This past weekend, we went to St. Genevive, Missouri for the wedding of my husband’s cousin to a lovely young woman.  The ceremony was held under the domed ceiling of a beautiful, ornate cathedral–the oldest cathedral west of the Mississippi I believe.  It was simple, yet elegant and the bride and groom both glowed with the warmth of love they held for one another.  One of the scripture passages used in the service was the same one my husband and I chose to have read on our wedding day almost six years ago.  It has become one of my favorites:

Disclaimer: the following post is a rant about an issue of controversy that has engulfed our country for the past few months.  My husband and I have discussed it much in our house, but not in public.  Please know that none of my comments or criticisms are directed at any one person (save one) and are opinions that I hold.

  Over the past few months, great turmoil has been caused over a proposal brought forth to erect an Islamic community center near the hallowed grounds of Ground Zero in New York City.  Protests have been organized, politicos on all sides have spoken out, religious organizations have weighed in, and some idiot “pastor” in Florida is undertaking a book burning.  As a Christian and an American citizen, disappointment does not do justice to my feelings on this matter.  I am horrified at the Christian response to the proposed Islamic center and am outraged as a citizen of a country that was built on the basic premise that all have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.   I understand the basis of the concern, but to blame the entire religion of Islam for the devastating events of 9/11 is a narrow-minded and bigoted point of view to take.  To say that all Muslims are terrorists is akin to saying all Christians are members of the KKK.  I know that there are those out there who would maintain that Islam endorses acts of violence based on religious intolerance, that the precepts for that are established in the Koran, but the same argument can easily (and maybe more justifiably) be made about Christianity.

For all our talk as Christians we have, collectively, perpetrated some massive crimes against humanity in our arrogance and misguided views of the Gospel message.  We have gone from being the victim to being the bully.  We took lessons from our Roman tormentors and put them to use through the Crusades and Inquisition.  We have brought people to “faith” at the point of a sword and have blasphemed against the glorious love of God for all humanity.  Many Christians today lament the active decline in Christianity over the past 25 years.  We blame our secular society, changing values and busy schedules.  But do we ever stop to look within our own organizations for the cause?  Many reliable studies have been conducted by agencies such as Barna and Gallup that point to Christianity itself as the cause of its own decline.  Ask any person between the ages of 25-35 why they don’t attend church, and I would put money down that they have had a negative encounter with a church in their past.  We have ignored Christ’s command to love God and love others and have turned the Great Commission into the Great Judgment.  If we want people back in our pews, we have to show them love and acceptance.  I don’t believe we do that standing behind a picket line protesting a religious community center being erected in an impoverished area of a city in need.  It’s interesting to me that the “hallowed” grounds of Ground Zero can house strip clubs and gambling agencies, but not a house of worship.

And now, to the newest twist, a “pastor” holding a book burning of sacred texts.  Let’s look at the people who have hosted book burnings throughout the years.  There were the book burnings of the Inquisition where any book alluding to Judaism was thrown into a fire.  And let’s not forget the infamous Nazi book burning parties where anything that threatened the Third Reich was torched.  Book burning, and banning for that matter, only promote ignorance and bigotry.  As the daughter of a librarian, I have seen my parents fight to keep books on library shelves, even if the message of the book was contrary to the values they held.  To destroy a book is to destroy a thread of humanity.

As a nation, we should be embarrassed by our response to the proposed Islamic community center.  In the city where the Stature of Liberty herself dwells (“Give us your tired, your weary, your poor.  Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shores.  Send these, the tempest-tossed to me.  I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”) it is disheartening to see such passionate intolerance on display.  Although, as Americans, we have a great history of that as well.  Give us your wealthy, your light-skinned, your Western European ex-pats…. I promise not to enter into a diatribe on immigration “reform”, but I think we need to begin to think about our responses to issues that challenge us to grow in our understanding and belief.

I know there are counter-arguments to that which I have presented here, and I am open to hearing them.  But I think it is a topic that merits reasonable discussion and tempered action.  To me, this is more than just a building being built, it is a way of life and living, a way of treating other human beings, and a litmus test for Christianity itself.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I love Fall.  It is, undoubtedly, my favorite season.  I love the crisp air, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the rich vibrant colors, the smell of woodsmoke.  We’re not there yet, but today a hint of it teased in the air.  Today was the first really nice day we’ve had around here for months.  The high was 76 degrees with full sun and a heavy breeze.  It was a day meant for outside play.  So, we packed the boys in the van and headed for the city.  After turning in my Jetta (the lease was up) and bidding her Adieu, we drove to a nearby park where we met my sister and her little one.  Everyone in the North Kansas City area with a child was at the park, too, as there was only a half-day of school.  But the boys were not deterred.  Stephen ran up into a giant kangaroo that had a slide down the middle.  After a brief discussion with Mama about pushing other kids, he was ready to roll.  Garrett, my somewhat dainty careful child has suddenly become very interested in climbing, albeit only on playground equipment.  He found a jungle gym and got most of the way up before Daddy had to rescue him.

We left the park for an early supper at one of our favorite restaurants and walked around an outdoor shopping area, stopping to let the boys study a frog fountain. When Stephen decided to start throwing things in, we decided it was time to move on.  Still feeling the buzz of the beautiful weather, we decided to take a stroll down memory lane and show Garrett some of the places he knew as a baby.  We took him by his first church, drove him past the plot of land that was his first home.  The old parsonage had to be torn down after being condemned.  Good memories! 🙂  We then went to our favorite park to let the boys loose before making the trek back home.  This park could possibly be my favorite of all the parks I’ve visited.  It is nestled in a quiet space between a river and a train track.  Idyllic is the word that comes to mind.  A walking/biking path follows the course of the river, big oak trees grow sporadically across the green space and two play areas provide ample entertainment for the young ones.  We spent many mornings and evenings walking the trails here, pushing Garrett around in his stroller.  This was the first place Garrett ever tried out swinging.  Now, he’s running around in high-water pants (overalls he refused to relinquish even though they’re too short now) and sandals, oblivious to the world around him, making up games only he and his brother understand.

While the boys played on the playground, Chris and I found a shady bench nearby.  I leaned my head in the crook of Chris’ arm, content and peaceful.  “You know,” I said.  “We have lots of happy memories in this park.”

“Yes,” Chris agreed.  “We’ve certainly taken lots of walks here.”

“Lots of walks, picnics, talks.  I think this is one of my favorite places to be.”

We ended our evening with some ice cream from Sheridan’s Frozen Custard.  Garrett was almost asleep, but managed to rally and tell the woman at the counter he wanted some “banilla” ice cream.  As we were driving home, it struck me that finally, I feel home.

Tell me about your beautiful days.  I would love to hear them.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

Have you ever just wanted to praise God?  I’m talking jump out of your seat, sing at the top of your lungs, twirl around like a Whirling Dervish PRAISE GOD?  The other day, as the boys and I were driving to the park for a picnic, Third Day’s song that begins, “I want to sing a song for you Lord” came on the radio.  It was like some sort of fire started coursing through my blood and I just wanted to praise.  It was inexplicable.  Nothing major had happened.  Nothing in my life had suddenly changed.  No prayer requests had been made and miraculously answered.  But suddenly, the Spirit was there and my entire being wanted to bask in the glow of my Creator.

Lately, I’ve had a case of “the weary blues”.  This whole job hunting thing has gotten me down, I must admit.  I filed for Unemployment last week and then proceeded to break down in the shower. I felt humiliated.  It’s a total pride thing.  I’ve always considered myself to be a successful and skilled professional, and to be unemployed makes me feel unsuccessful and skill-less. God and I are working through it, but when you’ve got “the weary blues”  sometimes you “can’t be satisfied”.  I got a fortune cookie yesterday that said, and I quote: Success and Wealth are headed your way.  I gave a wry chuckle, pointed to the sky and said, “Nice one.”  I’ve always believed that God has a very quirky sense of humor.

All of that is to say that it surprised me when I was overcome with praise, although really, it shouldn’t.  The thing about us as humans is that we were created to praise God.  It’s literally in every fiber of our being.  And why shouldn’t we give God inexplicable praise?  What in our life could be bigger than him?  As James writes, we are like the morning mist, appearing for a moment and then gone.  In the grand scheme of things, our problems are a drop in the infinitesimal bucket of existence.  I’m not being sarcastic at all here–I mean that, even if I forget to see it at times.  So we praise God, through it all.  And it is in that act of giving praise that our spirits are lifted, our hearts made whole, our souls filled, and hope grows.

Inexplicable praise.  Have you had it lately?

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I recently started working through a Women of Faith Bible study called A Life of Worship.  As I was reading through my chapter today, this quote by Sheila Walsh shook me out of my pre-coffee stupor:

I woke up this morning around 4 A.M.  No idea why.  It could possibly be due to the fact that I went to bed around 9:30 last night and my body just cannot handle the thought of more than five or six hours sleep at a time.  As will happen when one wakes up before the sun rises, my brain started to race through a plethora of topics, none much conducive to sleep, except the thought of exercise.  There’s nothing that incites hunkering down in bed to me more than a good workout!  I tell myself that the First Lady gets up at 4 A.M. to exercise, and if she can do it with all she’s got going on, then surely I can too.  But, alas, here I am sitting in my work-out clothes exercising only my fingers.  Ah well… the day is still young.

The truth is, early morning has always been one of my favorite times.  Often, it is the only time to myself I will get throughout the day.  I like the quiet of dawn.  The sun rises gradually, no booming trumpets announcing the day.  First there is the hint of light, illuminating the darkness and revealing shadowy outlines of the world around.  Then there is a hint of color, inky blue bleeding into deep violet, and the shadowy figures come into focus; tall oaks, fat shrubs, a cat stealthily crossing the road after an evening carousing in the dark.  Then comes the pale pink glow of the sun simmering just below the horizon.  The birds wake, calling to each other through the leaves to herald the official break of day.  It is a symphony of sorts, the various calls, chirps, rustling of leaves and wings.  And finally, the sun is there, pale yellow and orange spilling over the sky.  The grass sits up, shaking off the dew so that the dew hovers above it in a fine white mist.

I cannot help but think of Psalm 30: 5– “…weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning”.   And another favorite, Psalm 143: 8– “Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.  Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.”  There is something inherently hopeful in the dawning of a new day.  One of my favorite lines from Anne of Green Gables is when Miss Stacey tells Anne that each new day is like a blank slate waiting to be written upon.  Yet, I think it is a choice to write something new, to let go of the hurts, failures, frustrations of the day before, to raise a new song of praise to God for yet another day to try and get it right, to try and make a difference, to follow God with all our hearts, souls and minds.  (I can sometimes be of two minds!)  A new day is a new opportunity to live the lives God is calling us to live.  We still have our problems from yesterday, they don’t magically disappear or get erased.  But our response to them can be new, can be hopeful, can be productive.

Yes, crazy as it seems, I love early mornings.  A new day is dawning–let’s go catch it!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

When I was a child, I used to love falling asleep at night listening to my parents voices as they talked quietly in their room down the hall.  It was comforting to hear them as I drifted off to sleep, a sign that all was well and I was not alone.  Now that I’m grown and have children of my own, I realize that this was actually the only time they had during the day to talk to one another!  Having two small children of our own, my husband and I have found that pillow talk time is our time; to reconnect, renew, and enjoy each other once more.  We laugh a lot, discuss everything from kids, politics and religion to gossip, silliness and Cardinal baseball.  It doesn’t matter what the conversation is about, it just matters that it is.

The other night, our conversation took an interesting turn.  We were discussing our new mini-van.  Chris decided to name her Wanda. 
“Wanda?” I asked.  “Where in the world did you come up with that?”
“Wanda,” Chris said.  “As in, I “wandah” why I bought a mini-van!”  This is the kind of humor I deal with every day.  My husband always insists he is the funniest person I know, and given his sense of humor, this is probably true.  He also told me he considered the name “Van-essa”, but thought it was too obvious.  We spent some time trying to decide if we actually knew anybody named Wanda, and there were a few.  When we were remembering one Wanda in our life my husband made the comment: “That girl was cookoo for Cocoa Puffs.”
I snickered.  “Where did you get that?”  I’ve never been very adept at colloquialisms.
“You’ve never heard that before?”
“No.” 
Chris was silent for a few moments, thinking.  “How about ‘one out short of a full inning’?”
“Nope.”
“The elevator’s not reaching the top floor?”
“No.”
“Not swinging with a full set of clubs?”
I laughed, “No! Where do you get this stuff?  I have heard ‘a few bricks short of a load’ and ‘bats in the belfry’.”
“All the lights on and nobody home.”

This went on for awhile, before I finally gave up and went to sleep.  It got me to thinking though, what other expressions or colloquialisms are out there that I don’t know?  Are we just “cookoo for Cocoa Puffs” ourselves, or do other people have conversations like this too?  What does your pillow talk consist of?  And if it’s not pillow talk, where do you find time to talk?  What do you talk about?  How do you keep it fresh and new?  I’m not trying to be nosy, just curious and looking for some conversation.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

I have been in a dark place the past several weeks. I’m not talking power outages here, although maybe that’s an appropriate metaphor. This has been more the: “Did you lead us out of captivity only to let us die in the wilderness?” kind of dark. Our new town, home and community are wonderful, but in moving to our new appointment I gave up a job that was the best professional experience of my life. I’ve been searching for a new teaching position for months now, and nothing is opening up. My last paycheck comes next week, so we’re down to the wire. I’ve been telling myself, and all those around me, that God will provide. God always provides. Yet deep down, those nagging doubts have been growing. Will God provide? Why is he being so silent? I need to see a plan–any plan!! And it can’t be one that involves me spending 24/7 with my two and four year old, because that is just not who God made me to be. I need to work. It’s who I am. It’s where I come from. All of the women in my family have worked, even my great-great grandmothers.

After a very unproductive day of job hunting, I decided to take the boys for a spin in our new mini-van to put them to bed. Yes, we bought a mini-van. My car lease was up. Purchasing a minivan requires faith on so many different levels! The boys were out in fifteen minutes, so I had some quiet time with God. I poured out my heart to him, as the Psalms tell us we should do. I recounted a Psalm I had read this morning, Psalm 69, in which the psalmist states: “Save, me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck…I have come into the deep waters; the floods engulf me. I am worn out calling for help…My eyes fail, looking for my God.”

I had literally just finished telling God that I was looking for him everywhere and couldn’t see him when K-Love began playing “Let the Waters Rise” by Mike’s Chair. I don’t know how many of you are familiar with this, but here’s how some of it goes:

“Don’t know where to begin, it’s like my world’s caving in
And I try but I can’t control my fear. Where do I go from here?
There’s a raging sea right in front of me
Wants to pull me in, bring me to my knees
So let the waters rise if you want them to
I will follow you, I will follow you.
God you know where I’ve been, you were there with me then
You were faithful before, you’ll be faithful again; I’m holding your hand.
So let the waters rise, if you want them to
I will follow you, I will follow you.”

And, as if that wasn’t enough, the very next song was “Right Here” by Jeremy Camp. “Everywhere I go I know you’re not far away. You’re right here, you’re right here.”

It was like God was wrapping his wonderfully strong arms around me saying, “You silly girl. You know I’d never leave you.” He didn’t give me all of the answers. He didn’t reveal his master plan, but he opened my eyes to his presence and his unfailing faithfulness. And right now, that’s all I need to see.

Blessings and Peace,
Sara

About six months ago, Chris and I purchased a big talking Buzz Lightyear to help with our potty training for Garrett. If he pooped in the potty, he got Buzz. Well, months and months passed and no pooping in the potty happened. We packed up Buzz in our bedroom closet box and reshelved him. I was beginning to think that his permanent place in our home was going to be under a sweatshirt on my closet shelf. Yet, miraculously, Garrett did the deed the other day and was rewarded, in kind, with Buzz. Hallelujah! Praise God!!

Unfortunately, our celebrations lasted only long enough for Stephen to realize that Garrett got a big Buzz, and he, the self-identified Buzz Lightyear in the family, did not. You have never heard such screaming, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Had I been removing the kid’s toenails, he would not have carried on so. After some vain attempts at reasoning, the boys and I piled into the car in about 110 degree heat and headed off to “The Evil Empire” to get a little Buzz for Stephen. All was well, or so it seemed, but brothers will be brothers, and whatever one has, the other wants. As soon as the plastic was off, Garrett wanted to trade Buzz’s with Stephen for a little bit. Of course Stephen was all for this, until Garrett wanted his Buzz back.

We cycled through this throughout the day, and about 4:30 in the afternoon, I snapped. Stephen was throwing his hundred and sixtieth tantrum of the day and I was trying to start dinner. I sat Stephen on the counter next to the stove, which was not what he wanted. In his temper, he picked up a ceramic spoon ladle from the stove and hurled it across the kitchen, where it broke. I don’t know what it was about that little snowman ladle, but the loss of it broke open the waterworks within me. Stephen was deposited in his room and I returned to the kitchen to cry and clean.

Luckily, Daddy came in shortly thereafter and, as is typical, fixed everything within half an hour. After attempting to teach Stephen a lesson in sharing, he came into the kitchen and sighed. “It’s so unfair to Garrett,” he said, “for Stephen to get a big Buzz.” My heart sank, but he wasn’t finished. “But it’s so unfair to us to have to put up with that.” He indicated the small child screaming beyond his capacity in the living room. My heart leapt within me. After agreeing that Stephen would enter into a period of indentured servitude with us for a few months, and wishing him a very merry Christmas, he and Daddy were back on their way to “The Evil Empire” to get a second Buzz.

Stephen carried his Buzz Lightyear like a trophy through the store. He clutched it to him all the way home, and it hasn’t been far from his reach since. I know there are parents out there who could and would have handled this situation in a more appropriate manner. There are parents out there somewhere who could make their two year old understand the nature of the reward system, special gifts, and sharing. Yet, we are not those parents. There is not enough Zoloft in the world to help me cope with the level of tantrum that would have continually erupted from Stephen had he not gotten a Buzz of his own. Don’t think that the irony of this right after my last post is lost on me. Some child, somewhere, will get a big new Buzz Lightyear for Christmas care of Stephen, and Disney will profit even more from our boys, which is the entire point for Disney.

Thus concludes the saga of the Buzz Lightyear. Next, the saga of the dueling Buzz’s!

Blessings and Peace,
Sara