Lessons from Working (Outside the Home)

What a week this has been! There are two major things on my mind today, causing so many realizations and revelations that I don't know how I'll manage to capture them all. It seems God often works this way- bringing me though long stretches of desert land until suddenly I stumble into an oasis of learning and growing, although usually it doesn't feel quite like an oasis at first.

First of all, I spent the last three days working outside the home for an (albeit small) paycheck at a co-op function, providing childcare for nine two-and-three year olds. I'm not really sure what motivated me to take this position in the first place, except for maybe greed and selfish ambition, but in the end I'm very glad I did. I've never been so appreciative of what my husband does by going to work for eight hours every day, or so thankful for the ability to stay home with my children!

And it's not that it was a miserable experience- in fact it was quite liberating and empowering to realize that the skills I've picked up in the last two years of motherhood are actually marketable and also very valuable to moms and kids alike. But it was completely exhausting. And completely overwhelming coming home every day to find that the cheerios spilled on the floor at breakfast were still there, the beds still unmade, dinner unprepared, and laundry unwashed.  Those of you moms who do work outside the home on a daily basis: my hat is off to you. I can hardly imaging having the kind of energy to keep up with it all!

As someone who has often struggled with the roll of Stay At Home Mom this was exactly the kind of reality check I needed. I recognize now that staying home with one's children is an incredible gift, both to give and to get. The children in my care for the last three days needed constant love and attention, constant affirmation and encouragement. And really what they wanted most was mommy, as expressed in loud, heartbreaking periods of sobbing throughout the day. (Happily all of the kids I watched are in homes where they do get to stay home with Mom most of the time!) I am so thankful that I have the opportunity to provide my children with a bubble of safe, affirming love and gentle direction while they are in these formative years. I'm so thankful that our lives are peaceful and not chaotic. I'm so thankful that I can focus 100% of my energies on guiding the formation of their characters while there is still time to do so. God has been good to us in this way.

Furthermore, this experience somehow brought me to the realization that childcare is difficult, dynamic, and high-skill level work. My helpers were all teenagers who had some level of experience in the childcare industry (even if it was just with their own siblings) and I was astounded at the knowledge and aptitude they demonstrated. Truthfully some of them were more competent than I was. It made me realize that not everyone knows what to do when a child falls and gets hurt, or starts choking, or has a completely emotional breakdown- but I do, because I'm a mother. A robot could not do my job for me, nor is there anything mundane, superficial or demeaning about this work. It is an encouraging thought for me.

I recognize that not all mothers have the opportunity to stay home, and I certainly don't think it's sinful for women to work outside the home. I know God will provide for each family and each child in His own perfect way, and there's no one-size-fits-all plan for family management. I'm just saying this is the best way for us, and I dare even say it's probably the best way for most families, as long as finances allow.

Well, my time is gone and I didn't even get to talking about the Proverbs 31 study I've been doing with Good Morning Girls this week. Perhaps I'll come back to that tomorrow. But today thankfulness will be my mantra as I go about catching up on laundry, bills, and cleaning. It might be exhausting work but it's oh so worth having a cozy, unhurried home to enjoy with my family this evening!

Acceptance for Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner?

I don't usually pay much attention to the news, other than scrolling my Facebook feed and listening to KIRO radio here and there. But there have been a couple of news stories lately that have caught my attention, and I've done a bit of reading in the blogosphere and elsewhere to get caught up to speed. I'm talking about the picture on the cover of Vanity Fair magazine of Bruce Jenner as a woman, and the recent so-called "scandal" involving the Duggar family.

Mostly, I've been noticing the reactions of Christians to these events.  And with a few exceptions, I've been a little confused about what I've seen. I've seen several blog posts from Christian writers emphasizing the need for love and acceptance when it comes to a transgender person having a sex change and coming out as a woman on the cover of a trashy magazine. And I've seen condemnation and anger towards a Christian family due to the sexual abuse their son openly admits to having inflicted on a handful of girls when he was 14 years old, despite his broken, humble, and honest confession and repentance- and the fact that this all happened over ten years ago. 

I understand these reactions, I really do. We don't want to be too harsh towards a sinner like Bruce Jennings who is outside of our ranks, nor do we want to be too accepting of a sinner inside our ranks, lest we all look like a bunch of bigoted hypocrites. And I'm not saying that we should run around writing harsh, demeaning articles about Bruce Jenner while ignoring the sins of Josh Duggar (which is the ditch on the other side of the road that I've also seen recently). 

Friends, this is sin we are dealing with here. Sin is a dark, serious, heavy matter. When faced with sins like these, we should not respond with sarcasm (as one very prominent Christian blogger has done), nor with accolades, nor with contempt. We shouldn't use sin to tout some agenda or to prove a point. 

There is only one appropriate reaction to sin, and that is sadness- sadness that comes with an understanding of the old phrase "there but for the grace of God go I." 

We should be sad when we see a man giving up his God-given identity and changing it for a lie. We should be sad when we hear about a boy within the church falling into gross and inexcusable behavior. 

But there is one major difference between these two situations, and that difference is the point upon which the whole Gospel hinges. One of these men has repented of his sin. He has gone to God and to those he has hurt and cried out for forgiveness. He has done everything in his power to rehabilitate himself and to make sure he never makes the same mistakes again. And more importantly than all of this, his soul has been washed clean by the blood of Jesus Christ, in whom he places all of his hope.

The other man has not repented. Rather, he is glorying in his sin. He is on the broad path leading to destruction, tragically deceived by a world who is giving him a standing ovation for his courage in indulging his sinful tendencies. Christians, we cannot be found among those clapping in that crowd. The very souls of those around us may depend on it. We are called to be wise as serpents and gentle as doves, and in that manner we must take a firm stand against this bold and un-repended-of sin.

Yes, Christ preaches a message of love. Yes, he preaches a message of condemnation towards sin. But we have missed the whole point if we start emphasizing only the love part towards those who are not putting their faith in Christ, and emphasizing only the condemnation towards those who have. It's as simple as that: repentance and faith make all the difference. Otherwise, sinners are just sinners and we ought all to be condemned along side both of these men. 

So yes, we should not be without love towards Bruce Jenner. But love and acceptance are very different things- Christ was big on love, not big on acceptance outside of a saving relationship with Him. 

But because of God's grace, there is hope! And for that, there is much reason to rejoice along with families like the Duggars, who have seen the grace of God adamantly at work in their eldest son. For my part I'm happier than ever to support this family and I feel deeply for what they have gone through in the last couple of weeks. I hope the Christian community will rally around them in this difficult time, as I know many already have. The media is a cruel and heartless thing! As for Bruce Jenner, I hope we will all remember to pray that the same grace may one day be evident in him. After all, there is no sinner so sinful he is out of the reach of Christ!

Ode to a Friendship

This is my cousin Bethany (and one of her sisters), in the back of her family's suburban as she leaves her childhood home on the way to her wedding. This happened last Friday, and she and Samuel have been married for just short of one week now. It was (obviously) a beautiful occasion, and now they are traveling for their honeymoon before heading home... to California. My heart is full as I think about that day, watching one of my very closest childhood friends put on a wedding dress and with it assume all the responsibilities, challenges, and graces of independent adulthood. There is no doubt in my mind that she is completely ready for this, I just don't know if I am! 

Change is an inevitable part of life, but there are certain things that you never expect change to touch. This was one of them for me. Due to the risk of emotional breakdown, I will refrain from mentioning any of the zillions of memories I have shared with this girl over the years. She's put up with so much from me (as any of our parents will tell you!) and has always been there to deliver a much-needed dose of common sense and to sympathize with every little thing I might be feeling. 

As I've grown up in basically the same place for most of my life I've had the strange experience of watching many of my closest friends leave. In some ways I envy them their adventures, and in some ways I just want it all to go back to the way it was. 

But I am thankful for confidence in the fact that whenever life does cause our paths to cross again, we will be able to pick up right where we left off. I have quite a few people in my life like that, and I know that this makes me very rich indeed- even if my riches are a little bit scattered!

And with all of this sadness, I can honestly say that NOTHING makes me happier than to see the people I love faithfully following the Lord into whatever He has for them, especially when it makes them so very happy. So here's to you, Beth, for so gracefully and bravely stepping into this new and exciting life. May it be everything you dreamed it would be and more!

Feminism, Objectification, and the In-Between.

Lately I've been reading a book, who's title I'll refrain from mentioning, which has sparked lots of thoughts in my mind about feminism. The book takes a staunchly anti-feminism position, which for the most part I agree with- but I also think the writers take things a bit too far. Let's not forget that feminism is a ditch on one side of a the road, and there is a ditch on the other side which consists of the abuse, objectification, and demoralization of women. Our culture seems to call to us loudly from both of these ditches, sending a confusing and frustrating message to our girls and creating women who are equally overbearing and insecure... and also (dare I say it?) largely unhappy.

As Christian women I believe we are called, like Bunyan's Christian, to walk through the narrow pathway between these two lions (feminism and objectification), and it is with fear and trembling that I set out to teach my daughter how to do this. Of course the only real hope we have is to keep our eyes fixed on the light of the Word, as "a lamp to our feet and a light to our path."

One of the things that really bothers me about a lot of Christian literature on this subject is the vague idea that the ONLY place a woman can really fulfill her God-given identity as a women is in the home. I just don't see how this is supported in scripture. Single women can and should work. Women who are married without children may want to work and have every Biblical right to do so. Even women with children have no Biblical mandate to be home with them ALL the time. Literature supporting the idea that staying home with one's children is the source of all happiness for women paints a very bleak picture for those who can't live this way, either because of an unsaved husband, financial difficulties, or the inability to have children.

God does give directives for women in scripture, which every girl ought to begin studying as soon as she is old enough to understand. We should be nurturers, living with an attitude of service not just towards men, but towards EVERYONE around us. We should have gentle and quiet spirits. We should speak with the law of kindness on our tongues, and allow our presence to be a softening influence on society. We should accept our status as the weaker vessel, and we should not take up positions of leadership over men within the church. As we get older we should seek to teach and instruct younger women. We should look for ways to beautify and brighten the world around us. It is THESE things that make up my identity as a woman, and that allow me to find true peace in fulfilling the calling God has given me to do. In my case they happen to work themselves out within the sphere of home life, but let's not over-glorify that... true Biblical womanhood can also take place in an office, at college, in the mission field, or anywhere else that God may call a woman to go. We don't need husbands and children to be women after God's own heart!

I do hear this message from time to time in Christian culture, but not as much as I think I should. I can't help wondering if part of the reason our girls struggle so much with purity is because we put marriage on a pedestal where it does not belong. Don't get me wrong- it IS wonderful. I have found the greatest earthly joy I have ever known within the context of marriage and submission to a Godly man. But that is only earthly joy, and there is a joy still greater... the joy of knowing that "as He stands in victory, sins curse has lost it's grip on me- for I am His, and He is mine." Hallelujah! It is for THIS that we strive. Nothing else will ever fully satisfy- not even marriage, not even children. We waste too much time thinking we would be happy if only __________.

Of course the ditch on the other side of the road is thinking that there is no value in being a stay-at-home wife/mother, and I think this lie is just as damaging and destructive. You really have to be crazy to think motherhood is a demeaning roll, because it takes a ton of energy and strategic planning and brain power to make it all happen. I also find it strange that people don't see how deeply meaningful and wonderful it is, when you are literally THE biggest influence upon one or more human lives, which has a snowball effect beyond what we can even fully imagine.

So- I do plan to teach my daughter how to cook and clean and play hostess for a crowd. I will teach her to respect and admire women who thrive within the context of home life, but I will teach her to look forward eagerly to whatever God may have in store for her. I hope this will strike a good balance between the two extremes of our culture and allow her to find true contentment in the life God has for her. Oh, what a delicate, tricky business it is to be a woman these days... and yet what a wonderful calling!

Where did the muse go?

Well, here it is, late on a Friday night (yes, 10:00 is late for a pregnant momma), and I find myself all alone in a quiet house with nothing but my feelings to think about. I keep telling myself I won't get so personal in these blog posts, but it continues to be the only thing that drives me to writing at all anymore... so here I go. 

Something has been bothering me lately.

Something that I don't think most people ever think about when they ask me how my day was or what's going on in my life. I think they are distracted by the fact that I have an adorable one-year-old on my hip and a gigantic baby bump inside my belly. This is understandable to me. I also find that for some reason everyone things I'm the kind of person who never wanted anything more than to grow up and be a wife and mother. I don't take offense at this assumption (which has been verbally expressed to me a number of times recently) because I think it's a compliment in a way and I kind of do wish it was true... but it's SO not. 

Most of my life all I've ever wanted to do was write stories. When I first married my husband, we talked a lot about it because it was concerning to him how disinterested I was in the prospect of having children. And to take this confession further: I really don't like kids that much. I love my baby, because I can't help it... but it's not like I'm this sweet motherly person who's always looking for opportunities to nurture someone.  On principle I want a big family, but in practice it terrifies me to think of having a house full of loud, attention-needing, dirty little kids. They are cute, but they take up a lot of space and time and money. Especially time.

So now you see the selfishness that dwells deep down inside me. But aside from the prospect of being worn out all the time, I don't think these things would bother me so much if it weren't for my ambitions, which are becoming nothing more than a thorn in my flesh these days. I don't think it really matters much what those ambitions are, but having some sort of ambition is very, very important to me. Writing has always been something I could do, so I made it my ambition to become an author before I died, even if it was just a one-time deal. I've clung to that and worked towards that since I was a child. Having an ambition makes me feel like I'm a person unto myself, without needing to be defined by those around me. Perhaps this is also selfishness... perhaps it's worldliness. Perhaps it's just necessary. 

I always told myself I wouldn't let go of my writing, even after I got married and had children. I was absolutely sure if it... I'd seen other mothers give up on their "dreams" and succumb to the (I thought) soul-sucking reality of children-raising until it took over their lives completely. I would have none of it! 

Well, I didn't know a thing when I thought those prideful thoughts. Ever since Katara was born, I have spent hours every month sitting in front of a blank computer screen trying to force words onto a page, trying to craft a story which I care nothing about. I guess it didn't happen overnight, but every day I care a little less, until now, it's like I can hardly even force myself to read novels because I can only think about the pointlessness of the story. It's not real, it never was real... it can only have a minimal effect on anyone's life at best, and at worst will only serve to entertain and distract busy housewives like me.

This is SO depressing to me. I know I'm missing passion. Writing and reading used to be a wonderful escape for me because I was a wild young thing full of emotions and I could be swept away in a moment by a beautifully written scene on a page. And now I'm just sort of tired all the time, and my mind NEVER stops thinking about stupid little details- like how many ounces of formula Katara should be drinking at this age and how often the dog needs to be bathed. It's the curse of motherhood, I'm convinced- the inability to stop thinking. I even find myself getting caught up in the petty problems of others, trying to churn out solutions to transportation issues and food preparations that aren't even my responsibility to worry about. These things really don't matter at all in the end of the day. None of this does, except for pouring all the love and care I can into my children so that they will thrive in the world someday... and God knows I spend far too little time thinking about that.

I think if I never wrote again, I could be perfectly fine with that. It would be a relief, even, to release myself from that ambition. But then I wouldn't be anybody at all, except for Katara's mom and Danny's wife. This would drive me crazy, and not just because I want people to think I'm something special. I know I NEED something all my own to contribute to this world, even if it is stupid and petty compared to the high calling of motherhood. I long to be caught up in excitement for a project again, and to feel a sense of pride in the work I'm doing. 

What am I supposed to do here? Should I just drop my ambitions, and try to be content with the definite calling God has given me for right now? Should I keep pushing myself to write, even when it feels like trying to breathe life into a skeleton? Or should I try to find a new passion to keep me going when the days of diaper changes and meal plans get too long?

One thing I do know: there is no such thing as "just" a mom. I think it would be nice if the world at large learned to ask stay-at-home moms about their ambitions, because I'm pretty sure we all have them, even if they are so buried under our responsibilities they haven't seen the light of day in years. People don't exist just to keep the world running... we all like to make it a little more interesting along the way too. It is this which keeps us human. And we moms are human too, despite what our children (and culture) may sometimes think of us!

Sunday Reflections

Wow- it has been a long time since I've posted here!

Today was such a weird day. My sister was baptized at her church in a nearby town, which was a TREMENDOUS blessing to see. It is always so moving to see people walking in obedience to God and backing that up with such a public declaration of faith. And it is also always a blessing to go to sister churches and meet/reacquaint with other believers. Even just the little things done differently- the music, the order of the worship, and the decor in the sanctuary- can put new energy into worship.

Of course, that wasn't quite my experience today. My baby is a very good baby most of the time, and a terribly rotten baby the rest of the time. Today was the latter. Combine an unfamiliar setting, post-vacation exhaustion, and a forgotten pacifier, and I spent the entirety of Sunday School and morning service trying desperately to sooth a VERY fussy child. It reminded me of the days when she had colic and we would bounce and rock and sush her until we were at our emotional breaking points.

Thankfully my husband took over so that I could see the baptism and participate in communion, which was refreshing and wonderful.

I also got to hold an adorable eight week old baby today, who was so small I was convinced she must have been a premature newborn. Turns out she was a whooping eleven pounds... how quickly I'd forgotten just how tiny and fragile they are at the beginning! I felt like a total ninconpoop holding her, like I had no idea what to do.

All of this got me thinking... maybe the arrival of baby number two is going to be just a bit more stressful than I might have first thought.  This pregnancy has so far been devoid of any stress or apprehension whatsoever, and I already feel bonded to the little being swimming around inside me (something that didn't happen with Katara until days AFTER she was born). But there is a practical element of this addition to our family that is going to leave me twice- maybe three times- as exhausted and emotional as I already am. Today the weight of all that I'm giving up to be a mother is hitting me a bit harder than usual, and I can't help but wonder what other sacrifices are around the corner.

I think one thing I am learning is that I can no longer depend on anyone else to lead me to God. My husband does a wonderful job of leading us in family devotions, and I hear great preaching most Sundays, but the fact of the matter is I can't always be fully there when I have a baby to take care of, and even when the baby is taken care of sometimes I'm just not quite mentally or emotionally able to take in what I'm hearing. This means I have to seize every moment when I am free and clear-headed to go to God on my own, to study the scripture and maybe revisit some of the texts and topics that came up in other venues.

I have also been thinking a lot of the peace that comes from doing the right thing. When I am stressed and hormonal and exhausted beyond the reach of rational thought, my tendency is to throw myself upon the nearest source of strength- usually my husband- and look for any way out of the load I'm carrying. But usually that only leaves me feeling more miserable. It is far better to pray for strength, if not to triumph victoriously then only to plod on till the end of that moment, hour, or day without sinning. Asking myself what my Lord would do if He were in my shoes can spare me a lot of future regret. And at the end of it all, I may be a little more tired than I would be if I'd squirmed out from under it- but I will have that peace that passes understanding, which is far more important than any lightening of the load.

Not to say that a little load lightening is always the wrong thing! Or that it's not sometimes necessary to stop all together and admit that I am weak- maybe even to cry. As long as I am willing to get back up afterward and plod on!

a moment in time

Hello from Lake Chelan, Washington!  We have been SO blessed to receive this week-long getaway at a gorgeous lake-side condo for FREE because a family member couldn't use it. Danny had a week of vacation that was going to disappear in January, but being low on cash this holiday season we weren't planning to use it... and yet, here we are, showered in God's abundant love yet again.

Because of that low on cash thing, and also because our lives have been certifiably crazy for the last four months, we've elected to spend most of this week indoors with coffee and blankets, working on the hobbies that have fallen by the wayside in the midst of bringing up baby. For me this (of course) means writing... what does that word mean again? Oh, right. It means arranging words in the form of sentences, which then make paragraphs, which then make chapters of the novella I'm supposed to be writing for the final class in my certificate.

And here it is that I find myself coming head-to-head with the things I hate about myself. First of all, I'm realizing that for all the scheduling and to-do list making that I do at home, I am NOT a scheduled person. I like to make a schedule just to see how much I could, potentially, get done in a day- in other words, to map out the possibilities. I usually have no intention of keeping that schedule, and if the muse hits or a friend calls or Katara is being particularly cute, that schedule goes out the window without a second thought. Do I end up disappointed in myself? Usually. But only at the end of the day, looking back, when I realize I have yet again failed to hold myself to the standards I set. During the day, I am perfectly, undeniably content to drift from whim to whim, diving nose-first into projects and planning for the future which will, of course, go nothing like my plans.

It's the possibilities that are exciting, not the realization of them.

Anyway, self-analyzation aside, I do love to have everything all taken care of an all my ducks in a row- blog updated, facebook checked, emails replied to and properly filed into folders, baby fed, changed, bathed, and sleeping, lunch simmering on the stove- these are the moments when I feel high on life and finally, finally ready to sit down to the business of doing what I was supposedly born to do- writing. But then of course what always happens is the baby wakes up, the soup overflows, or a new email comes in- and I am whisked off again in the process of homemaking and mothering. I'm always kind of relieved, because starting to write is such a daunting thing- which makes it very clear that what I was really born to do was be a wife, homemaker, and mother, even though this is somehow hard for me to admit.

Ah well. The point is, life is very good, and I have much to be thankful for. Also much to learn- but I have the feeling that while I'm in the middle of scrambling and dreaming and scheming and planning the way I want my life to be, real life will take over and when I look back on it at the end of eighty years, I won't be disappointed.

Walking and Talking

Here it is, very late at night (my alarm will be going off in just over three hours), and everyone in the house is sleeping (Max included) except me.  Why?  Not for any reason except that I was hungry and needed to unwind a bit before sleep found me after a night out with friends. So what did I spend this valuable time doing?  Praying? Reading my Bible? Contemplating God's goodness to me this day?

Nope.  I spent it on facebook.

So it is that I find myself discouraged, as it comes high time to turn out the lights. How is it that I can go about my day so completely ignorant to the fact that God is guiding my every step and sustaining my every breath?  And more importantly, He is sovereign over the general patterns of my life, large and small- the ones that lead me to prosperity and joy and the ones that send me scuttling back to Him with my tail between my legs. And yet I live as though He does not exist, day in and day out.  I think about what I want for my daughter, and too often salvation finds it's self too far down on the list.  This reflects my total misunderstanding of the spiritual realm, placing it on a level with make-believe worlds that we may or may not one day find to be real.

I don't want to live like it's not real anymore.

Dr. Taccit always says that if we really believed what we believed was really real, it would change the way we lived. This is the heart of the issue.  I know that God exists and that He is good and that He loves me, but some part of me is able to dismiss these vital truths as though they were secondary to the realities of flesh and blood, time and money which rule this world of dust.  Why is that?  Not enough time spent in the Word, not enough time spent in prayer, and a failure to engage in public worship must be among the answers.

Oh God, grant me the grace to change.

Help me to cling to You above all else, to know your presence at all times, and to seek to know You better with each passing day.  Help me to remember that mediocre Christianity is not true Christianity- that You want all of me, not some unused part that can be spared for devotions each morning and church on Sunday.  Guide me to those events in life that would cause me to need You more, and give me the strength to resist those unnecessary distractions that make this world seem so all-consuming!

And most of all, direct my gaze to the Cross.

How strange to think that there was a time in this world when Christ dwelt among us, and a place in this world where his feet have walked.  A hill where heavy drops of his blood fell to the ground.  A place where sin was once and for all given a retribution, and the veil of the temple was torn in two so that we might enter that most holy of holies.  That's what this really all comes down to- because His blood was shed, the blood of the goats and sacrificial lambs no longer have to be.  And if we have been given such glorious entrance into God's very presence, without the shelter of a veil in-between, then there is only one question remaining.

Why don't we drink from the endless droughts of this glorious privilege every day, every hour, and every minute that we live?

Flesh

I just sat down here to write out the time requirements of a so-called "perfect" day.  I would like an hour to write, an hour for devotions, a couple hours with my husband… and before I could get very far into the list I was struck by the pure selfishness of what I was doing, not to mention ungodliness.  Sure, time management is important, but for me I think it has become a way of defying God's will for my life, struggling over and over to make things fit in a way they just aren't meant to be.  Realizing that I don't have time for certain things at this point has been hard, and my selfishness is astounding.  But maybe I would be better off if I just let go of my agenda and left each day open to whatever God brings, determined to work with all diligence using whatever hours He does choose to give me.

It is easy enough to recognize the providential hand when it comes in the form of calls to the mission field or opportunities to help those in distress here in America.  When Danny got the news that his Aunt's house was in need of a total remodel after a bad bout of renters, there was little question that he should give as much of his time as possible to that endeavor (though God knows my heart was not in it as it should have been). But what about those little daily inconveniences- the dog getting fleas, Katara spitting up all over the clean outfit I just put on, or a friend calling to chat for an hour that I would rather spend writing- do I recognize the Divine hand in these things too?  Perhaps somewhere deep down I know this, but my reaction to these things is often all too knee-jerk, too focused on the temporal. 

Romans 8:7 says: "For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot."

Have I become set on the flesh?  It used to be much easier to think of leaving all that I held dear for God- I guess there just didn't used to be all that much that I held dear.  I wasn't super attached to my family before I was married, I hated my job, and didn't have all that many friends.  The mission field actually sounded attractive because it would be something meaningful, even if not exactly glamorous.  But now when I think of leaving this cozy apartment with our matching black furniture and vaulted ceilings in exchange for a hut somewhere in Africa, my courage completely fails me.  

In other words, I've become comfortable.  In God's providence Danny and I have been financially secure, our marriage has been sun-kissed from the beginning, and now we have a beautiful daughter whom we would like to give the world- trips to Disney land, a beautiful rambling house in the country, and a stellar college education.  I used to scorn the American dream, but now I find myself spending hours daydreaming about home decor and summer vacations. I know it's not a bad thing to be financially secure and to use some of that money to enjoy the comforts of life, but not knowing how to live without it is quite a different matter.  Self-denial is becoming harder and harder, even while I'm supposed to be growing older and more sanctified with each year.

A mind set on the flesh is also one which cannot deny the comforts of the flesh, like that oh-so-tempting second cookie or a series of small snacks in the afternoon instead of the sensible granola bar. Even when my daughter's health depends on it, I've found it so difficult to fill my body with good things, which is just so unreasonable.  This body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, and I MUST take care of it.  

Worst of all, a mind set on the flesh sees God only as very far off.  This world and everything in it- from leather couches to marriage it's self- WILL pass away. There is a spiritual dimension to reality which should be even more potent and real to me than the temporal, but it's not.  Instead, I find that when I come to God He seems unreal, the concept of His word unrealistic and impossible to believe. When I reason through these things my mind still agrees to all the tenants of Christianity, but my heart does not belong to my Savior the way it once did.  What happened to the days when I felt His presence all day long, when my mind slipped to prayer as naturally as it now runs to numbers and schedules and calories. What a waste of energy it has all been, too, for it hasn't gotten me anywhere except more frustrated when things don't go my way.

So here is my resolution for this day, and every day following it: to "walk by the spirit," that I may not "gratify the desires of the flesh."  (Galatians 5:19)  For me, this means to stop obsessing over how I want things to go, to stop pouring over schedules and budgets and diet plans and start living these things minute by minute, as God provides the time and opportunity.  To give over each and every day- each moment- to Him, no matter what He may choose to do with it.  To spend as much time in prayer as possible, knowing that God's blessing on all my endeavors is more valuable than any amount of planning and preparation.  To deny myself as often as possible, if it's at the shopping mall, in the kitchen, or when the phone rings- so that I may learn to "die daily." (1 Corinthians 15:31).  To make a conscious choice to "Set my mind on the things above, and not on the things that are on the earth."  (Colossians 3:2) 

Because it in all of my meticulous planning and pinching and starting over again, I have yet to achieve either peace or control or satisfaction with myself.  I still go to bed distressed over my own laziness and gluttony and selfishness day after day after day.  I can't do this on my own, I have sufficiently proven that now.  Time to let it all go, give it to God, and walk with my eyes up on Him instead of down at the path at my feet.  

A young mother's thoughts on young motherhood (so far)

It is strange to think that I have only been a mother for seven and a half weeks.  In that time my life has changed more radically than ever before- even more than when I first got married.  Right now it's gloomy outside and actually chilly in our usually-stifling third-floor apartment, and I'm hunkered down in PJ's and a sweatshirt, steaming mug of coffee next to the computer screen, Katara sleeping in her bear chair beside me.  It makes me happy to think of her so warm and peaceful under two layers of blankets, dreaming away this almost-fall morning.

In a sense, being a mom is a lot easier than I thought it would be.  Over the long months of pregnancy, I wasted so much stress over the coming change in our lives.  I thought my youth was coming to an end and with it everything that looked or smelled of fun.  I thought our marriage would be pushed to the side for 25+ years while child rearing took it's needful place.  I thought I wouldn't have the physical strength needed to carry a baby around all day long and get up with her at night, too.  I dreaded the loss of my free time and hobbies. Most of all I worried I wouldn't love my baby as I should or that I wouldn't like being a mother.

Of course that last one was ridiculous- from the minute I laid eyes on Katara I was pretty sure of three things: we were going to name her Katara, she had an incredible will to thrive, and I was going to love her until the day I died.  

Many of my other fears have more or less come to pass, but they are all overwhelmingly made up for by the abundant love God miraculously instils in the heart of a mother for her helpless, squirming, red-faced little human.

But in another sense, this is also a lot harder than I thought it would be. Watching other mothers, I used to promise myself that I wouldn't be the type to let the laundry go un-folded or to push off a shower until three in the afternoon.  Well, the average time it takes me to fold one basket of laundry is now about three and a half days. And I consider myself blessed if I'm showered by dinner time. It's hard for me to even admit these things- I've prided myself on being a conscientious housekeeper and, I thought, a great multi-tasker.  I guess God knew I needed to be taken down a few notches. Not having time for these basic household tasks is beyond stressful to me- it takes a daily surrendering of my will to His, and I'm not at all good at it.

Even while I'm constantly scrambling to stay on top of things and usually wind up exhausted at the end of each day, I'm also struggling to accept the monotony of this lifestyle.  My hours are spent in a never ending three-hour cycle of feeding, entertaining, and soothing the baby, then scrambling to get stuff done while she dozes.  At times I feel so cooped up I could scream, but when I think about packing her up and getting out I can't bear the thought of leaving so many things un-done at home.  This tension between the desire to get things done and the desire to get out of the house is the name of the motherhood game, and probably something I will continue to wrestle with for the rest of my child raising years.

Perhaps hardest of all is the realization that my dreams of being a stay at home mom and writing full length novels at the same time are completely unrealistic. This is the burr that keeps burrowing deeper into my flesh these days, the one reality that I can't completely accept. All those hours of practice when I was younger, all the money poured into education- and now, to have it come to nothing... to BE nothing but a wife and mother... am I okay with this?  No. Not yet.  But I'll get there.

Don't get me wrong- it's not that I don't love being with my baby and meeting her most basic needs. When I'm at my wits end it takes only a few minutes of scrutiny from her curious brown eyes or one of her giant, dimpled smiles to make it all worthwhile.  I'm realizing she is the type of person who likes to go all the time, who doesn't let grass grow under her feet.  She's curious and brave and persistent, and loves people like her daddy. This is not the type of baby to cuddle up on my chest for a movie or lay cooing in her crib for hours on end, but I would not trade her vivacious personality for a million peaceful hours to clean toilets, write blog posts, or even see the world.  She is my world now, she and her daddy and everything that goes on between the four walls of our home.

And I know I have so much to look forward to.  Lord willing there will be other babies, each with their own little faces and personalities, bringing something to this family entirely and delightfully outside of our control. Eventually the dynamic schedule of school, sports, music and social activities will take the place of the three-hour sleep-eat-and-cry routine.  There will be family movie nights and road trips and moments of true triumph and joy for every child, just as there will be struggles beyond anything I could handle now, I'm sure.  For the time being I will just try to cherish every fleeting moment of Katara's life, accepting the little trials that come with it as necessary means of sanctification and of receiving the joy that comes with this calling. 

And I will be thankful for little moments like these, when I somehow manage to write an ENTIRE blog post before the baby wakes up- even if there are dishes in the sink and piles of laundry to be folded!  :-)

I Promise

Nothing could have prepared me for the joy this little girl brings. As we roll past her six-week birthday today, she begins to show signs of understanding and recognition when we look into her eyes or say her name. It's already time for Danny and I to start being careful what tones of voice we use in the house or how we talk to each other in her presence. Thinking about these things, I want to put into writing some of my resolutions about the kind of mother I want to be.

Many of these come from recent sermons we've listened to by Pastor Al Martin, and others come from observing my own mom and other wonderful mothers we know.

Dear Katara, and all future children:

I promise...

To maintain high moral standards, so you will leave our home with a large amount of the innocence you had when you came into it.

To walk with God before you in a manner that makes you desire a relationship with Him as the greatest joy you will ever know.

To teach you faithfully from the precepts of the Bible.

To never pressure you to come to a decision about religion which you are not ready to make.

To respect and obey your father all the time, when you are watching and when you're not. To show you that I love him more than anything every single day.

To spend time with you as often as I can.

To figure out who you are, and what you like, and everything else there is to know about you.

To never let you get away with being lazy.

To let you be a kid for as long as possible.

To make learning fun.

To eat well, be active, and take care of my body so that I always have the energy and stamina to be there for you, and so that you will learn how to be healthy too.

To apologize when I have failed you.

To put down the computers and go outside with you, as often as possible.

To always open the doors of our home to your friends.

To laugh with you and at your jokes and silly antics, and to let you laugh at me when I am doing weird Mom things (like crying during Father Of The Bride).

To let you go, weather it's your first day of school or your last day at home.

To try not to embarrass you more than is necessary for your normal development.

To love every minute of your wild, ridiculous antics, and to never be embarrassed by you even when other people raise their eyebrows.

To discipline out of love, not react out of anger.

To take you seriously.

To give you as many opportunities to serve as possible.

To be cheerful and pleasant, not stressed all the time.

To not obsess about keeping the house clean 24-7, even though I really really like it that way.

To try to be reasonably cool so I won't be annoying to you when you are a teenager.

To accept you for exactly who you are.

To give up the things I love if they are getting in the way of keeping any of these promises.

To be patient.

To encourage you to climb higher, run faster, and try new things- even if it scares me to death to watch you.

To make sure you know I'm in charge.

To stand my ground when you don't like our rules, even if you hate me for it.

To not spoil you too much.

And most importantly, I promise to pray for you every single day for as long as I live.

I know I won't do all of these things all the time, and I certainly won't do any of them perfectly. But as God is my witness this is the model I want to strive after!

Post from eight weeks ago

This morning I woke up at six thirty to Baby's energetic kicking, and looked out the window to see the day already heating up to barbecue and lawn mowing weather.  She must have been as filled with joy and excitement as I was!  After an exhausting day yesterday building sets for VBS and fighting pregnancy sickness, it was a much-needed wake-up call to just how much I have to be thankful for.

I was just flipping through the first pages of my journal, which I started this time last year.  I saw that I had written about how Danny and I had decided to put off moving and children until I could finish school.  I don't even remember that being a conscious decision, but now here we are, right on track.  My last day of school is the 14th, we move on the 15th, and baby should come about a month after that.  I'm really, really glad I've had this chance to pursue education in a subject I love, but now I'm equally glad to be done and on to the next thing.

Today I am 33 weeks pregnant.  Just another three weeks and the baby can safely come anytime.  Looking back to the first few days of this journey, I remember thinking that nine months was basically a life time away.  I didn't think much about the coming addition to our family, I just thought about how much my body was changing and how it felt like youth was slipping away week by week. Now it seems that motherhood has snuck up on me, and I'm nowhere near ready... but somewhere between the beginning and now, I've gotten used to the whole idea.  Ready or not, I'm okay with being a mom now.  Okay with being the person in the corner nursing, okay with not writing the next bestseller, okay with having a few stretch marks that weren't there before.

This is not to say that I think it will be easy or that I don't have apprehensions.  To be honest, the thought of nursing a baby ever 2-3 hours through the night makes me want to break down in tears every time I think about it.  So does the idea of running around after a mischievous one year old all day long, or having battles of wit with a stubborn three year old.  Everyone tells me it's going to be wonderful, and I know it will be.  But wonderful does not necessarily mean easy.  It sounds so exhausting, and my selfish flesh rises up against having to give of myself so much.  The exposing of this selfishness is one of the things I dread the most.  I don't want to discover just how many layers of ugliness I have in me, or go through the pain of having them stripped away.

But on the other hand, my life has been incredibly good and more to the point incredibly easy for the last year or so.  Perhaps it's time for me to be pushed a little, to be thrown into something I'm completely NOT ready for, and to find out the depths of my own depravity.  It won't be all fun and games, but it will be good for me.  It will be just the right tool to chip away at these giant clumps of rough substance that still cling to my character, and as the years go on it will only continue to chip and sand and finally polish. To be made more holy by a means so riddled with joy and love and happiness is no small blessing.

So ready or not, I say bring it on- trusting in God to give me the strength!

life as we know it

Perhaps it's a result of staying up too late and getting up too early, but today my mind is a swirl of thoughts about life and the big picture.  I have been lining up my commitments lately and I'm excited to realize that all of them but ONE will be checked off for good by the time baby Villa comes along.  Though I'm terribly overwhelmed at the thought of raising a newborn, it is a huge relief to know that I will be able to focus everything on her for the first few months.

In the mean time, life is a tangle of plans made, broken, and made again, as I try to tackle all the responsibilities that are on my plate right now.  This is something I have always been bad at.  It's strange too because just a few weeks ago I was complaining that I didn't have enough to do... and now suddenly it's craziness all the time.  This is largely due to the home-buying process, which kicked into overdrive when our offer was accepted on a duplex in Auburn.  It is somewhat of a fixer-upper, so that will keep us very busy until the baby arrives, I'm sure.

In the midst of this my husband has become fed up with the very obvious flaws in the university education system (particularly where he is attending) and is trying to figure out weather he wants to continue his education or not.  There are other opportunities for him on the horizon, including (but not limited to) a new job which will begin a week from tomorrow.  So needless to say the tectonic plates under our lives are shifting again, and we are constantly trying to re-define normal.  It is definitely better than boredom, but I can't help but crave the simplicity of a suburban lifestyle.  Sending the kids off to school every day and Dad getting home at 5 o'clock sharp would leave Mom plenty of time to write, cook, clean, and sleep.

Of course, we are not called to easy in this life.  And I have the feeling that as long as I have the husband I do, life will never exactly be simple for us... and I wouldn't have it any other way!  To spend and be spent is the greatest blessing I could ask for out of this life.  The challenge lies in putting to rest my own foolish ideas about what is important or how I WANT to spend my time, to focus instead on what God has laid in front of me for the day ahead.

Speaking of which, I should be off to prepare for tutoring and to get some homework done.  But this short break has cleared my mind a great deal, and I feel I can venture out into the world now with a sense of purpose behind me!  It's amazing the wonders of a little writing therapy.   

Dialogue

This week in my Intro to Novel Writing class, I'm learning about Dialogue.  I'm sitting in a Starbucks now (okay, I don't go to Starbucks as much as it sounds like I do... we just have this tradition of going on Mondays when we both have a lot of homework, except this time we went on Tuesday because... oh, who cares!) and trying to pay attention to the kind of Dialogue going on around me.  There is a very unique group of people talking at the table next to us- an older white business man, a beautiful Asian woman, and a skinny young guy with hair that sticks up slightly around the edges.  The older man talks so low I can hardly hear him, telling stories in a matter-of-fact way while he sips on his drink with a refined air.  The woman laughs through every word and her voice rises and falls a lot, almost as though she's mimicking a whole cast of characters as she goes.  The boy's voice is louder and gruff, and he grins when he speaks and when he listens.  I wonder most what it is he thinks of the other two.  When he does speak, it is eagerly, as though he's excited to get a word in edge-wise. The woman reaches over suddenly and rubs the boys arm, revealing an interesting twist in the plot... is this her adopted brother?  Boyfriend, even?  Hum...

Then there are the Starbucks workers.  This week the gotte guy is missing his curly-haired companion, but he is just as talkative and eager as usual- maybe even more so now that he has the stage to himself.  He tells a different story to every customer, half of these stories about his adventures serving coffee with the curly-haired guy.  When he does manage to engage his work-focused co-worker in discussion, it is about things like milk, coffee, cleaning the counters properly, and the failings of the other employees.  Particularly about the curly-haired guy... I'm sensing this is a friendship that goes deeper than mere coffee and night shifts. 

But I digress from the point.  Dialogue.  The Starbucks guy tells a lot of pointless stories, says little things here and there that are mere silence fillers.  They would be very boring if put in dialogue form for a story, but as background to a more important scene... perhaps.  It's a good reminder that when people talk in real life they don't always speak with purpose, and sometimes that makes them lovable, even if a tiny bit annoying. 

for apple trees and honey bees

It is a perfect, sunny February day.  The kitchen window is open, the breeze moving the strings of a bright floral apron hanging from the window frame.  Max sleeps lazily in the patches of sun around the house, getting up to move every half-hour as the sun changes positions. The voices of kids walking home from school float through the kitchen, their voices merrier than usual.  The only thing that could make this day more perfect would be something lemony to eat...

Well, now it's perfect!

It is the kind of day that demands fresh starts and fresh thoughts, and I have spent it in preparing for the upcoming addition to our little family, reading, walking around the neighborhood, and checking things off the to-do list.  This all makes me think that if only I could live in a sunny climate, I would be happy, productive and interesting every day, though I know this is far from the truth.  In fact, it seems that the more we hang our happiness on something, the less likely that thing is to ever truly satisfy us.  Besides, I would never appreciate days like today as much if they happened all the time!

If anyone is looking for an interesting read, particularly for teenage girls, I would recommend Sarah Dessen's book "Along for the Ride."  I'm about half-way through it, and though the main character does make a bad choice close to the beginning, her behavior is not condoned and the incident is not described at all.  I appreciate that cleanness about Sarah Dessen's books (this is the third I've read so far), but even more so I appreciate how her female characters find themselves without either falling hopelessly in love or having any kind of feministic empowering experience.  God is sadly missing, but the message is oddly more along the lines of what I would want my girls to be reading than many Christian books of the same genre.  Not that I have read all that many Christian YA books... if anyone has suggestions for some good ones, I'd love to check them out!

Well, that's about all I have for my "writer's journal" this week... off to finish up some homework and then set to work on a egg-sandwich dinner to be shared with some friends.  Enjoy the rest of this beautiful day!

Things to say

Well, here I am, writing a blog post.

I recognize that I don't have many readers over here anymore, which is awesome, because my ramblings become more boring as I go on.  And now I have a school assignment to keep a writer's journal, which is simply too much for me given all the other kinds of journals I already keep.  So I'm going to try to blog once a week instead... we'll see how that goes.

I must confess, the concept of a writer's journal is largely lost on me.  My sister has one, and she writes things in it like, "Red is the best color for a car," and "What if there was a story about a giant who didn't like eating goats like all the other giants?"  This means that when various inspirational thoughts occur to her she actually has the energy to go find her notebook, open it, find a working pen, and write her thought down.  This is where it breaks down for me.

Also, it seems the older I get the less I enjoy writing as an outlet.  It's still an awesome hobby, but I wouldn't think of myself as necessarily an artsy-fartsy person who likes to do things like sit in a Starbucks and write about the smell of coffee and the Arabic couple arguing at the next table over.  I guess it's part of settling into wife-hood and facing impending mother-hood...  everything must have it's box, and if the boxes start running over and falling into each other, chaos ensues!  So I'm a writer when I sit down to do an assignment or to work on my manuscript, but not when I get up to unload the dishwasher.  I'm going to go ahead and accept that this does not make me a terrible person, just a boring one.

But, since I have the excuse of this being an assignment, I might as well mention that I actually am at a Starbucks right now, and there actually is an Arabic couple arguing at the next table.  At least, I think they're arguing- it's hard to tell since they aren't speaking English all the time.  Looking at them is in a sense familiar to me now, since I live in SeaTac where it's unusual to see a white person walking down the street.  And yet, I was just learning in my novel writing class that it's essential to be able to write about people who are different from you, and I know I would be totally incapable of writing about the lives of someone like that without doing a LOT of research.  Isn't it so interesting that we live side-by-side with people we know absolutely nothing about, people who's lives we couldn't even imagine by looking at them?

Also, at this Starbucks there are two workers, the same two workers who are almost always here when we come in the evening.  They are quite a pair.  One of them is a big tall guy with a major head of curly hair, whose church I've actually gone to a couple of times- though he doesn't remember me.  It's weird because he's friends with a lot of my friends and he's the popular type, so I used to hear about him a lot.  Every time I come in he's leaning over the counter talking to someone, usually a female someone.  He's the kind of person who wears his heart on his sleeve and is pretty much always happy, and always in love.  It's weird to order coffee from someone whom you know a lot about.  Last week I was dying to ask him if he was still with the girl he was apparently so head-over-heels in love with in High School.  Can you imagine the look on his face?

The other guy is shorter and thinner, with a very distinguishing (not to be confused with distinguished) goatee.  Yikes, he's sweeping behind me right now... I hope he doesn't look up at my screen! He's the music-lover, the indie one- but the two are both very vocal and have very creative vocabulary choices.  They don't talk like most mid-20 year old co-workers, they are interesting and engaging.  It's kind of refreshing, actually.

What is life?

Is it the ability to grow? To Breathe? To feel? To have a soul?

So much of this life slips by unnoticed.  We don't realize that all of our coming and going and stopping and starting equals living, until that time is passed. Then a wave of nostalgia can take us back to something as simple as a dish we've washed a thousand times or a pair of shoes filled with signatures.  We don't realize we're making memories, but we always are.  We don't realize that we have made beloved friends until they are taken from us.

Is it living more to experience things beyond mere happenstance?  Would it be better to plot and plan out memories, with pictures and books full of words to remember them by? Does it make it easier when the real thing disapears?  I don't think so.  But there's a certain guilt that comes from staying home too many days in a row, spending evenings amid books and in the kitchen instead of with the people we love.

As with many things, I suspect the best path is somewhere in-between.  I didn't make any new years resolutions this year, but perhaps a good one would have been to seize each and every moment- weather small or large- and live it to God's glory.  It is not enough to wade through life as though it is only a drugery, nor is it sufficient to try to fly from mountain peak to mountain peak.

For life is not about finding happiness.  Neither is it all losses and crosses.  It is a conglomeration of moments strung out into hours, days, and weeks that make up our years, and those years are shockingly few in number.  How we spend those years is not really up to us.  One day we will look back, and it will all seem like a breath.

So don't let a moment slip by un-lived!

Walk by the Spirit

"But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.  For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do."  Galatians 5:16-17

This is the memory verse that is next up to bat for me on my phones nifty scripture memory application.  Which means that I typed it in myself some weeks ago, though I don't remember what my thoughts were at the time.  When it came up on the screen Saturday morning, I was struck by how simple and yet how powerful of a message is contained in these two little verses.  At first glance, it seems to be a simple prohibition against living in the flesh- in other words, living for the here and now and satisfying the sinful desires of the natural man (or woman).  

But after looking at it again, I realize that the passage tells us not just what to do, but how to do it.  Which is awesome, because it answers to the promise in 1 Corinthians 10:13 - "There has no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted above that you are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that you may be able to bear it."  What is our way of escape?  Living by the Spirit.

What does this mean?  Matthew Henry says, "By the Spirit here may be meant either the Holy Spirit himself... or that gracious principle which he implants in the souls of His people and which lusts against the flesh."  

And how do we accomplish living by the Spirit?  Matthew Henry again: "The best antidote against the poison of sin is to walk in the Spirit, to be much in conversing with spiritual things, to mind the things of the soul, which is the spiritual part of man, more than those of the body, which is his carnal part, to commit ourselves to the guidance of the Word, wherein the Holy Spirit makes known the will of God concerning us, and in the way of our duty to act in a dependence on His aids and influences."

So basically we are to live in a spiritual state of mind all the time.  Christianity is not a on-again off-again thing- and it's not enough to have devotions once a day and go to church once a week, either.  If we are to live by the Spirit, we must zealously pursue spiritual things until our hearts are in it. We are to live in a constant state of dependence on God, which is the only way to really escape sin.  

It makes me think of a passage from Stepping Heavenward that talks about committing even the smallest of daily actions to God, as a way of checking that we stay within His will.  It seems this would also be a good way to keep from slipping into a worldly state of mind.  Of course, I don't mean, and I'm sure that Matthew Henry and Paul didn't mean, that we are to walk around with long faces and pray for hours a day. Rather we should live with a joyful awareness of God's presence and prayerful submission to His will at ALL times.  

I think of how often during a day I think of things I want to say to my husband.  Can you imagine if we set up fifteen minutes each morning to be our only talking time for the whole day? Our relationship would fall apart, and love would cease to grow between us with so little to go on!  How much more should I talk to God.  As hard as this goal is to accomplish, I can only the blessings that would come if I could ever learn to truly walk by the Spirit.

Sneak Peak

This month I have been incredibly blessed both by the things I've been learning and doing in school, and enough extra time to participate in NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month.  Here is a very short story I wrote for school using characters from my novel.  Constructive criticism is welcome!

            The day before my first audition finally came.  I felt as though I was walking on air.  Adam said this was a literal truth, as I practiced my kicks and jumps in the hallways at school. “I just hope I’ll never have to hear ‘Danced All Night’ again once this is finished,” he added, referring to the song I’d been working on with my voice teacher.  But then he smiled his one-sided smile and bumped his shoulder against mine.

            “I really do appreciate all the help and support,” I told him, slipping my hand into his as we headed towards the high school cafeteria.  “You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.”

            “I know,” Adam grinned.  He tried hard to come across as tough by keeping his red hair a tousled mess and delivering snarky one-liners at every opportunity.  But he ruined the effect by dating me.  I was a home grown country gal with honey-blonde hair and an addiction to vintage 50’s clothing. 

            After school, Adam dropped me off at the big blue farmhouse where my family and I had lived all my life.  I waved goodbye to him on the front porch, then paused to breathe in the scent of pine and growing things.  It was so beautiful here, with the expanse of sky overhead and the trees hemming us in on all sides.  It made me wonder why I so desperately craved the flashing lights and crowded rooms of stage life.  With that thought, a rush of nervousness for tomorrow washed over me.  There was only one cure for that kind of anxiety, and I knew exactly what it was.

            I turned and went inside, the screen door banging shut behind me.  Mom was in the kitchen, and I greeted her hurriedly before rushing up the narrow stair way to my attic bedroom.  The little room had a wooden ceiling that came to a point in the middle and was wall covered in blue and red wallpaper from my childhood.  I tossed my backpack on the bed and grabbed a bulging folder of CD’s from the window seat, flipping through them until I found one labeled “SONGS TO SING AND DANCE TO” in pink sharpie.  This I put into the boom box on the floor, plugging in my headphones and putting them on over my hair.

As the first couple of notes of a Mahalia Jackson gospel tune began to play, they had a kind of healing effect on me.  I picked up the CD player and drug it over to the vanity table where my makeup and cosmetics sat, tilting the mirror back so that I could see myself in the reflection.  I grabbed a bottle of hair spray to use as a make-shift microphone and began to sing into it, belting out each note with reckless abandon.  I didn’t care that it probably sounded terrible at first, I just sang to release the built up tension and excitement in me. 

After that it was a Disney love song, followed by a classic Kelly Clarkston don’t-mess-with-me tune.  As I sang, I played all the parts, from self-righteous gospel singer to Princess to empowered female pop star.  It wasn’t that I was acting; I was feeling through the music.  In the space of half an hour I traveled through time to many different parts of the world, and to some worlds that didn’t even exist.  And as I became those other girls, it was as though I could feel everything they felt.  Almost as though I was making up the words rather than reciting them from memory.

By the time the CD finally skidded to a halt, I was exhausted.  In the sudden silence that followed, I sank onto the stool in front of the vanity and looked at my flushed face.  It no longer seemed such a sacrifice to walk away from one cozy life in the woods.  On stage I could live countless lives and stories, and be countless different people.  Perhaps there were nobler callings, but this was the truest part of me.

            The next day Adam picked me up at ten o’clock and drove me to Federal Way for my audition. “I’ll be right here waiting for you,” he told me as we parted ways in the parking lot.  We were at a local High School, and the place seemed eerie without any students in it.  I followed the sound of a piano to the theatre, which was much bigger than our school’s auditorium.  The room was mostly black, with a spotlight on the stage.  I slid into the front row and waited for my turn to sing.

            “Allison Morris?” they called at last.

            “Here,” I squeaked, scrambling to my feet. 

            “You’re next,” said the director, a middle-aged woman with a striped scarf wrapped around her neck.

            I hurried up the steps to the stage and stepped into the spot light.

            They asked me what I was going to sing, and I answered while handing the sheet music to the pianist. 

            “Miss Morris,” asked the director, peering out at me from behind a desk set up in the center isle.  A small lamp lightered her face from below, casting odd shadows across her cheeks.  “Why do you want to play the roll of Eliza Doolittle?”

            “I don’t want to play anything,” I replied.  “I just want to BE her, for a little while.”

            “Very good,” she replied, smiling a little.  “Let’s see how you do.”

            The pianist began to play, and I opened my mouth and transformed.

Six Reasons Why

As I look out my window on this election morning, I see piles and piles of leaves blanketing the ground and a light fog hanging over the rooftops of this town.  It is a magical sight, and makes me think of waking up at my parent's house on Thanksgiving morning to the smell of cooking turkey and the sound of the parade on TV.  Every season of the year has it's magic, but none is greater than this.

And as I eagerly await the results of this election, more out of curiosity than any kind of strong hope one way or the other, my sluggish mind is trying to wrap its self around post-modern ideas about writing as presented in my online classes.  It's the last thing I want to be doing right now.  Falling asleep next to the space heater, reading some C.S. Lewis, or bundling up for a run in the crisp fall air sound far more appealing.  But I know that I'm learning a lot at this school, both by way of technical craft and by way of philosophy, if only by learning exactly what I am not.  So before I go back to competing with far greater minds than mine on the online discussion boards, I feel the need to establish very clearly why it is that I write.

I write to capture beauty.

Philippians 4:8 - "Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy- meditate on these things."

I understand that life is not all sunshine and roses.  Indeed if it were, there would be no such thing as plot!  Grief, suffering, physical pain, emotional pain, and war all have their place in the tales of this world.  Writing about these things in order to make a point is all well and good, but I will not explore scenes of misery, death, decay, and disorder merely for the sake of exploring them.  There is always hope in this world, because Christ came to save sinners. I want to find the beauty in things and capture them in words, transporting readers to a world which is broken, but worth saving- just like ours.

I write to move people.
Words are powerful, and the right story can help us to deal with things that we have trouble facing in real life.  Emotions aren't everything, but they can also lead to actions, and if I can inspire just a few people to have more hope, faith, or joy in this life than I will be satisfied.

I write to show the triumph of good over evil.
It might be cliche, but I've read too many books and seen too many movies where the line between good and evil is blurred.  Main characters have serious character flaws, all in the name of realism, but they are excusable because of his ultimate triumph.  The bad guy is only a few shades darker than the hero, or perhaps in the end he was a better man all together. These are not the kinds of stories I want my children to grow up reading!  I wish more people would write stories about the knight in shinning armor, who struggles against the evil within him but ultimately does what is right.

I write for a healthy escape.
For now, the escape is for me, but maybe someday it will provide escape for others, too. I'm not one to bash social media, but I do think we live in a time where the temptation to waste time is paramount.  Engaging in stories keeps my mind sharp and imagination fresh, which is profitable in it's place.  It also helps to keep me sane in a world of to-do lists and endless engagements.  Too much reality isn't good for anyone!

I write to provoke thought.
Novels may not be the best forum for preaching, but they can be a sort of "trojan horse" to convey important ethical, moral, and Biblical lessons.  I hope not just to write fluff which tickles the fancy of the reader- I want to leave them with something to chew on.

And last but not least...

I write to reflect the glory of God.
Our God is a God of beauty, of creation, of imagination, and of stories.  The first and most fundamental plot structure is that of this world- created, fallen, redeemed, and one day, restored.  I recognize that there may be far more important tasks which God may have for me to do than writing stories, and I certainly don't think of this as a heavenly calling or anything like that.  But I believe it glorifies Him when His created beings exercise the creative capacity He gave us to create things that magnify His creation, His work, and His person. I hope that the things that I write will cause my own heart and the hearts of others to love Him more!