Just a Grain of Rice

What to do in these perilous times? How do I explain to a pressing four-year-old that our president would let me kill a baby in my tummy? He says its OK. Jane keeps asking, "Do you think Obama will come to our house?" Eyes wide, she wants to know will Daddy protect Lucy from Obama? It's all so literal for her. Lucy is still a BABY! HELP!! And after all isn't she?

My first pregnancy I miscarried. Sorrow upon alum sorrow. The second was Jane. Six weeks old and grain-of-rice-size, even so, I watched her tiny heart pulse. ALIVE. The inexplicable spark of life had happened right there inside of me before I even knew. Every nuance of Jane written out in complex codes of DNA snapped into place and pulse-pulse-pulse. The unique imprint of soul already authored by God was right there, beating. How terrifying, God gave me a life?!

Can it really be that we devote an entire industry to snuffing this life out? No matter how efficient, noninvasive, and quickly done, I will always see a tiny freckle in my womb beating away, fierce with life. Jane will see Lucy.


God who gave us life gave us liberty. And can the liberties of a nation be thought secure when we have removed their only firm basis, a conviction in the minds of the people that these liberties are a gift from God? That they are not to be violated but with His wrath? Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just, and that His justice cannot sleep forever.

~Thomas Jefferson

(excerpts are inscribed on the walls of the Jefferson Memorial in the nation's capital) [Source: Merrill . D. Peterson, ed., Jefferson Writings, (New York: Literary Classics of the United States, Inc., 1984), Vol. IV, p. 289. From Jefferson’s Notes on the State of Virginia, Query XVIII, 1781.]

The Pitch

In trouble again. We've all been there haven't we? Janie crosses and then uncrosses her arms, "I feel bad for myself now, Momma."

A promising start, "Okay, why?"

Janie lifts a caterpillar brow, crinkles her forehead, "For being wicked." Lips extended for emphasis, she pauses.

"Oh," I lean to one side, squint. "Ok, what did you do?"

Jane takes her CEO stance and begins the pitch, "Well," she raises both shoulders, "I don't know what the wicked thing is," this isn't looking good, "but I know how to say the word, 'wicked'." Shrug, "It's just a thing that kids understand."

"Ah. So you want a little more time to think about what you actually did?"

Sigh. Deflated like a birthday balloon, "Yeah."

Don't we all think that? If we can just say the magic phrase won't that just make everything ok? The business of changing a heart is just so sticky.

10 Years

10 years. 520 Sunday lessons. Thousands of children. Hundreds of volunteers. A man devoted to his Savior. Breathtaking. Thanks, Craig. I'm proud to be called your wife. Happy 10 year anniversary as a Children's Pastor.

We Drove By A Cemetery

She's asking again, "Where is it? Where is it, Momma? I don't want to miss it." Swooshing by the driver side there it goes, Eden-like turf and bright silk flowers, granite stones arranged in rows. The cemetery. We are mapping my jog route. Sometimes I run past a sweeping cemetery acreage, breathe in the tide of fresh cut grass. It's just another bend in the road that Janie imagines is paradise.

On the way to church we see another one. They are everywhere. These strange portals into eternity blend into parks and crosswalks, school zones and small shouldered roads that sail us through a winding city. When is the last time you noticed one? They are invisible, almost.

"Hey Momma, I know that there are a lot of people in heaven," Jane explains, "because I look at the stones of when people have died and I just notice there are a lot." Yes, a lot. She thinks they knew Jesus. And so the way of childhood sees picnics and tumbling somersaults in a cemetery.

Sighting Day

At birthdays we all we take turns. Bellies feasted full, we divide up a lemon pie. Then, one by one, we say out loud good things about the birthday recipient. Grown men and women pause to squarely evaluate the miracle of you. It's a feast of words, the pie is just a garnish.

If photosynthesis were human we'd see it weave and grow right there between lemony bites of pie. The power of a word. ~I've really seen great courage in you this year... I respect how skilled you've become at your job... I'm picky, but you are the kind of person I'd trust my kids with... Everywhere I go I am so proud to be related to you... Your faith impresses me... The way you go the extra mile, that's the way I want my kids to be... I always laugh so hard when I am with you.

















This year to celebrate resurrection we offered simple sentences of God's work in us. One by one we groped for the words to encircle who Christ is. Layer upon layer we each offered our own portraits of grace. It was as if the resurrection unfolded there on a plain black table between forks and crumbs and elbows leaned in close. The layers of who we each know Christ to be fleshed out an image of my invisible God. I welled up in reverence, shame, and devotion. How is it that I've taken Holy Week so lightly? I left quieted in the bedrock assurance of God's presence. Worship, the starting point, when did I forget? He is RISEN. He is risen INDEED.

So here we are, simple offerings in hand:
~I am coming to realize I have nothing, nothing to offer God. Even my kindest acts have some selfish kick back for me. And, also humiliation is the beginning of humility. I should feel humiliated at my sin.

~God CHOOSES us. Breathtaking.

~Sometimes it is so hard to know if I am praying in the will of God. Other times, I pray for a small thing for someone, an extra, a blessing. I almost feel foolish to mention it. And yet, there God is answering with, "Yes." The kindness of God makes me weep.

~God's will for me may be different than my will for me.

~Passiveness and idleness are dangerous. And the devil is happy to entertain you, set you down the gentle road to destruction.

~God, please reveal something new to me this year.

~God is teaching me to find a sustainable faith.

~God is so patient with us, patient far beyond what we would ever tolerate.

~In graphing my greatest trials I see I have peaks of faith at every trial. I don't want to wish for trials, but I do want to know great faith in God.

~God always reveals himself at just the right time, never early, never late, right on time.

So there we are, it is sighting day and we are each catching glimpses, angles, snap shots of the King. There he is, there, here, over yonder, round back, disguised in the minutia of that situation you were sure he had left you in all alone. Sighting day.


Tell me your sightings!

Teething is Hard Work

Diaper rash, drippy nose, fussy-wussy blue eyes. Any advice for a teething babe?

His Hand is as BIG as the SKY

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