.”  Her flight feathers had been trimmed so she could fly but could not readily gain altitude. Clipping a bird’s wings takes skill.  Done properly, your bird gets around, but not out the window to hang with delinquents on the corner.  Done wrong, your bird becomes a drunken menace, careening across the landscape, liable to hurt themselves and whoever else they can injure in the process.

I remember thinking clipping a birds' wings was unkind and barbaric.  That depriving a bird of flight would make it depressed and forlorn.  As a result, I decided to let Carl’s wing grow out.  

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

There is a way which seems right to a man, But its end is the way of death.

Prov 14:12

I did not anticipate the regrowth of Carl’s flight feathers would correspond perfectly with the onset of avian puberty.   Height and dominance issues were unfamiliar terms.  If I knew that landing on the curtain rod was the way to attain social dominance, I would have taken out my ladder and dusted the ceiling for a while.  As it turns out Carl did it first, concluding our family system was inferior, lacking leadership and direction.  She decided to whip the family into shape by landing on people’s heads and shrieking orders at the top of her lungs.  Soon after budgie boot camp started, she realized that we were stupid and could not follow orders.  Carl added corporal punishment to the regimen and began biting any human that fed or offered her affection.  Within one month, Carl had caused a dozen fights between family members.  My husband was furious.  Carl was at risk of being put in a Panini press and displayed on Pintrest as food art.

Compassionate thoughts of species equality went flying out the window.  I was in a war.  I needed to reassert dominance quickly or die showering.   As a conservative homeschooler, I knew I needed high quality research to perform my next move.  One afternoon on youtube and my daughter and I set to clipping Carl’s wings. 

The results were immediate and miraculous.  Gone was the evil overlord budgie.  Gone was the domineering shrew.  Gone was the I-don’t-need-you-I-can-do-it-myself attitude.  She became affectionate once more.  She needed us and liked us again.  Our Carl had been humbled.

For you save a humble people, but the haughty eyes you bring down. Ps 18:27

“God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.” Jam 4:6

Scripture is clear regarding our God’s attitude toward a proud heart.  Carl’s behavior change was a remarkable illustration of the value of correction.  It got me thinking, has the Lord clipped your wings lately?  Have you been overconfident, which lead you to an outcome less pleasing than you had hoped? Or perhaps you thought you were clever, until you read a situation wrong, and needed to apologize to another.   There are many ways in which we tell the Lord we don’t need him, so many ways we rebuff his kind help.  We tend to ignore our arrogance until the Lord mercifully steps in to deal with our domineering hearts.

“My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord,

nor be weary when reproved by him.

For the Lord disciplines the one he loves,

and chastises every son whom he receives.”

It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline?  If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons.  Besides this, we have had earthly fathers who disciplined us and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits and live?  For they disciplined us for a short time as it seemed best to them, but he disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness.  For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it. Heb:12 6-11

Be encouraged this week my friend.  You are not alone as you walk down tough roads.  Our God sees you.  He intends to take you through the difficult places.  He intends them for your good, and to bring you out again.  He is creating something beautiful in you, so that you may enjoy the harvest of righteousness when His work is finished.  He loves you and he wants you sitting close and singing, not spiraling out of control cussing from the rafters.  

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.  But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows. Matt 10:29-31

Unpleasant as it seems, He would rather clip your wings and keep you close.

Take heart, and keep standing.

Thinking of you this week,

xoxKaren

Check Yourself

The text I got from my girl friend was brief,

Hubby said to mention your cheque for the text book didn't go through. Thought you should know in case you have more cheques out.  No stress, I'm not in a rush, feel free to put it off until whenever works.

It was a kind note considering my payment was now overdue, but it left me perplexed.  I was vigilant this month and faithful to balance my cheque book in order to convince my hubby that I was a proverbs 31 woman. It was a form of atonement for the rough month of crazy I was having.  Goodness knows I drove the poor man mad early in our marriage due to my inability to manage accounts.   But this month I had been careful and knew there was money available. I spent some time playing my least favorite game, "what-have-I-done-now?" But at the end of a few rounds I was no closer to an answer.  I texted my friend's husband to ask what the bank said when they returned the cheque.  "They said, account did not exist." He replied.  "Not insufficient funds, but can not find the account."   I started to feel mildly ill and went to find my cheque book.

I wasn't hard to find.  I had run out of cheques recently and stuck a new cheque book in my purse.  I grabbed the blue wallet and put it on the table.  I looked inside, stared hard and screamed.  

Did I tell you I moved recently?  In fact, I just unpacked the last of my boxes that were in storage. Specifically, the boxes that housed my office supplies. How happy I was to find my stapler, my three hole punch and my electric pencil sharpener.  I was less thrilled to go though old paperwork, with the task of separating what needed to be shredded from what needed to be filed.  I found piles of visa print outs, bank statements and even a box or two of old cheques. I placed them all in a bag to be shredded. Almost......

I remember pulling one of the cheque books out and smiling.  It was so old the bank no longer existed.  I wondered why I packed it away in the first place. Then I wondered if the proverbs 31 woman had hoarding issues.  I left the "to-be-shredded-cheque-book" on the kitchen table to show my hubby.  The brilliant reason why I moved it to my desk remains a mystery, but I can tell you it sat there for about two weeks.  When I ran out of cheques, I grabbed the obsolete cheque book and put it in my purse.  Since that time, I had been gaily writing bad cheques to friends and family alike.  Not cheques that would bounce you understand, but cheques to an account that hadn't existed for about five years. Because.. why... not...?

Back to the screaming.

The following week was filled with feeling utterly foolish, combined with some embarrassment and a healthy dose of humiliation.  I was upset with myself and to be honest friend, I just felt stupid.  It was a mindless error, but one I felt I should not have made.  So much for coming off like a fiscally responsible adult.      

Have you ever had to come to terms with the fact that you make mistakes? More to the point, have you come to terms with looking foolish?  A thoughtless word, a careless act, can cause those around us to view us differently.  We feel embarrassed, exposed and very human.  It is hard to pretend you have it all together when you don't.  It makes us look less than perfect and who enjoys that? Thank the Lord, there is a provision of grace to be found at the cross. There, we find Our Savior's portion of mercy for our failings; forgiveness and hope when we find ourselves in error or sin.  

There is only one worthy of worship friend.  None of us are perfect and no matter how much we like the praise and admiration of others, it belongs to one man only.

Time to sing......

 O for a thousand tongues to sing
my great Redeemer's praise,
the glories of my God and King,
the triumphs of his grace!

My gracious Master and my God,
assist me to proclaim,
to spread through all the earth abroad
the honors of thy name.

Jesus! the name that charms our fears,
that bids our sorrows cease;
'tis music in the sinner's ears,
'tis life, and health, and peace.

He breaks the power of canceled sin,
he sets the prisoner free;
his blood can make the foulest clean;
his blood availed for me.

He speaks, and listening to his voice,
new life the dead receive;
the mournful, broken hearts rejoice,
the humble poor believe.

Hear him, ye deaf; his praise, ye dumb,
your loosened tongues employ;
ye blind, behold your savior come,
and leap, ye lame, for joy.

I pray for joy this week friend.  Joy that comes, not from being perfect, but from the knowing the one who perfects his own.

xoxK

Quiet Riot

Since becoming a parent, quiet time has been hard to come by. Now that my children are reaching double digits, time alone is a virtual impossibility.  There is always someone to drive, teach or assist as the day rushes past.  As a result, the shower has become the place where I can retreat and have a solitary moment.   Truth be told, I pray a lot in the shower.  I lock the door and deeply enjoy the peace and calm of my 3 x 5 kingdom.  It is the closest thing to a ritual that I have. 

My ceremony was interrupted last week when I almost killed both myself and the family pet.  Life has been stressful lately because our budgie Carl, is changing into a girl.  Sounds complicated, but you cannot tell the gender of a budgie until it is about a year old.  Turns out, we were presumptuous and assigned Carl the wrong name and gender.  As a result, our budgie needs therapy and is acting out her aggression in creative ways.

On this particular day, everyone in the household was getting on my last nerve.  Instead of sending my children on an errand and locking them out of the house, I thought I would take a shower in order to regain my composure.  I assigned the girls a task and headed for the bathroom.   I didn't bother turning on the lights, I just wanted to be alone.  If I had turned on the lights, I would have realized that Carl, who was also grumpy, had followed me into the bathroom and perched herself on the shower rod.  I remained oblivious and intent on my mini vacation.  Within minutes I could feel the tension decreasing as the hot water worked its magic.  I was feeling better. 

Did you know that budgies like water?  That they like water so much they will go out of their way to get under a running tap whenever the opportunity presents itself?  Carl, whose eyes adjusted to the lack of light before mine, decided that she needed to get closer to the shower spray.  After a moment of contemplation, she decided my head would provide the perfect landing spot.  Imagine my surprise, when I reached up to run shampoo through my hair at exactly the moment Carl landed on my head.  I don’t know who was more surprised, me, at feeling her claws dig into my scalp, or her, for suddenly having all vision removed by shampoo bubbles.  It was alarming for both of us.  For the uninformed, any good budgie, when they have just survived an assassination attempt will do two things.  One: dig their claws deeper into whatever surface they are on to get purchase and two:  start cussing out the assassin at the top of their lungs.  The ensuing scene was not pretty.  I could mention that in the commotion, the shampoo bottle had tipped over, creating a slippery ribbon of death, running the length of the tub.  If I did, I would then need to find words to describe how my peaceful shower turned into a stark, hot yoga, fighting match with my almost blind budgerigar.  We aren't going there today.  I managed to pry the enraged critter off my head when I realized that something about my life really needed to change.

I took out a pen and paper, jotting down practical changes and available resources.  That got me nowhere but cross so I picked up my bible to look up some scripture on change and priorities.  The first scripture I came to was in Matthew,

But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be added unto you (Matt 6:33).

To be honest, I groaned.  I had heard that before, I wanted a new scripture, a new word, and a new direction.  But it was then I realized I wasn't doing any of the old things I was responsible for very well, particularly my quiet time.  How many times had I come under conviction that I need to shift my schedule just a fraction in order to make my life less stressful?  How many times had I decided not to fold the laundry so that I could spend mindless time elsewhere?  How many walks could I have taken with my man, but chose to complete some petty chore instead of going on a walk and talk?  We don’t realize how much we need time apart until life hits and the feathers start flying.  I had not done a good job of daily seeking the Lord first and it was starting to show. 

Friend can I remind you that Jesus loves spending time with you?  He thinks you are lovely and He enjoys your company.  Might I encourage you to revisit your schedule to find times to seek God first?  You don’t need to light candles or chant, a simple chat over a cup of tea will suffice.  A walk around the block after supper, a moment on your knees in the living room before the monsters descend for breakfast, all these intentional acts are a worthwhile investment. 

I love those who love me; and those who diligently seek me will find me. Proverbs 8:17

My quiet time has been relocated to a dry location when the budgie is asleep.  I am praying Dear Heart that you can find a quiet corner this week to be refreshed and restored.  I pray Jesus will bless you with peace as you seek his priorities and purpose. 

Have a good week,

xoxK

Say “Hi and Happy Thanksgiving ” to my friends back home.  I miss you all so terribly, I wish with all my heart I were there.