Seven Details To See in Your Past

January 2, 2022, will mark 25 years since I began putting pen to paper and chronicling my life. Twenty-four years of documenting, cataloging, recapping, rehashing, lamenting, praying and worshiping my way through life. My journals are without question my most-prized possession. I would be devastated if anything ever happened to them - or if anyone else ever got their hands on them and read them. They are equal parts mortifying, sobering, comical and painful. I've told two of my very dearest friends on numerous occasions - if I should die suddenly, you have strict instructions to immediately burn every single piece of paper in my journals without ever reading them. You light the biggest bonfire possible and you toss them in and you keep watch until every last square inch has been turned to ash and dust. I will haunt you from the grave if you or anyone else reads them before burning. I trust they will honor my request. 

Every so many years, I pull out the entire collection of journals and I read them from start to finish, from the very beginning until present day. It allows me to see the arc of my life, the broad strokes, the themes, rather than zeroing in on the details and finer points. It is both an exercise in remembering and forgetting. There are numerous entries I need to remember, where I need the reminder of all that God has carried me through, need the reminder of his illogical faithfulness to me, but also so many entries I wish I could forget - or at the very least take a black marker to them. Those kind of entries mainly related to boys, much to my dismay and embarrassment.

My first entry [enshrined in a brightly colored Lisa Frank* journal] was simply my new year's resolutions for 1997.  I was all of twelve years old and I clearly was not the most ambitious child. I was mainly concerned about personal hygiene and somehow seeing to it that my pets' happiness was accounted for. I aimed to set the bar low in life, even at a young age:  

January 2, 1997
11:05 a.m.

• Get up earlier
• Brush teeth every morning
• Get shower every night
• Wash hair every night
• Keep room clean
• Read Bible as often as possible
• Work with Bud [my pony] several times a day (patience!)
• Play with Maggie [my dog] more often
• Take care of fish tank often

The sad part is, if I stripped out the pet-related resolutions, this list could likely still be applied to various seasons of my adult life. Let's be honest - in the worst of my mental health crisis, showering felt like attempting to climb Mt. Everest. Washing my hair was icing on the cake. And that was at 33-years old. 

Those early years were mainly filled with the mundane reporting out of a kid who lived a pretty simple, uneventful life. Middle school librarian who drove me crazy. Lesson horse who wouldn't cooperate. Friends who ignored me. Class assignments that were bothersome. Brothers who were - well, brothers. 

But as the years passed, the entries became laced with much deeper, sometimes darker things. The simple resolutions of childhood were long gone. The complicated resolutions of adulthood were ever-present.  Entries became far less about reporting external circumstances and far more about pouring out internal uncertainties and quandaries. The laments and sorrows of the latter years far outpace the optimism and naïveté of the early years.

If I'm not careful, I can linger too long over the past mistakes I've been reliving through these pages. It becomes easy to see the sum total of all my bad choices, regrets, poor discernment and wrong turns. When those moments come, it is there that I have to stop, close the pages and walk away. 

And it is there that I have to see the redemptive hand of God in it all. 

Jonathan Parnell wrote an article that has been formative for me in recent years, a framework through which I have come to view my past. Parnell exhorted, "The exercise is to read your own history — to pinpoint where you are now and jump backwards, working your way back up to the present. And during this reading, there are some specifics for which we should be on the lookout." He then outlined seven things for which we need to be on the lookout:

1. See God's care for you.
2. See God's wisdom for you.
3. See God's grace for you.
4. See God's humility for you.
5. See God's goal in all your provisions.
6. See God's goodness in comfortable stuff.
7. See Jesus Christ as the way of God's mercy to you.

This exercise of re-reading my past is not merely an exercise in resurrecting regrets. It is an exercise in remembering why I need a resurrected Savior. Without his care, wisdom, grace, humility, goodness and mercy, the words that fill all 17 journals spanning 25 years certainly would be nothing but documentation of my foolishness and failings. They would be an archive, a snapshot, of a sinful, broken life. 

But through a different lens, through the lens of God's faithfulness, I can see more than that.  

I can see his care for me in the very darkest of seasons, when he sent friends I didn't know I needed, family who sat with me even when they felt helpless, and songs that would become my anthems.

I can see his wisdom for me when he shielded me from dating relationships that simply weren't meant to be, despite my longings and desires telling me otherwise. His wisdom told me that opportunity did not equal permission, and that outlook has spared me many a heartache, I imagine. 

I can see his grace for me when I sinned against another and spoke cruel, bitter words. His grace came running, even when my sin sent me stumbling.

I can see his humility for me when he stooped low and answered prayers that seemed so trivial, so inconsequential. But those prayers became stakes in the ground, stakes I would use as reminders of his faithfulness, even in the seemingly simple requests. 

I can see his goals for me in all my provisions when he transformed dreams and made a way for new beginnings. That riding scholarship I was convinced I would get and would desperately need as a provision to pay for college? Denied. But it turns out I didn't need a riding scholarship because he knew I wouldn't be riding for much longer anyway. His goals and his provisions were greater than I ever dared to dream. 

I can see his goodness in comfortable stuff. There is never a physical need I've had that he hasn't provided, from the greatest to the least, including that mouthwatering burger and insanely good milkshake I had in Kenya at Java House after being so sick of eating beans. A simple delight he chose to bestow out of the simple fact that he delights in caring for his children. 

I can see Jesus Christ as the way of God's mercy to me when he disciplined and corrected sin that he simply would not allow to continue, for my sake and his glory. 

It's all there - and more - in my past. But I have to look for it. 

You have to look for the same in your own. His care, wisdom, grace, humility, goodness and mercy toward you are there in your past, just as they are in mine. Will you choose to see it? You don't need to have chronicled it all through journals like I have; that's not the point. But can you recall and bring to mind the workings of God, the fingerprints of his goodness stamped across the seasons of your life even apart from the written word?

Parnell concluded his piece by saying, "Every detail of God’s goodness to you has come through the blood of Jesus. Look back on these providences and remember that you’ve earned none of them. They come by Jesus, or they don’t come at all. His cross is the most vivid demonstration of God’s love for us, and every little good we’ve seen has flowed from that glorious fountain. It did yesterday, and it will tomorrow." 

Every little good I've seen across 17 journals, 25 years and thousands of words has flowed from the blood of Jesus. I can look back on these providences and remember that I've earned none of them. They have come by Christ and Christ alone.

============

*I was obsessed with Lisa Frank as a child, and I am seriously considering buying one of these sweatshirts, purely for nostalgia's sake. Oh, the days of Casey and Caymus, Hollywood Bear and Panda Painter! Brings back so many memories. 

If Only I Had Twitter

It's been previously established I have no social media accounts. It's an intentional lifestyle choice, but  ironically enough, part of my big-girl job is to serve as the social media coordinator for the conference I plan. If you're scratching your head right now, that's okay. I do so myself on occasion. It was a bit of an accident and somehow I wound up taking over the responsibilities here a couple of years ago. 

I can't imagine the circumstances under which I would ever resurrect my own personal existence on social media, but once in a blue moon, though, I do have fleeting thoughts where I think, "Man, I wish I had an account on Twitter or Facebook." The key word is fleeting. F-L-E-E-T-I-N-G. Those thoughts last all of about 0.67 seconds, and it's usually because I want to tweet at someone, not because I feel like I have something to say otherwise. 

Alas, since I don't have Twitter (or Facebook or Instagram or TikTok), I'm going to resort to merely posting a collection of trivial tweets I've thought of recently, the things I would say if I had Twitter (or Facebook or Instagram or TikTok). Maybe I just need to coerce all my friends who do have social media to post these on my behalf?!

The real Jon McLaughlin
would be the one on the right

• @JonMcLaughlin: Did you know your long-lost twin is on the cover of DiAnn Mills' book Firewall? #DoubleTake

• @BenRector: Your lyrics to "If You Can Hear Me" greatly trouble me. "Sometimes the devil sounds a lot like Jesus, telling me I'm not enough." These lyrics make no sense to me, no matter how many times I listen to them. Please explain. #SoConfused

•  @HappyRantPod: What are the odds you have transcripts of your episodes? I am looking for ONE line said by Ronnie Martin in an episode sometime in 2020 that literally changed my life. That shouldn't be hard to find, right? #NeedleInAHaystack

• @LeagueLegacyUS: Once upon a time you made the world's most PERFECT ball cap. WHY DID YOU STOP MAKING IT? #BringItBackFromTheDead #PrettyPlease 

• @LazBoy: I swear my recliner is laced with sedatives. I blame you for my lack of productivity. #TheStruggleIsReal 

• @BathBodyWorks: You make a gazillion different scented candles. Why can't you carry the ONE scent I want (You're The One) on the ONE day of the year I bother to set foot in your store?! #WhatIsTheDeal #YoureNotTheOne #FirstWorldProblems

• @Subaru_USA: I made the right choice when I bought my Forester. #YoureTheOne

• @PilotPenUSA: You make the world's best pen. Just thought you should know. G-2 all the way! #Seriously #ILoveIt #IRarelyTravelWithoutOne

• @Techstyles Sportswear: I really wish you would sell direct-to-consumer. You make my favorite sweatshirt. And the only place I have found them so far is in a store in Jackson, Wyoming. Know anyone in Ohio who sells your sprinter crew sweatshirt??

• @SieteFoods: I typically buy no less than four bags of Lime Tortilla Chips when I go to the store. This is a problem. But occasionally I get a bag I swear is stale. This, too, is a problem. #WhatsUpWithThat

• @FoodShouldTasteGood: I would buy no less than four bags of Harvest Pumpkin Chips when I go to the store but you STOPPED MAKING THEM. Why does everyone feel the need to discontinue my favorite products? #HelpASistaOut #BringBackHarvestPumpkin 

If you're so inclined, feel free to post one of the above on my behalf. You'll just have to text or email me their response. #OldSchool 😉

Why Have I Been Forsaken?

It seems God has abandoned us, has he not? Or at the very least, he's in the process of waving farewell to us while his ship sails for the horizon line and we are left stranded on shore. If we're not careful, the tidal wave of doom and gloom will suck us under, give us a good thrashing against the reef below and throttle us to the surface above gasping for air. Millions of people dead from COVID in less than two years. Haiti ravaged by an earthquake - again. Louisiana hit by a monster of a hurricane - again. The West Coast decimated by forest fires - again. Cities like New York City are literally under water, experiencing unprecedented flooding. Mass shootings. Hate crimes. Heat waves. Droughts. Floods. Famines. War. Disease. And where do we even start with Afghanistan? Heck, even the chipmunks apparently don't stand a chance of making it out of this whole thing alive.

Depressing, isn't it? And all that is just if you're reading the front page of the newspaper. 

Knock on the front door of the people around you and you'll find equally devastating headlines. It's just that those headlines rarely make the nightly news or the Times.

The body count is stacking rapidly and we wonder where God is in the midst of it all, if he is here at all.

Oh, yes, it would be so very easy to believe he has vacated the premises. We would surely be justified in thinking so, as it seems every trace of the Almighty God has vanished. 

And he hasn't just forgotten us. He's forsaken us. Deserted us. Abandoned us.

Left us, quite literally, for dead. 

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us? Everywhere we look is death and destruction. Where are you in the midst of it? A darkness has come over all the land, and we are groping our way through the inky black, desperate to find any trace of you, your goodness, your light, your hope.

I know that feeling, when you're left on your knees, questioning everything you thought to be true, and perhaps wondering most of all if God really has finally just left you for dead. Those thoughts come easily in the dark.

But is this not the very crux of faith: what will our response be when it seems every trace of God has vanished?

Job faced this question. All his servants, dead. All his livestock, dead. All his children, dead. His own body? Not quite dead. But he was stricken with sores from head to toe nonetheless. "Then Job took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes" (Job 2:8). 

Surely God had vanished.

David faced this question. A hunted man, spending more than a decade of his life on the run from a madman trying to slay him out of jealousy and insecurity. He moved from one cave to the next, under constant threat of attack, always sleeping with one eye open and a sword tucked close. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent" (Psalm 22:1-2). 

Surely God had vanished.   

Jesus faced this question. He spent his life under constant suspicion and scrutiny of the religious leaders. They delighted in scheming up ways to trap him with questions. And then when they finally had had enough of his blaspheming? They stripped, mocked, beat, whipped, punched, flogged, flayed, and crucified the man. Without apology or remorse, or so much as a second glance over their shoulders. "From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land. About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" - which means, "My, God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:45-46). 

Surely God had vanished.

And that's just if you're reading the major headlines of the Bible. Knock on the door of other characters and you'll find many more who were seemingly forsaken by God. 

It appears he is an equal opportunity forsaker, from the common man to the Son of Man.

But if our faith is based on our circumstances, on what we see when we look around at a world gone haywire, at a world that ebbs and flows like the rising tide, then it is no faith at all. If we choose to believe that our every storyline ends in death and despair, then death and despair is all we'll see. If all you have is a hammer, then everything is a nail.

When we find ourselves groping our way through the inky blackness, pleading the lights would finally come back on, we must believe and we must confess:

He has not forsaken us. 

Job believed this. He groped his way through the inky blackness of grief and sorrow, and said, "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him" (Job 13:15).

David believed this. He groped his way through the inky blackness of terror and trauma, and said, "For he has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help" (Psalm 22:24).

Jesus believed this. He groped his way through the inky blackness of hell, and said, "'Abba, Father, everything is possible for you...Yet not what I will, but what you will'" (Mark 13:36).

God had not forsaken them, despite what their circumstances screamed.

C.S. Lewis said in his classic book, The Screwtape Letters, "Satan's cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do God's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."

When we look round upon a universe from which it seems every trace of him has vanished, will we still obey, even when we no longer desire to? Will we still seek to do God's will even in the face of the stacking body count all around us? Will we still seek to grab hold of him by faith and believe he has not forsaken us despite what the news headlines tell us? Will we still intend to do God's will when everything within our frame compels us to run the other way?

Every trace of God seemed to have vanished while his own Son hung on the cross. Complete and utter darkness had befallen the land. Hope had been blacked out. The sunlight snuffed like the flame of a candle, without even so much as a few lingering wisps of smoke.

From his vantage point on a cross high up on a hillside, Jesus looked round upon a universe from which every trace of his Father seemed to have vanished and asked why he had been forsaken. 

And yet he stayed nailed to that cross. 

He still went to the grave. 

He still obeyed. 

Will we do the same? Will our response be that of Job, "Though You slay me, yet will I hope in you"? 

Dear God, let it be so.

____________________________________________

For further listening:

Though You Slay Me by Shane and Shane, featuring John Piper

Held by Natalie Grant

Give Me a Song by Will Regan and United Pursuit

Joy by Page CXVI

Wyoming 2021: Still Working on the Selfie Game

In case you've missed the memo at any point along the way, I really love Jackson Hole, Wyoming. A lot. And I love taking other people there to experience it, to see it fresh through someone else's eyes. Much like the rest of the world, I had a hankering to travel, particularly back to Wyoming. I rustled up some traveling companions in the form of my mother and cousin, and off we went last week. 

It turns out I still love the place as much as ever. I typically only ever go out in September, but had been wanting to experience the Tetons and Yellowstone in a different season. I think I will forever be more partial to the Tetons over Yellowstone, so we spent the bulk of our time in Grand Teton and spent only two days up in Yellowstone.

And it's probably for the better that we only spent two days there. While it was hotter than hades back in Ohio, I was wearing 3 layers of clothing, gloves, a winter hat and using a kitchen knife to scrape snow off the car windshield up in Yellowstone. Hey, when you don't have an ice scraper in your rental, you work with what you've got. Kitchen knife it is. We woke up early our first morning to get into the park before the rest of the world woke up, making a beeline straight for the Canyon area, but it was snowing so hard and the roads were just getting worse the farther north we went, so we aborted that mission. Doesn't matter how beautiful the waterfall is if you can't see it through blinding, blowing snow. And when we were leaving Yellowstone to head back to Jackson, it was nearly whiteout conditions, with visibility maybe less than a quarter of a mile. I'm all for cold but I do have my limits.

Our time in the Tetons, however, involved far less snow, and was spent exploring some new areas I hadn't been to before, while still revisiting some tried-and-true favorites. While browsing the maps, I stumbled across a lookout point called the Wedding Tree, about 30 minutes east of Jackson that most people don't know about, on a gravel road through the Bridger-Teton National Forest. How the heck did I not find this place sooner? It was stunning, and for a brief time we had it all to ourselves because no one else was around, so you better believe I sat and admired the view and the silence for a bit while keeping my bear spray close.

Hidden Falls was another winner, but that place is fairly well-known and an easy hike into the backcountry, so by the time we were hiking out, the crowds were growing in size. Y'all - I cannot say this enough - if you ever visit the Tetons or Yellowstone, get your tookus out of bed early. This tactic pays dividends, and you will be so glad you gave up those few minutes of extra sleep.

Other highlights included:

• Seeing Bear 399 within hours of arriving. If you're not familiar with her, she's literally the famous famous grizzly bear in the country, if not the world. My mother is enamored with this fellow mother, and nearly did a happy dance when we came across 399 and her four cubs. Between seeing her and another grizzly, it's the most grizzlies I've ever seen. And to say it's the most I've ever seen, it's to say they are the only grizzlies I've ever seen out there, despite this being my fourth trip.

• Watched paragliders literally jump off the side of the mountain. My cousin and I took the Bridger Gondola up to the top of the mountain at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, and while up there, we were treated to a front-row seat of several people thinking it was a good idea to fling themselves into the wind off the side of a mountain. Tip: Don't buy the blueberry muffins at Off Piste. You'll wind up with sticker shock when you shell out $7 for a muffin that is somewhat of a letdown.

• The hunt for the world's perfect baseball cap. I bought a baseball cap the last time I was out to JH and it has proven to be my very favorite hat ever. I was determined to find another one just like it. Y'all. I practically scoured that town and could not find one in that exact style, by that exact brand. They had every other style, just not.that.one. It was maddening. I practically spent more time hunting for that baseball hat than I did for wildlife. Why is it that companies always feel the need to stop carrying the ONE product you absolutely love?

• Weddings. So many weddings! I can't tell you the number of brides and grooms we crossed paths with or saw from afar, getting their wedding photos. We even saw one bride in her gown, hoofing it up the path to Inspiration Point, on the far side of Jenny Lake in the Tetons. It's one thing to do that trail in hiking boots and regular attire, let alone in a wedding dress. The things we do for the perfect photo.

• I realized on this trip that every time I've been out to JH, I've been the one driving, which I don't mind, but it means I don't always get to take a good look at the scenery. Next time I go out, I need to find someone else who will drive. And I need to find someone who legit wants to hike. Not camp, just hike. I like a comfy bed, a warm shower and clean clothes, and I like those things on a daily basis. So no camping. And I can assure you I have zero interest in pitching a tent anywhere out in bear country, but there's so much hiking yet to do!

• I got mistaken for a boy. AGAIN. This time by a 5-year old on the plane. "Mommy, is that a boy or a girl?" I'm starting to lose track of the number of times I get mistaken for a boy. And it's always when I have a ball cap on, so I can't say that I entirely blame people, but seriously. It gets old. And discouraging. But not enough to make me swear off wearing my favorite ball cap.

• Gros Ventre Slide. I hadn't ever ventured over to Kelly, Wyoming, but one of it's more notable features is the landslide that occurred there back in the 1920s. It wiped out the town, killing 6 people and leaving a newly-formed lake in its wake. There's a trail that takes you to the base of the slide and literally looked like a bomb went off, even after nearly one hundred years have passed. 

• Lots of baby buffalo! It's calving season, so it seemed there were just bundles of baby buffalo scattered all over the place, mainly up in Yellowstone. This was the first time, however, that I saw exactly ZERO elk in Yellowstone. Not a single one.   

• Webcams. These can be your new best friend when traveling, and here's why: There are some mornings you'd really love to watch the sunrise, but you're also not sure if the view will be worth the effort to crawl out of your snuggly warm bed. Is it rainy? Is it cloudy? Can I even see the mountains? Enter webcams. There were several mornings I thought about checking out the sunrise but was also feeling mildly lazy. So, I would just check out a select few webcams, see if the view was worth it or not. If not, I rolled over and stayed in bed. If it was, I flung back the covers, grabbed my trusty ball cap, car keys and jetted out the door. #YoureWelcome.

As for the rest of the highlights, I'll let my camera lens do the talking. If you ever make plans to visit the Tetons or Yellowstone yourself, I will gladly serve as your trip advisor. And the first thing I will tell you is don't go to Yellowstone before June. And yes, you need to buy and carry your bear spray if you go hiking. And yes, you need to get your fanny out of bed at o-dark-thirty.  

 

Hidden Falls, just a quick boat ride and a hike across Jenny Lake

View from inside the Cunningham Cabin

The rubble at the base of the Gros Ventre slide. That patch of snow way up 
on the mountainside is where the slide originated.

Schwabacher's Landing. I mean, c'mon.
How can you not fall in love with a place like this?

Perfect mirror reflection at Schwabacher's

View from Wedding Tree. There was one stubborn cloud
that absolutely refused to move from the top of the Grand
the entire time I sat there.

 The view from Teton Point turnout

Heyyyo. Still working on my selfie game. It's been a work in progress since 2015.

My fellow sojourners, Old Faithful in the background

And, of course, no trip is complete without jumping photos
in front of the famous antler arches in Jackson's Town Square.

A Collection of Loves

If you have come to this post expecting any sort of wisdom or profound thoughts, you will be sorely disappointed. I have no such words to offer as of late. Some things just take awhile to percolate, and I've learned never to rush such thoughts.  

I do, however, have a collection of things I have been loving lately - podcasts, books, food, music, products. Just a little bit of everything. I've been reading books like a bear coming out of hibernation, searching for food. I've just been gobbling up one book after another. And I've been trying all sorts of new foods and recipes, some good, some not-so-good.  I offer this collective list merely as a means of recommendations and a peek into my wanderings lately. Perhaps you'll find a few will make it on to your own list of loves. 

• "Escape to the Chateau". This show has been on for years and I am only now just discovering it. I love Dick and Angel. I don't have cable, so I can only blame PBS for sucking me in.

• "Just Want You" by The Belonging Co, featuring Sarah Reeves. I cannot get enough of this song.

• Webcam at Turpin Meadow Ranch. I stayed at this ranch the first time I ever went to Wyoming. I LOVE this place and I just discovered there is a webcam there. I am hooked. I'm also obsessed with the webcam at the National Elk Refuge.

• The Spatty. Say hi to your new best friend. I've known about this product for awhile, but never bothered to buy one. But then I had a few lotion bottles and tubes that I wanted to clean out. Enter "The Spatty." I've used it nearly every day since I got it.

• Rebol. Such.good.food. This place is my guilty pleasure. Just minus the guilt actually because all their food is ultra-healthy and follows the mindset of functional medicine, which says, "Food is medicine." And their Paleo cookies? I had one over the weekend and it was a magical moment.

• Shrink Art. It's like magic. Equally entertaining for children and adults. I had done shrink art before but rediscovered it after thinking through what activity to have for a women's ministry I've been volunteering with. I just bought whole sheets of it, traced some images I found online, colored them, baked them and voila! 

• Whole30. This has literally changed my life. I started doing it several years ago and it has been a total game-changer. I started a round at the beginning of this year and I feel so much better. The wonder of good sleep is incentive enough to follow through with this approach.

• Harvest Sheet Pan Dinner. In the midst of Whole30, I've been exploring new recipes. I've been loving this one.

• Bacon. I know, I'm late to the game on this one. I'm not a huge bacon fan. (You can now pick up your jaw from the floor.) I felt kinda 'meh' about it. I had never bothered to purchase bacon at a grocery store, on my own, as an adult, until the last two weeks. And now I just want to eat it all the time. 

• Jesus, My Father, the CIA and Me by Ian Morgan Cron. This book. It had me laughing so hard I nearly peed my pants. I gobbled it up in one night. It was both sad and hilarious all at the same time. I also read The Road Back To Me by Cron, which I likewise recommend.

• Happy Rant Podcast. I'm not much of a podcast listener, but this is the one podcast I listen to faithfully, and routinely laugh out loud while doing so. And Ronnie Martin's Twitter feed - I wish I could write half as well as he does. He is a fabulous writer. 

• The Doctor's Farmacy Podcast. I don't listen to this one quite as faithfully, but I still listen to it a fair amount.

• Breath by James Nestor. Who knew there was a history to breathing. SO fascinating. I learned so much from this book.

• Hoopla. I use this app pretty regularly to access and stream music, but I do it for free through the public library. It's not like Spotify or Pandora that shuffles songs based on a few 'seed' songs. This gives you much greater control and lets you just straight up listen to entire albums of your choosing.

• Internet. I know, it's about like the bacon situation. I just got legit, hi-speed internet for the first time in my life. Go ahead and re-read that sentence again. I'll wait until your head is done exploding. Yes, I have gone my entire adult life without ever actually having internet. I would either use my phone, go to the public library, or use a mobile Wi-Fi 'Jetpack,' which really couldn't do much. I now have 5G, wired, unlimited internet and it is uh-mazing.

• Macadamia nuts. Add these next to bacon and internet. Clearly I've been living under a rock my whole life. How have I not discovered these before now?? The price tag on these little suckers is the only thing stopping me from eating my body weight in macadamias. 

• Fed Up documentary. Very enlightening.

• Food: What the Heck Should I Eat? by Mark Hyman. Can you tell I'm a fan of Mark's? (See also the Doctor's Farmacy podcast above and the Fed Up documentary, which he is in.) 

• Sanditon. I first watched the series on PBS. It was Jane Austen's last unfinished, unpublished work before she died. Spoiler alert: the guy does not choose the girl. Which annoys me. Greatly. But Theo James is just way too good-looking for me to be upset with him for very long. I also read two different versions of the book. Austen had only written eleven chapters before she died. One book took Austen's original chapters and then the author finished the book as she imagined Austen would have. The other version was just the book form of the TV series. (I also re-read Pride and Prejudice and re-watched both the Kiera Knightly movie version and the BBC series. I was clearly on a Jane Austen kick for awhile.)

Despite all of these things I've been loving, there are a few things I would not recommend:

• Sardines. I can't. I just can't. I thought I'd try to branch out some in the food department. This was a branch too far.

• Seaweed snacks. Again, trying to broaden my horizons and be a bit adventurous in the food department. It's a definite 'no'.

• Hazelnuts. I love Nutella, but I'm less of a fan of the raw nut. Kinda boring. And chewy.

• Book of Fire by Brian Moynahan. It's on the life of William Tyndale, the man who translated the Bible into English and was persecuted for doing so. Obviously, Tyndale's life is fascinating, but the book itself was a bit dense and the writing style left a little something to be desired.

• The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab. I was pretty excited to read this book because the plot summary sounded so intriguing, but I wound up pretty disappointed. It is no doubt wildly imaginative and creative, but it had several sex scenes that I just didn't care to read, and quite frankly, really great stories can be told without those elements

On Which Side Will You Sing?

Last weekend, I moved for the third time in a little over three years.

Let me just say this in light of this fact: I'm tired of pulling up tent pegs. 

I look back on my 20s and marvel, wondering who on earth that girl was who delighted so much in bouncing around the globe, restless at the mere thought of even being in one place for every long, aching far more for wings than roots. 

My mind and body must have been inhabited by some other woman back then because now in the latter half of my 30s, I am going kicking and screaming at the prospect of not being in one place for very long. I ache far more for roots than wings these days.

The decision to move is one stemming all the way back to mid-August, and the months in between were filled with stress, tears, meltdowns and temper tantrums of the adult variety. Life felt like a rollercoaster and a yo-yo all rolled into one, first searching for a house to buy, not finding anything, then deciding to rent, then deciding to search for a house again, and finally just deciding to rent again. The reasons behind the decision aren't all that significant - it was practical things like getting a new landlord who raised the rent, wanting to save more money for a downpayment on a house, and generally being sick of living below people who owned two large dogs who felt the need to turn their apartment into their own personal tumbling gym.    

And through it all I felt like God was silent. Oh, there were whispers of his promptings, but were they really him or my own thoughts? I struggled to discern, there was so much racket in my head. 

In the seeming silence, I doubted. I protested. I worried. I stressed. I complained. I panicked. I became anxious. I became fearful, consumed with self-imposed pressures and timelines. I practically begged for the heavens to open up, for angels to descend and declare, "Behold! This is the house you should buy," or "This is where you should live." My belief that God could provide evaporated in a cloud of unbelief.

No angels descended from on high, and there certainly were no words of gratitude flowing from my lips, no song of praise pouring from my heart. Not on this side of the matter.

I have thought often of the Old Testament Israelites as of late, people of tent pegs and tents, wanderers and nomads. 

It wasn't always that way. They had roots for over 400 years in one place and it was their undoing. They sank roots deep into Egypt, roots that would eventually enslave them. I wonder what songs they sang in those 400 years? Surely laments, but were there songs of praise? If they knew their prophecies, then they had to know that some day the 400 years would end, that it wouldn't always be like this, that they wouldn't always be slaves to a slave-driver. 

After 400 achingly long years of breaking backs and breaking hearts, God gave the Israelites wings and they took flight,  pulling up stakes, and fleeing Egypt.

But even with wings, there still was no song. They had the cloud by day and the fire by night, but no song. (None recorded anyway.) They had the very presence of the living God with them, but no song. They had been liberated from four centuries of bondage, but no song. 

And then their wings lead them to the Red Sea. A dead end. A brick wall of water before them and an angry army behind them. "As Pharaoh approached, the Israelites looked up, and there were the Egyptians, marching after them. They were terrified and cried out to the Lord. They said to Moses, 'Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die? What have you done to us by bringing us out of Egypt?'" (Exodus 14:10-11).

There is no song on this side of the Red Sea, only unbelief and doubt cloaked in terror and panic. The God who liberated us, provided for us, led us, surely he can't save us now!

But save He does. The wind roars, the waters part, the people pass and the army drowns.

And then - and then - a song. 

"Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord:

“I will sing to the Lord,

    for he is highly exalted.

Both horse and driver

    he has hurled into the sea. 

The Lord is my strength and my defense;

    he has become my salvation.

He is my God, and I will praise him,

    my father’s God, and I will exalt him.

The Lord is a warrior;

    the Lord is his name...

Who among the gods

    is like you, Lord?

Who is like you—

    majestic in holiness,

awesome in glory,

    working wonders? 

You stretch out your right hand,

    and the earth swallows your enemies.

In your unfailing love you will lead

    the people you have redeemed.

In your strength you will guide them

    to your holy dwelling...

The Lord reigns

    for ever and ever." 

Exodus 15:1-3, 11-13, 18

It's amazing the difference parted waters can have on a departed perspective.

Will we be like the Israelites and only sing on the other side of our Red Seas? Will we only worship after we've been delivered, after we know how it all ends, and after the happy ending? Or are we willing to worship in the space between beginnings and endings, pronouncements and deliverance, prophecies and fulfillments? Is not the song on the far side of the Red Sea, when the waters have not been parted, far more powerful than the one on this side of the Red Sea? Must we always wait for hindsight to inform our worship? Why do we not lean more on our foresight, our foreknowledge, which is built on the character of God, to inform our worship? 

I want there to be a song flowing from my mouth no matter which side of the Red Sea I'm standing on because the God who saves me on one side is the same God who saves me on the other. He is worthy of praise either way. I don't want to wait for hindsight to inform and determine the song I choose to sing. 

I want God to catch me singing on both sides, no matter whether I've got roots or wings.   

Similes in the Time of Corona

Sometimes the best way to describe something is not to describe the object itself, but to compare it to something else. Similes can be of great value in writing, heightening the imagery of the text and enhancing the reader's understanding. 

In these strange times, I've had many a moment of reflection and time to myself, pondering the how's and why's of life, collecting my own list of similes, gathering them up in a basket in my mind. A good many have come at the hand of personal experience in recent months. Please, allow me to share but a few here.

COVID-19 is a little bit like sin: it robs you of your senses. 

Literally. I managed to contract COVID somehow along the way earlier this summer, and like many others who have had it, I lost all sense of taste and smell for a couple of weeks. It was surprisingly depressing to not taste or smell anything I was eating. I resorted to just drinking bone broth on occasion for meals because I thought resignedly so, "Well, why not just drink your meal? It's not like eating it is any more enjoyable." Sin is like that. Eventually when you're in so deep, you lose the ability to detect right from wrong anymore, desensitized to what is true, apathetic to the pursuit of right living.

Getting a COVID nasal swab test is a little bit like a Pap smear for your nose. 

I need not comment further. Only women will understand this. 

Quarantine is a little bit like an introvert's dream come true. 

While in quarantine, there were friends and family who were genuinely concerned not only for my well-being as it pertained to the virus itself, but also to my being alone in quarantine. I always wanted to say, "Ha. Are you kidding me?! I'm living the dream here. Alone for weeks on end? Bliss." One of the very first social media posts somebody sent me back in March said, "CDC: To prevent coronavirus, stay home, avoid physical contact, and don't go into large crowds. Introverts: I've been preparing for this moment my entire life." Yes and amen.

Sometimes dealing with your health is a little bit like playing a game of Whac-A-Mole. 

Both are maddening. Pre-COVID, I was sorting through a laundry list of health issues, and it seemed that every time I would go a follow-up appointment with one of my healthcare providers, some new issue would have surfaced in the interim. Whack. And then COVID hit and that presented its own issues. Whack. Now its dealing with my body post-COVID. Whack. For once, could one of you moles just go down and stay down?

Hunting for crickets is a little bit like a game of Marco Polo in the dark. 

I hate crickets. With a passion. One of God's creatures that I absolutely do not understand why he made. And for whatever reason, they have decided to take up residence in my house, not just merely outside my house. I found one in the dishwasher. In the shower. In my bedroom. In the hallway. In the kitchen. In the dining room. And they chirp all the time. They seem particularly fond of the hours between 1 am and 3 am. One woke me up the other night around 1 am, and I could tell he was in the kitchen somewhere. It was all-out guerrilla warfare. With the lights off, I stood in one place and he stopped. I moved and waited in silence. He started chirping again and I moved closer to the sound. He stopped. I waited. He started again. I moved closer. One of us eventually lost that game of Marco Polo. It wasn't me.

Hunting for apartments is (presumably) a little bit like online dating. 

I have never done online dating, but if it's anything like shopping for a place to live, then there is good reason why I won't be signing up for eHarmony anytime soon. Good heavens. What an overwhelming, exhausting, frustrating and annoying process. My landlords informed me (on the same day I got out of quarantine) they were selling my place unexpectedly, and I was sent scrambling to find a place to live. I visited a half-dozen complexes and looked at dozens more online. About a week into it, I told my brother I was just going to move into his basement. If by some strange turn of events, online dating becomes the only means to marriage, then I'll stay single forever, living in my brother's basement.  

Since this pandemic doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon, I'm certain there will be no shortage of similes yet to be formulated. Whether those are dispatched from my brother's basement or not remains to be seen.

What Our Anxieties Reveal

The Bible says in Matthew 6:21, "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

What I have come to realize, however, in the last several years and in the aftermath of my own mental health crisis, is the corollary of that statement is actually what reveals the most about a person:

For where your idols are, there your anxieties will be also.

Show me your anxieties, and I'll show you your idols. Show me your idols, and I'll show you your anxieties.

You can pay lip service all you want to worshipping God and God alone, but your fears and your responses to them will ultimately tell me what you worship.

Mine certainly told me what I worshiped.

(Hint: It wasn't God.)

I worshiped my mind - I feared losing it.

I worshiped memory - I feared forgetting.

I worshiped control - I feared not having it.

I worshiped productivity - I feared idleness.

I worshiped perfection - I feared falling short.

I worshiped my body - I feared its decline.

I worshiped intelligence - I feared foolishness.

I worshiped money - I feared its lack.

I worshiped predictability - I feared uncertainty.

I worshiped safety - I feared discomfort.

Our idols are cruel taskmasters. Mine left me lying on the floor, gasping for air, incapable of sleeping without a light on for months for fear of the night. They'll enslave us every time and make no apologies, offer no recompense for the damages inflicted. They'll leave you bloodied, battered and bruised. God speaks to the heart of this issue in Isaiah 46:6-7:

Some pour out gold from their bags and weigh out silver on the scales; they hire a goldsmith to make it into a god, and they bow down and worship it. They lift it to their shoulders and carry it; they set it up in its place, and there it stands. From that spot it cannot move. Even though someone cries out to it, it cannot answer; it cannot save them from their troubles.

Pour out your silver and gold. Fashion your idols, your little 'g' gods, and worship them.

And there your idols will stand.

Put them on a pedestal, cry out to them, beg them to save you.

But they will neither answer nor save. In fact, they'll betray you every chance they get. Our idols will always be our undoing.

My perfectionism couldn't save me. My intelligence couldn't save me. My mind couldn't save me. All of them - every single one of my idols - fell short.

They still do.

Yet, in my pride and sinful stupidity, I insist on their existence.

But praise God.

Even my pride and sinful stupidity can't stop him from rescuing me.

All other gods, all other idols, bow down to him, including mine.

God will not tolerate our idols, and neither will he negotiate with us on their existence. He'll reveal 'em. He'll strip 'em away, expose them for the frauds they are.

Because he wants to be your treasure. And he wants your heart to be with him.

"Listen to me, you descendants of Jacob, all the remnant of the people of Israel, you whom I have upheld since your birth, and have carried since you were born. Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." - Isaiah 46:3-4

They'll Say I'm Just A Building

They'll say I'm just a building, but don't you believe 'em.

They'll say I'm just four walls, a roof, some doors, some windows, but don't you believe 'em.

They'll say I'm just a steeple, a sanctuary, some pews, a pulpit, some hymnals, but don't you believe 'em.

I know too much to be just a building.

I've seen too much to be just a building.

I've heard too much to be just a building.

I heard you sing "Amazing Grace" for the first time, and I heard you sing "How Great Thou Art" for the thousandth time. (I even heard you skip a few stanzas every now and then when you got tired of singing, and I most certainly saw you roll your eyes when the song leader repeated that refrain one too many times.)

I sang with you as you sang.

I watched you walk down that faded red-carpeted aisle to your groom, a twinkle in your eye, a tear down your cheek, flowers in your hand, and I even watched your mom - and your sister - and your brother - and your second cousin once removed - at their weddings, as well.

I rejoiced with you as you rejoiced.

I saw you stand in that pool of water, nervous to be in front of all those people, nervous you might snort water up your nose or very well drown in three feet of water. But I watched you go from death to life in one swift dunk, coming up soaking wet, yet washed clean in more ways than one.

I celebrated with you as you celebrated.

I saw you place that hand on the casket, clutching a tissue to your chest, wondering how and why and what if and if only. I stood firm beneath your feet even when you felt like all of life was giving way to death.

I wept with you as you wept.

I heard you preach with fire and conviction, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life."  I saw that fire in your belly and heard that urgency in your voice (even if you were preaching in the King James Version).

I preached with you as you preached.

I watched you rock your babies to sleep in my nursery and teach your children in my classrooms. Then I watched those babies grow, and I watched those children become adults. And then I watched their babies grow and their children become adults.

I grew with you as you grew.

I saw you feast, fellowship and laugh at potlucks, Mother Daughter banquets, Easter Sunday sunrise breakfasts, 4-H meetings, weddings, anniversaries and VBS. (And don't think I missed it when you went back for seconds - and even thirds.)

I fellowshipped with you as you fellowshipped.

To all the generations who walked through my doors:

I knew you.

I saw you.

I heard you.

I'm not just some building.

My bells called you back.
My doors welcomed you in.
My pews wrapped around you as you wept.
My pulpit held your notes and His Word.
My floors creaked beneath your feet.
My walls absorbed the echoes of your worship.

My ashes may be scattered to the four winds tonight, but your memories of me will not be.

I was there when you ushered your loved ones home, when you clutched that tissue to your chest.

Now it's time for you to usher me home.

Turn, lift your face.

Not all is lost.

Including hope.

Especially hope.

I was the church that built you.

Now you will be the people who build me.
_______________________________________________________________________________

The church of my childhood, the church of my family for five generations, burned to the ground last night. My mother could see the plume of smoke from their house early this morning, nearly 3 miles away. It's nothing but a smoldering ash heap, even now in these late hours of the day, long after the fire trucks are gone. Yes, we know it's a building, and we won't lose sight of that, but grief has stolen our hearts nonetheless. The memories are extensive, not only for me as an individual, but for my family and our dearest friends. That church is where I first met Jesus. It's where I was baptized. It's where my parents were married. It's where my grandparents are buried, in the cemetery out back. Our family has lived a lot of life inside those four walls. We are saddened, yes, but not crushed. Grieved, but not devastated. Big Darby Baptist Church will forever stand in the recesses of our hearts and minds as the place where we encountered a God who stronger than both the fire and the flame. We'll still choose to travel by his light, even when he leads us by a pillar of fire at night.

"By day the Lord went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night." (Exodus 13:21, NIV)   

The Inefficiency of an All-Sufficient God

I can spot inefficiencies from a mile away most of the time. It’s arguably one of my greatest assets in my job, being able to take a project or a task, assess its overall scope and related processes, analyze where the inefficiencies are and then put guardrails in place to correct them. You hand me a contract or a project to manage that is inefficient or sluggish in its performance, and I’ll hand it back to you performing like an organized, well-oiled machine. I enjoy bringing order and structure to things that would otherwise languish from lack of organization.

It’s often said, however, that your greatest strength is your greatest weakness, and there most certainly is a dark side to my ability to analyze and correct. It often makes me intolerant of both people and systems who don’t perform or measure up quite like I think they should.

“Why would you do it that way?”

“Wouldn’t this way be better?”

“Why aren’t you doing it this way instead?”

It often makes me critical of those around me. In my impatience and arrogance, I find fault instead of favor, hold a grudge instead of gratitude, maintain unforgiveness instead of understanding.

And when I look at the world around me, I find that perhaps God is seemingly the most inefficient one of all.

In Genesis, God could have given Abraham the long-awaited promised son, Isaac, at 20 years old. Instead, God gave him to Abraham at 100 years old.

In Exodus, God could have liberated the Israelites from the hand of Pharaoh in 4 days, 4 weeks or 4 years. Instead, he allowed them to labor under tyranny for 400 years.

In Numbers, God could have delivered the people straight from labor to liberty. Instead, he vowed to make them wander in the desert for 40 years.

In 1 and 2 Samuel, God could have anointed David as a teenage boy and sent him straight to throne. Instead, he sent David to the belly of a cave and life as a fugitive for 15 years.

In Matthew, God could have gone straight from the time of Malachi to Jesus. Instead, he waits 400 years and whispers not a word to his people in the meantime.

In Mark, God could have sent out 1,200 men and women to proclaim the gospel. Instead, he sends out 12 seemingly inept nobodies.

And perhaps in the greatest tragedy of inefficiency, God waits thousands of years to send a baby who takes 30 years to grow into a man who faces temptation in the desert for 40 days to only do ministry for 3 years before he hangs on a cross for 6 hours. He then takes 3 days to rise from the dead, appears to his followers for only 40 days and is now taking over 2,000 years to come back and make everything right.

The insanity of an inefficient God.

Why send a baby who took years to grow into a man? Why only three years of ministry? Why not thirty? Why six hours? Why not six seconds? Why three days? Why only 40 days? Why 2,000 years?

Better yet, why do any of it at all when none of it had to happen to begin with?

Because God, in his infinite wisdom, is less concerned about his children merely getting somewhere more efficiently and more concerned about his children knowing his all-sufficiency. He's more concerned about the path that will lead to our greatest good, his greatest glory and the world's greatest gain, whether through inefficient means or not.

What’s most efficient isn’t always what’s best or most needed. And those supposed inefficiencies are really based on my limited human perspective, a perspective distorted and twisted by my brokenness and stiff-necked ways.  

In Exodus 13:17-18, it says, "When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter.  For God said, 'If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.' So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea."

There was a shorter road the Israelites could have taken to the promised land, one that didn't dead-end into a brick wall of water. But if they had taken it, the people would have high-tailed it back to Egypt and the Promised Land would have become Never Land. 

In Exodus 23:29-30, it says, "But I will not drive [the Hivites, Canaanites, and Hittites] out in a single year, because the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you.  Little by little I will drive them out before you, until you have increased enough to take possession of the land." 

What could have been done in a year was done little by little. If it had been done in a year, the Promised Land, the land flowing with milk and honey, would have become the Desolate Land, the land filled with thorns and wild beasts. The land would have become a nightmare instead of a dream. 

Louie Giglio said in part two of his sermon "Waiting Here For You" in December of 2013, 

So we all trust Jesus on a Tuesday and go to heaven on a Wednesday. Isn't that a better plan actually? And an angel shows up to ask you, 'Are you really, really, really sure you're saved?' 'I'm really, really, really sure I'm saved.' 'Okay, you're going to heaven today, boom, you're done.' No suffering, no struggle, no trials, no hardship, no dark nights. No 30 years of trying to navigate a broken planet. No 50 years of trying to navigate hardship. No 70 years of having to live with the pain of waiting. You just trust God and you go to heaven. Isn't that the plan anyway? 

No. 

That is not the plan anyway. 

The plan is that God gets glory and we fall in love with Jesus. 

And I wonder what song we'd sing if we meet God on Tuesday and go to heaven on Wednesday. Yes, we're glad we're saved but we don't really know what we're saved from fully. Because we haven't lived in the fullness of the freedom of what it means to stand on the other side of the Red Sea and go, "We're not dead. We are alive. We are moving on with God into better places. We are moving into the promise he has for our lives. And it has gotten better and better. Not easier and easier, but better and better as we have followed him. Heaven is going to be amazing because of the waiting we've lived in.

I'm in favor of the "here today, gone tomorrow" plan. Far more efficient, and spares me the muck in between. 

It turns out God is not. "But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day" (2 Peter 3:8).

In my sin and depravity, I have bowed down and worshiped the god of efficiency far more than I have bowed down and worshiped the God of all-sufficiency. 

In my sin and depravity, I have held it against others when they were not organized like I think they should be organized, analytical like I think they should be analytical, efficient like I think they should be efficient. 

The tyrannical ruler of efficiency will always make me a slave, and I will do more than just labor for 400 years under its rule. I will miss the miracle of the desert road that led me to the parted waters and an all-sufficient God. 

I will miss God himself.   

Paul pleaded with God three times that he remove the 'thorn in his flesh.' God could have done it after  one request. He could have done it after none. But instead his response to Paul simply was, "My grace is sufficient for you..." (2 Corinthians 12:9).

His grace isn't just sufficient - it's all-sufficient. His ways are perfect. Every single time. No matter how long he seems to take. 

Jesus, may I bend my knee and raise my hands to your all-sufficient ways. My perspective on your wisdom and efficiency is limited and twisted, and I look at life through my lens instead of yours.  When I make efficiency king of my life, I dethrone you and become a puppet to an unbending tyrant. Your thoughts are not my thoughts. Your ways are not my ways. Make my thoughts yours. Make my ways yours. Teach me to delight in inefficiency because it is within that space where I will learn you are more than enough, and you are, in fact, perfectly efficient in all your ways. You are all-sufficient, and I am not. Remind me that the people around me - my co-workers, my family, my friends, even myself - are not you. They are not perfect. They are humans, made in your image, but humans nonetheless. Help me to extend grace and compassion where there was once impatience and bitterness for all their shortcomings. May your power be made perfect in my weaknesses and inefficiencies.