Prayer Meeting of the Blogosphere (17)

A day late, a dollar short: this is so often me, but welcome to the seventeenth, old-fashioned prayer meeting of the blogosphere.

Today, I'm going to pray over the season:

Heavenly Father, I want to thank you for these past few days with my family. Help us to never take for granted those occasions when we can gather together. I missed my brother, this Thanksgiving, and ask Your hand upon him as he prepares for another surgery. Please, Lord, may it be the last of its kind and bring an end to his pain. Continue to watch over his wife and children, and help us to trust You and experience Your peace. Father, I lift up to You those for whom these holidays are difficult because of loss or pain or grief. May we cast a little light into their darkness, Lord; open our eyes to how we might bless. In Jesus's name I pray, amen.

Now it's your turn! Would you like to participate in an old-fashioned prayer meeting of the blogosphere? Here are some ideas:

• You can pray about my prayer request.
• You can share a prayer request by means of a comment.
• You can share a prayer request on your personal blog and direct me to your post by means of a comment.
• You can pray about a participant's prayer request.
• You can write a prayer about my, your, or someone else's prayer request (in comments hither or yon, on your blog, etc.). If your prayer is somewhere other than this place, please direct me as you can and  will.
• You can join in praying my or someone else's prayer.
• You can share an update regarding a prayer request you've made here, in the past. 

God love you, Friend. I hope to hear from you.

Thoughts on Feminism

Oh, the ongoing uproar on the subject of feminism.

First, my story: I was raised in a household in which my dad functioned as head. I followed his rules for the most part, and I was motivated to do so because I loved and respected him and didn't want to disappoint him, but also because I didn't want to suffer the consequences of disobeying or embarrassing him: i.e., he had a long, black belt. All of the above is true for the years we were and the years we were not a church-going family.

I've always found myself attracted to men like my dad: broad-shouldered with a commanding presence. My ex-husband doesn't fall into that category at all, and I'd tell you I don't know how I ended up with him, but that would be a lie because, in fact, I do and just don't want to get into it right now. 

At any rate, my ex-husband had been raised primarily by his divorced mother, who was and is a strong and God-fearing woman, and my ex-husband seemed perfectly comfortable and content with the idea of a true and equal partnership between us. 

Problem was, I didn't know how to function within that sort of construct. I couldn't be trusted. I ran amok. He wasn't a saint, either, and our marriage fell apart.

So, now: Jim. Jim is much more like dear old Dad than my ex-husband. I consider him the head of the household, and under his leadership, I walk much more closely with the Lord than ever before. I feel fairly comfortable with the way our marriage works, although we've had to hash a lot of it out, and some of it with a professional. 

Jim holds the purse strings for real and will absolutely put his foot down in other areas, as well, but I can honestly say: I've never come to Jim regarding a Jesus calling that he hasn't backed me 100%. (I take that back: he's still not on board with the idea of our adopting a baby girl from China, but I trust that--if it's a true calling--he'll get there.) One of my favorite things about Jim is his desire to delight me. He reads and supports my writing; he surprised me with my camera and supports all my dabbling in the realm of photography; he supported me through my season of excessive cookie baking; and probably most importantly, he supports my every effort to do God's work.

Now, who's to say how screwed up I am or my marriage is, and why should anyone care, really, so long as I love the Lord and do His work...so long as I love and please the husband God's given me...so long as we're happy together (or working on it)?

And when the rubber meets the road, the feminists and non-feminists alike pluck my nerves because everyone's trying to convince everyone else of something, and I don't give much of a big, fat hairy crap about any of it.

Who am I to say whether or not some chick's been called to preach? I grew up in an Independent Fundamental Missionary Baptist church, and a female preacher works for me to about the same extent as a female gynecologist, which is to say, hello, not at all, but I'll readily admit: 1) I'm probably totally screwed up; 2) I have zero interest in messing with God's anointed; 3) a female preacher may well work beautifully for someone else; and 4) I don't know how to get around Galations 3:28. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. Amen.

Please, Lord, don't ever call me to preach because my sad, little zit of a brain would just pop.

In terms of our marriages, though, Lord have mercy! Why must we feel the need to tell one another how to be married? I say: Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths (Proverbs 3:5-6, KJV, again: I told you: Independent Fundamental Missionary Baptist upbringing).

If anyone cares...if anyone's listening...my best advice for your marriage is simply this: make it your God-centered marriage. Get down on your hands and knees. Get up in the Word. Pray. Pray with your spouse! If the Lord's truly calling you to speak into other people's marriages, that's one thing, but be sure. Be careful! I suspect that most of you would do well to concentrate on your own person and your own marriage because...well, because...you're nothing but a hot mess like the rest of us, and you're not changing anyone's mind about anything, anyway.

What I Want You to Know about My Sordid Past

Photo by My Anjelina (Anjie Kay)

I read a Forbes article, the other day, on our biggest regrets. I relate really well to #21, about failing to live in a health-conscious sort of way, also to #23, about failing to visit a friend before his or her death.

#12, though, about failing to save a marriage, isn't among my personal regrets.

My life would have been easier had it not included divorce. That was a painful, little chapter, although not as painful as the marriage that preceded it, okay? I in nowise mean to write ill of my ex-husband, either; it was just a poor match of immature people.

The hardest thing about divorce, for me, was experiencing the hurt and disappointment of others. Our son was very young (four) and has always seemed to handle the situation well, but I knew I was letting my parents and grandma down. One aunt seemed particularly sad, which made me sad.

My parents are still married; my grandparents were married until parted by death; even my little brother and his wife are still married: sixteen years, now, in fact. I just never pictured myself the divorced one in the family. So there's that.

At the time of my divorce, I didn't (couldn't? wouldn't?) see or accept my responsibility for it. Many years after the fact, after I'd rededicated my life to Christ and remarried, I came to see and accept just how responsible I was--more responsible, in fact, than my ex-husband--and ask God's forgiveness for specific failures on my part. It was a painful process.

My life would be easier, today, if I were not divorced. First of all, there's the sharing thing. My ex-husband and I share custody of our son, and we share beautifully. Still hard. My family doesn't feel complete without my oldest darling in the mix, and he's very often gone. When I'm missing him, I know I'm experiencing a natural consequence of my failure and sin. I've been forgiven, yes, but consequences remain.

Another painful consequence comes in the form of other people's judgment of me as a divorced person. I can't even say how much is real vs. imagined, and in the end, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I allow the enemy to mess with my head over it. For example, when I feel as though my words are being dismissed by another Christian, my go-to thought place is: oh, (s)he doesn't respect my words because I'm divorced. That hurts, and every time.

My greatest regrets revolve around my being unkind to others, including my ex-husband. But you understand, surely: I can't regret marrying or lying down with either of my husbands without regretting one or more of my children. I would do any of it, all of it--in the same sinful ways, if necessary--all over again to get my four children exactly as they are: each so much of the best of his or her dad. I have produced the first (and, so far, only) male heir for two different families: beautiful, strong boys; how can I not hold my head up high?

Don't pity me for any reason (history, situation, or mentality).

And here's another thing I want to get off my chest, a truth so precious to me: I am not jealous of you. I would not trade places with you for a second or even entertain the thought. It makes no nevermind to me who you are or what you have or how perfectly or righteously you've acquired it. 

God bless you, Friend, and I mean that with sincerity. I don't think I'm better than you by any stretch of the imagination, but I'll take it: I'll take my life, my story, my testimony, my children, my consequences.

I'll take my own, personal and extravagant redemption through the blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Without hesitation, I will.

You Could Be My

I seem to be telling the adventure in backwards order, so: an acorn-shaped gazebo in Silver Spring, Maryland. I'd read about it and asked Andrea if we could check it out. Given that nap time had come and gone by the time we pulled up (the girls scrapping and acting a fool in the seat behind us), Andrea turned on her hazards, and I hopped out of her Exhibition, alone.

The above isn't the best photo, I realize, but the sun was bright, and the gazebo sits just under a large tree. As I walked quickly around the gazebo, I saw just past and below it what looked like a fireplace or some such, and--given the plaque beside--I  went to investigate.

The plaque says (among other things) that this is the Silver Spring from which the community derives its name: that Francis Preston Blair and his daughter Elizabeth discovered it from horseback in 1840, Mr. Blair naming it Silver Spring based upon the appearance of "rays of sun on mica sand particles in the water."

For a spring, it looked dry as a bone to me, but I've been singing bits and pieces of the Fleetwood Mac song in my head, ever since. I looked up its history, last night, and learned: Stevie Nicks wrote the song after driving under a freeway sign that said Silver Spring, Maryland. "'You could be my silver springs...' that's just a whole symbolic thing of what you could have been to me," she explained, once.

I think about my own man: so overwhelmed and tired, lately. The night the little kids and I returned from Maryland, he participated in another mock trial for extra cash, and he's making more repairs on the bitty house, this weekend. We have catching up to do, yet, with bills, Christmas presents to buy. And I know he's worried about his mom: some scary things with her health, lately.

I don't always know what to do or say; in fact, today, he told me to stop talking. But I think about that bone-dry-looking spring and--upon considering what its name symbolizes to Stevie Nicks--decide not to dwell on what Jim could be (or is) to me, right now, but instead, on what I can be to him. I undress and tuck myself in against the prominent bones rising from his chest. I run my hands over his warm body but say not a word.

I would be your only dream...

Your shinin' autumn...ocean crashin'...

Prayer Meeting of the Blogosphere (16)

Welcome to the sixteenth, old-fashioned prayer meeting of the blogosphere. This week, I have a story to tell you.

My cousin-sister Andrea has a friend of nigh about thirty years named Strawberry. He lives in New Jersey but passes through Baltimore every so often, and when he does, she likes to drive up from Petersburg to visit him. She mentioned recently that she was about to make the trip to Baltimore and asked if the little kids and I would like to ride along and keep her company, and yes: I'm always up for an adventure, especially a cheapy one. I have plenty to tell you about the trip, but the part I want to tell you, now, has to do with the Prayer Stop in Silver Spring, Maryland. Here's a photo of it:

The Prayer Stop had been on my list of things to see for some time. As it turns out, Pastor Dennis--the very man who built the Prayer Stop--was there when we stopped. He isn't always, he explained, but he'd been painting and cleaning. I went inside, and he closed the door behind me and proceeded to share his testimony and the story of the Prayer Stop. 

He'd lost himself to alcoholism, his said, and then he lost his wife and job and freedom. In 1999, sitting in jail, he remembered the Lord's Prayer and prayed it from his heart, and shortly thereafter he got out of jail and accepted Christ. About two years later, the Lord gave him a vision for the Prayer Stop. Pastor Dennis had a hard time finding somewhere to build the Prayer Stop, but at last a Buddhist said he wouldn't mind having it in his front yard.

In the past decade or so, thousands of people have received salvation and healing while or after visiting the Prayer Stop. "There's no condemnation here," Pastor Dennis explained, "because I pretty much did it all before the Lord delivered me." I cried, listening to him, and then I filled out a card with my prayer requests. Pastor Dennis prayed with me, read scripture to me, and hugged me goodbye. The experience has inspired my prayer for this week's meeting:

Heavenly Father, thank You for being a big God capable of working out of the smallest places. Help me remember Pastor Dennis and the ministry of the Prayer Stop. Help me not to get too big for my britches but, instead, to be concerned only with Your will for my life. Make of me--if nothing else--a willing vessel: a living Prayer Stop. I pray the same for my brothers and sisters reading here, and I ask Your continued blessings and protection over Pastor Dennis and all those who do Your great work in humble ways. Help us not to despise small beginnings, Lord. In Jesus's name I pray and ask these favors, amen.

Now it's your turn! Would you like to participate in an old-fashioned prayer meeting of the blogosphere? Here are some ideas:

• You can pray about my prayer request.
• You can share a prayer request by means of a comment.
• You can share a prayer request on your personal blog and direct me to your post by means of a comment.
• You can pray about a participant's prayer request.
• You can write a prayer about my, your, or someone else's prayer request (in comments hither or yon, on your blog, etc.). If your prayer is somewhere other than this place, please direct me as you can and  will.
• You can join in praying my or someone else's prayer.
• You can share an update regarding a prayer request you've made here, in the past. 

May God bless and keep you until we meet again.

The Tug

The post below appeared first a year ago, on Emily Wierenga's blog. I published a teaser in this space and intended to paste the rest of the post in with the teaser, later, as I do always before having my posts printed and bound; however, I forgot in this instance. I'm publishing the entire post, now, so as to insure its inclusion in my next blog book. My friend Dot Samuel of Psalms of Samuel in Watercolor painted the two images below as a visual prompt for this specific project; I include them with gratitude.

Baby Chip celebrated his first birthday November 2nd. I remain keenly aware that, daily, God is writing the story of his life.

***

They counted to three and, working together, swung me from bed to table. Strange to witness their strain when I felt nearly weightless; I am a pendulum, I thought, tugged by time. I am floating; I have become a boat on water, or perhaps I am the water itself. On command, I spread my arms wide, and I won't lie: I thought of Christ crucified and wondered--as my doctor flayed me open like a fish--if I were about to die.

I felt no pain in the slicing: only a great tug, and my doctor lifted out the baby I could not touch. Later (after they'd swung me back to bed), someone handed that child to me. He latched with ferocity onto my breast and tugged out everything I had, and for the first time I believed the whispers I'd heard for years: a baby boy, and neither of you will die in getting him here.

And then relief leaked out of my eyes, but shame, too, because I'd made Doubting Thomas look good. Hearing and seeing hadn't satisfied; I needed to feel this son at my breast. I'd been pulling him toward me--out of dreams, out of the star-filled pocket of the Lord--for so long: I needed to know that boy had given up a more impressive Milky Way for the one what courses through my body.

He brought with him new eyes, because now I see it everywhere: the tug. I see the tension between beings, and there's no need to (be a) jerk, but every relationship involves tie and tug. The way one spouse offers up flesh to the other: I'm still here; don't turn your eyes toward another. The wildly creative ways in which a child of any age interrupts his or her parents' conversations, screen time, alone time: prove that no one and nothing is more important than I. The way even the restless dog carries a rope, a ball, to its master's feet: play with me.

And beautiful, isn't it?, the way a (wo)man of God pulls at the hem of His garment: see me, hear me. The way the Father responds in reaching down and lifting up: seek me, serve me.

I hold close this child for whom I prayed and ask God to help me take myself less seriously. Make me a pendulum, I ask. Make me a boat on water. Make me the water itself. Help me to float, to die to myself. Help me to pick up the ball, to keep it rolling. Help me to show You, and them, how very much love I have in my heart. Give me tug, Lord, on these ties: just the perfect amount of tension that You, and they, should feel me ever on the other end.

Prayer Meeting of the Blogosphere (15)

Every time I host a prayer meeting of the blogosphere, I wonder if it will be my last. I wonder often: who am I to host a prayer meeting? Because I know the truth, and the truth is that, as ever, I'm a hot piggy mess.

• I didn't make it out of my pajamas all day.
• I didn't comb my hair, either.
• I'm going to have to rewash what's in the washing machine.
• I can barely see the floor of the playroom.
• Or the floor of the girls' bedroom.
• I'm having at least one issue with 4/4 children, right now, including this one, who keeps climbing up on the dining booth:

Kitchen floor isn't looking so great, either.

But--insecurities and all--here I am. In the same "Chicks with Brains" pajama pants I've been wearing all day. And what I want you to know is this: I'm not concerned with my brains, or yours, but with our hearts. If you're here reading this, I want you to know: I love you. I may not agree with you, but I love you. And if you're a mama like I am, I want you to know that I know.

I know you're at a loss, sometimes, when it comes to your kid. I know you don't know how to persuade him or her to stay in bed, take a nap, sleep through the night, eat the healthy dinner, complete homework, step away from the screen, step away from the compromising situation (whatever it is).

I know you're worried about how this person--this person you grew into being--will turn out. Will (s)he be healthy in every respect? Safe? Morally sound? Jesus-loving? Well educated? Will (s)he find the right job? The right spouse? All the right answers?

You're wondering if you're appropriately engaged. You're wondering if you're overlooking something or over-thinking it. Are you dropping the ball? Are you too controlling? Are you taking enough time for yourself or not enough? You can hardly say.

I know. I know because you tell me, but I also know because I'm just like you. We need one another, and we need the Lord. We need Him to center and ground us: to direct and lead us. To fill us with His wisdom and love and patience and strength. I invite you to pray with me:

Heavenly Father, I need You. I'm overwhelmed by the responsibility of mothering this person whom I want to become his or her best self. Guide me. Open my eyes, hands, mind, and heart to the best way: to Your way, Father. I long for my husband and children to rise up and call me blessed and for my husband to praise me as in Proverbs 31. I can't see the way to there, from here, and I need Your help. I'm asking for it. Forgive me for my sins and shortcomings, Lord, and help me to be more and better, tomorrow: for my family and for every bit of Your kingdom. In Jesus's name I pray and ask these favors, amen.

Now it's your turn! Would you like to participate in an old-fashioned prayer meeting of the blogosphere? Here are some ideas:

• You can pray about my prayer request.
• You can share a prayer request by means of a comment.
• You can share a prayer request on your personal blog and direct me to your post by means of a comment.
• You can pray about a participant's prayer request.
• You can write a prayer about my, your, or someone else's prayer request (in comments hither or yon, on your blog, etc.). If your prayer is somewhere other than this place, please direct me as you can and  will.
• You can join in praying my or someone else's prayer.
• You can share an update regarding a prayer request you've made here, in the past. 

I'm here for you, Friends.

Love Wins

Oh, Man. My head is swimming with all the things I haven't said and need to say; in fact, I just interrupted my own blogging to make a list of things I want to write. But the thing I want to write most has to do with my own rebellion, a time during which I fell out of fellowship with God, and how He drew me back to Himself.

I should preface the whole thing by saying: I can hardly stand for someone to tell me what to do. I love a good story. I'm fascinated by facts and passionate about scripture. If the spirit's right, I don't mind a hint or suggestion. Sometimes (again, if the spirit's right), I can tolerate unsolicited advice.

But I'm very sensitive to approach. The minute someone tells me what I must do or must think, I shut down. I despise feeling patronized, judged, or labeled. I can get stuck for a long time over a feeling and have been known to argue with people in my mind for years.

Having said all that, there was a point in time after my divorce that I longed to reconnect with God. I was entrenched in sin, though, and unprepared to follow all of God's commandments (which I knew well, having been raised in the church) in any sort of wholehearted manner. I knew I needed ministry. I also knew I wasn't ready for a return to the traditional church. I wanted to ease back in: to feel accepted for (or despite) who and where I was.

I found a church that met my needs and--in that no-pressure environment--started talking and listening to God again. It took awhile, but over time, I managed (through the power of the Holy Spirit) to start untangling myself from the most binding of my sin problems. Some years after that, I felt relatively free of that sin problem and ready to return to the traditional church.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to photograph one of my dearest friends and her family. I'd wondered if I'd become emotional, photographing them, but truth is: they're an exceedingly playful bunch, and I was far too entertained for tears. As I studied images of my friend later, though, I was overcome thinking about our eleven-year friendship.

As I've written before, Christy's been mature, responsible, and settled over the course of our entire relationship, but I floundered spiritually for much of it. She loved me, anyway, and more than that: she did life with me. It made all the difference. It made every difference.

She'll read this and want to downplay what I'm saying, but I'm asking her to hear me. I'm asking you to hear me. Love won me. Not clever, intellectual, or even scriptural arguments. Not admonition, shaming, judgment, correction, or reproof. Love. The love of that one friend--coupled with the acceptance I found in a non-traditional church--won me back to Jesus.

I'm asking you: think of me before you bash a non-traditional church and its acceptance of those on the fringe. Before you talk about how dangerous it is to consort with those who walk openly in sin, think of me. Think of how one Christian was brave enough to walk with me through darkness and how one church was bold enough to fling wide its doors and say: "Come to Jesus where you are." And consider: because of this bravery and boldness, in the end, I'm probably pretty close to exactly where you think I should be.

I know I can't be the only rebel out there.

My Beautiful Christy and Her Family

Prayer Meeting of the Blogosphere (14)

Welcome to the fourteenth, old-fashioned prayer meeting of the blogosphere. Last week was crazy town for me, and I didn't post. Missed it. Missed you! How are you?

I feel like I've written about this before, but let's talk about those times we pray our hearts out, but God doesn't answer in the ways we hope. Let's talk about disappointment and how difficult it can be to trust God with concerns He doesn't handle the way we'd like.

I entered the prayer request of some friends, today, which is to say: I covered their request in prayer throughout the day. I felt very much with them: heavy, tired, even a little anxious. When the report came in at day's end, it wasn't as positive as I'd hoped. I feel disappointed and want to turn that feeling over to God.

Heavenly Father, forgive me for feeling disappointed when my prayers aren't answered in the way I hope. Help me trust in Your promise to work all things to the good of those who love You and have been called according to Your purpose. Help me to believe: Your ways are better than mine because You see the big picture in a way I can't even fathom. Give me peace, Father, regarding all the things I can't control. 

I pray this same peace for my brothers and sisters reading here. Thank You for them. I ask that each of them will feel Your presence in this little space. I thank You for it.

Help us navigate this life, Lord, with all its up and downs, ins and outs. And I pray a special prayer for those in my life who are battling cancer. You know who they are.

In Your Son's perfect name I pray and ask these favors, amen.

Now it's your turn! Would you like to participate in an old-fashioned prayer meeting of the blogosphere? Here are some ideas:

• You can pray about my prayer request.
• You can share a prayer request by means of a comment.
• You can share a prayer request on your personal blog and direct me to your post by means of a comment.
• You can pray about a participant's prayer request.
• You can write a prayer about my, your, or someone else's prayer request (in comments hither or yon, on your blog, etc.). If your prayer is somewhere other than this place, please direct me as you can and  will.
• You can join in praying my or someone else's prayer.
• You can share an update regarding a prayer request you've made here, in the past. 

Thank you, Friends, and may God bless until we meet again.

Falling off the Edge of the Blogosphere

Erin and Mira drove from Chicago and stayed for nigh about a week. Their visit intersected with that of my parents, who drove from East Tennessee to celebrate Chip's first birthday. Jim and I threw a party, of course. During this same period of time, we took our former tenants to court (winning judgment against them) and started working with our tenant-to-be. I was on the hustle even with house guests: taking and editing photos to help the family stay afloat. And I don't even want to talk about our four days without Internet.

So here I am, having taken (quite by accident) my longest blog break in the history of my blogging, which in four days, will be three years.

I have so very much to say and intend to say it all, but for now, I'm just going to share some favorite photos from the last couple weeks (so hard to narrow them down!) so as to catch up in a sloppy sort of way.

Charleigh's First Experience on the Podium

Charleigh: Leaves in the Yard

Chip: Acorn in the Yard. I love everything about this photo, including his mismatched socks and Christmas jacket (prior to halloween), but especially the wonder on his face.

Clementine with a Kitty from Rachel's Barn

Clementine: Corn Kernels at  Chesterfield Berry Farm

Charleigh and Mira: Hay Ride at Chesterfield Berry Farm

Chip at Chesterfield Berry Farm

Clementine Painting Her Pumpkin (and painting it some more!)

Clementine as Snow White in the Yard

Mira as Alice in Wonderland in the Yard

Charleigh at Maymont

Charleigh, Mira, and Clementine at Maymont

Mira, Clementine, and Charleigh after Trick-or-Treating

Chip Covered in Smash Cake (Jim in Background)