So Begins My Sabbath

After a wonderful day of study and learning yesterday, today has been a fiasco. Despite numerous attempts to work, I have only gotten five verses translated and NO reading done. And it's not because I haven't tried to...

Life happened today.

Boy 2 needed to play in the snow and ice, so I sat cozy in the living room watching him through the front window (the best stuff was in the front yard). But it's hard to study and keep an eye on the world outside. Besides, Boy 2 is tremendously fun to watch when he does not know he is being watched.

Boy 1's science project group was supposed to meet at my house today, but due to inclement weather decided to attempt a cyber-meeting. The chaos that ensued required far more intervention from me than I had planned (and I had planned on not intervening at all!).

By the time I was done helping Boy 1 and Boy 2 it was time to pick Mark up from the airport, after which I finally settled in for a bit of reading. Before I knew it the doorbell was ringing as friends arrived to share their 4 year-old son with us while they celebrate their anniversary, and then it was time to make dinner.

Now dinner is done, the boys are all playing happily, and Mark is generously cleaning the kitchen for me. It's an ideal time for study, except that I now have indigestion (and it's not from the yummy soup I made for dinner) and no creative energy left.

It's cliche to say that life is like that sometimes. Best laid plans. Life happens. But cliches result when truth is so true it gets repeated over and over.

So instead of getting mad or frustrated or forcefully ignoring the discomfort of indigestion to read with an unfocused brain what I will have to re-read tomorrow because of tonight's lack of focus, I'm going to give myself a break. Instead of demanding that I stick perfectly to my study schedule I am going to rest, relax, and recover.

And so begins my sabbath. Praise God for His wisdom in telling His beloved creation to rest.

70 x 7

How many hours must I read today? Seven? 

I love learning. I love days when I can spend nearly all of my time delving into the depths of knowledge. Those days are rare. Most of the time I catch an hour or two here and there. Often it feels like learning in sound bites.

But today...today was a day dedicated to the pursuit of understanding.  

And to finish all my reading for this seminar in Acts will take 70 x 7. I'm gonna need a whole lot more days like today!!!

A Perfect Storm (and I Ain't Talkin' 'Bout the Snow That's A-Comin')

I am officially stressed out.

I work pretty hard to keep my stress level pretty low. I am very careful to maintain plenty of room in my life for the unexpected. And I can be pretty flexible...I generally roll with the punches and am able to keep the stress that does sneak in from time to time from affecting too much of my life.

Today was a grand exception. Today I cried over my children at work and fretted over work at home. Today I wound my intestines up tight and made my stomach sick. And not once to I stop to breathe a prayer and rest in the flow of God's grace. Today I got stressed out.

Nothing in particular happened today to force me off of my punch-rolling path; it was more of a convergence of events. A perfect storm, if you will.

So I came home after carpool, ate a bowl of Ramen noodles (I forgot just how good those taste), drank a Diet Dr. Pepper, and played on my iPhone for awhile. Now, only an hour or so later, I am feeling much better. My mind is clearer, my belly better, and I am not snapping at my boys.

I don't like feeling like I did earlier today; and getting out of that place usually takes a lot more than a bowl of simple carbs and a bit of caffeine. I have done my share of living a lifestyle of stress, and I desperately do not want return to it. It is days like today that keep me motivated to maintain a lower stress level in my life and in  our home.

And it is days like today that remind me that I can, no matter how hard life gets, stop and rest in God. (I just forgot to today.)

P.S. I don't advocate comfort food and video games as a rule for de-stressing, but sometimes you just gotta stop thinking and chillax (can chillaxin' be a verb? I just made it one.).

So What?

At the end of Kairos Outside weekends (see Friday's post if you don't know what Kairos Outside is) around the world our guests are asked two questions:

1.  What did the weekend mean to you?
2.  What are you going to do about it?

Our guests do not have to share their answers out loud, though there is an opportunity to do so if they choose. Mostly we want them to contemplate the things they saw, heard, and experienced over the course of the weekend and articulate their overall experience so that they may go forward with intentionality.

Far too often we/I experience life-changing, transformative moments and then move on as though nothing happened. We fail to integrate the moment into the narrative of our lives so that the impact is lasting and powerful.

And that's what I love about what I call the "So What?" question. So what if I learned a life-changing truth today? So what if that experience was transforming? How will that truth/experience impact the way I live my life from that moment on and enrich God's Kingdom on earth?

I AM WAY TIRED

If you indulged me last week by reading my long post about Kairos Outside you know I have been gone for three days. If you didn't, you just read the previous sentence and now know...

In any case, the weekend ministering to women was marvelous and, of course, I was changed far more than anyone I would have been ministering to. I spent the weekend watching God moving powerfully in individuals, small groups, and the group at large.

After returning home yesterday afternoon I slept for several hours before spending an hour with the boys. Then I crashed for the night.

Now I sit in class (as the students and professor discuss something not on the proverbial test) trying to keep my eyes open and, more importantly, keep my brain functioning. Three cups of coffee and a diet coke only do so much...consequently the following is all I've got for you today:

I AM WAY TIRED!!!

KO is God Granting Respite

I will be gone over the next few days ministering to women who have loved ones incarcerated. Some of the women who attend this weekend's retreat will already know God, others will not. All of them, however, will know the shame and grief of having a child or spouse or parent in jail.

I have served this ministry, West TN Kairos Outside, as a Spiritual Director for many years now and find that it is by far the most transformative experience of all the ministry God invites me into. There is nothing more life-changing for me than to enter the sacred space of the lives of our guests and speak God into that space.

Last year I was asked to write an article for the international newspaper published by Kairos Prison Ministry International, our parent ministry, about the work here in West Tennessee. Below is the full text of that article, but fret not, it is not a dry, monotone listing of the ministry's activities. Rather, it is a heartfelt outpouring of my response to God's work through the weekend retreat.

You may find a few of the references a bit cryptic since I was writing for those who know the ministry and, therefore, would understand the references. However, I feel certain the power of God's work comes through.

Posting this article here certainly makes for a long blog today, but I ask your indulgence. In any case, since I will be away serving this ministry, I will not be able to blog for 3 days, so think of this as your final push of reading before a 3 day weekend.

As you read, please be mindful that this very thing is happening once again this very weekend. I covet your prayers for our guests, for the team I am honored to serve with, and for my own wisdom and strength to be that of the Holy Spirit.

Be blessed!

"The Positive Effects of Kairos Outside"

It’s a familiar scene. 60 women: 20 guests, 40 team gathered in the small chapel, crosses hanging around necks, ready to walk across the hall to the community room.  But this time the walk led to something less familiar: a rare glimpse into the true, deeper working of God.

Closing itself is a common enough occurrence in the KPMI world. Every weekend in every branch celebrates closing with the larger Kairos community. This time, though, a theme would surface that would bring both joy and heartbreak to the witnessing team and community.

The walk across the hall to the community room is full of joy and thanksgiving. The guests enjoy the rambunctious entry into their new community. Then, when all is quiet and the women in their seats, the invitation to share comes. And so it begins…the sharing by the guests of what the weekend meant and how it will change their lives.

I don’t remember who said it first, but I remember how deeply it struck at my heart. “I have never been around people who are so positive. All these women are so genuinely happy and positive,” a sentiment that would be repeated throughout the course of this closing.

The first heartstring resounds with joy; God gave these women respite in a community of happiness. Not surface, false cheerfulness, but a deep and abiding hopefulness that comes only from God and rises to the surface as a positive, happy, cheerful confidence.

The second heartstring rings a deep bass of sadness as I realize what this means. It is no surprise to me; after all, this is the very reason we host Kairos Outside weekends. But the deep, melancholic tone has a different tenor to it and my soul hears it in a completely new way: God gave these beautiful guests respite from communities that are filled with darkness. Sadness, fear, anger, despair are the true and genuine feelings they meet daily in their communities. And to this they will return in a matter of moments.

Heartbroken, I found myself on my knees over the course of the following weeks praying for the darkness in these communities to be lifted. Praying for shafts of God’s light to penetrate and warm our new KO sisters and those who live with and around them.

It is so easy to go about familiar ministry and become complacent about the effects of the ministry. No one does it purposely, but we get used to hearing that a life was changed, a sense of worthiness granted, and isolation lifted.

The moments when my soul connects at a deeper level with the cry of another soul are the moments God uses to remind, inspire, and humble me. Kairos Outside is more than a weekend. It is more than OL, SD, TL, and Agape. It is God granting respite. And it is God sending shafts of His redeeming light into the darkest of communities through the transformed lives of His guests.

The Smallest Member of Our Family

Through the course of this blog I have introduced the members of my family and our various quirks and endearing qualities through myriad stories. I have not, however, said much about the smallest member of our family, Wee 1.

Wee 1 is the now 6 month-old who stays with us 3 days a week while her mommy and daddy work. She has eyelashes to die for and a smile that will melt your heart. Tremendously good natured and happy, she brings a sweet light into our home.

Having Wee 1 around is very much like have a niece in the neighborhood. With all of our family far away, the boys are getting a chance to experience having a cousin...and Wee 1 loves it, too. She gives Boy 2 her belly laugh at his peek-a-boo games and gets mad when Boy 1 passes through the room without stopping to hold her. The mutual bond she and the boys have formed warms my heart.

And, of course, we have accumulated a bunch of Wee 1 stories. For instance, no matter how much she claims to be "so dainty," she can belch with the big boys. And just tonight we were laughing at her coy little fake cough she uses to get us to look at her when she slips out of the center of the universe.

No, Wee 1 does not make me long for another one of my own, nor despair that I never had a daughter. But we are grateful for the blessing she brings into our home and the enormous trust her parents show us every time they leave her here.

He is Ready

We took Boy 1 to tour the high school he will be attending next year. It was an informal open house that offered an opportunity to meet teachers, learn about different academic programs, and see the sights.

It's not an impressive building. In fact, it's old, a bit dingy, and has the same kinds of clocks that the brand new schools had when I was in elementary school...it's that old.

Despite the water stains on the ceiling, it is a fantastic school. Academically rigorous with a good amount of variety allowing students to take classes where they can develop new interests. The faculty all spoke eagerly of what they teach and helped Boy 1 understand some of what his high school career might look like.

But the best part was watching Boy 1 navigate the experience. He and his friends spent most of the night, in true amoeba fashion, floating from table to table talking to various teachers and talking to each other. At times Boy 1 would break away from the gang to talk a little longer to the physics teacher or return to the Latin information table, always finding his way back to his friends.

As I watched, I knew in my heart he is ready. This once-upon-a-time-apron-string-holder has developed a clear sense of himself in relation to his world. He comfortably navigates the space between what he wants, what the group wants, and what the world offers and demands.

Boy 1 is certainly not impervious to peer pressure or the dangers of this world. He will, of course, make mistakes no matter how ready he is for this new challenge. But he is well-prepared to walk tall into the halls of high school and further flex his muscles of strength of character and independent thought.

And as I watched, I treasured it all up in my heart.

I Live Inside a Popped Kernel of Corn

When the boys were aged 5 and 1 we moved into a cute, but tiny house. I loved this house. It was not my dream house; it had only one bathroom, and the enormous oak trees rained little sticks all over the yard year-round. But it was in this house that Memphis, after having already been here five years, became our home.

However, boys do grow. And as they grow they get louder. By the time Boy 1 was ten I could hear them from the other end of the house and not be able to hear myself think (which is a significant accomplishment since I can think pretty loudly). So we put our 2nd-Memphis-house-but-1st-Memphis-home on the market in hopes of getting a bit more space.

And so we did...twice as much. We were not looking for something as big as we got, but with the cosmetic fixing up and the new roof it needed, we got a great deal. The folks who helped us move were amazed at the difference in size, and it was on moving day that I realized I was moving from the unpopped kernel to the popped kernel.

Three years later we still have plenty of space. Some of the closets are not even half full. But the best part of our 2200 square feet is the way we can bless others in so many of the myriad ways we have been blessed in the past.

G'nite

I had a houseful of middle school kids from church tonight. It was a great time. Lots of Guitar Hero (I rock on "Eye of the Tiger" vocals), ball in the backyard, and laughing with a few of the parents.

But now my brain is shot, and I promised Boy 2 we would watch a movie of his choosing. Sort of a thank you from me for staying out of Boy 1 and his friends' way.

So, until tomorrow all I can say is g'nite!

I Gave Birth to a Teenager

This week I completed the form requesting that Boy 1 be allowed to continue on his current public school track into high school next year. He's enrolled in a program uniquely suited to him, but for which we do not live in the right zip code. This requires we request permission for him to continue each year in the same program.

I've completed this form eight times before. Each time it has seemed rather routine, with the minor exception of his entrance into middle school. That carried with it a twinge of oddness, but knowing he was very ready to move on made it more exciting than strange.

With the second semester of his 8th grade year well underway, Boy 1 is just as ready to move on to the next stage in his life as he was three years ago. I can see the clear, natural, healthy progression of his growth in maturity and stature that makes the prospect of high school exciting to him.

But to me, more than any other event, the transition to high school looms as a portent of increasing change and movement away. More than his first day of school so many years ago marked his transition into childhood, this marks his transition into independence.

Why, then, does it seem like it was just yesterday that I felt his final prenatal kicks as he emerged from the safety of my womb into the world? Perhaps I did, in fact, give birth to a teenager just yesterday.

These are a Few of My Favorite Things!

Our family loves musical productions. Boy 2 has practically memorized the soundtrack to Phantom of the Opera and Boy 1 is writing a Requiem. It is just as likely to find us gathered on a Friday night to watch a movie version of a Broadway show as it is to see us viewing a sci-fi or fantasy flick. Just recently we enjoyed Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

When the boys were younger favorites were Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music. We still enjoy the refrain, "These are a few of my favorite things!"

One of my favorite things is the comments on the blogs I write. Some leave them here in Blogger, while others post them in a Facebook link. Still others tell me what they remembered while reading my blog the next time they see me in person. The thing all these comments have in common, though, is the sharing of stories and memories invoked in readers by whatever I wrote.

Years ago a very wise woman told me that one of the most powerful ways we can minister to others is in providing them a way to share their stories. Not only does the sharing bring joy to the sharer (or healing, or peace, or just a chuckle over a silly memory), but it also reveals the connectedness of humanity.

I have been deeply blessed in the sharing of my various tidbits. I have enjoyed the kind remarks that my writing was well done. I have thrilled over some of my own memories and the opportunities to reveal to you the amazingness of the various people I am honored to know.

And I have thoroughly enjoyed the stories and memories and revelations you have shared in return.

So, when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad...I will remember many of your stories and know that things are not so bad.

TGIFT

That test I thought I failed I actually passed. Got a 78, which is okay because I only needed a 70 and it does not affect my grade.

That girl who won the battle of wills yesterday, lost today.

This week is looking up!

TIGFT (Thank God it's Friday tomorrow!) so I don't have too much time left in this week for many more ups and downs.

Today I Met My Match!

For nearly 14 years I have prided myself on being a strong mom. Letting the boys cry themselves to sleep when they were old enough to be able to so that they would learn to sleep on their own. Engaging them in chores and other responsibilities at appropriate ages. Always following through on the consequences I set forth. Limiting TV and video game time and facilitating their independence in doing homework. Teaching them to cook. And always, always winning a battle of wills when it was important that I win (though I confess I have won a few I shouldn't have even been fighting). 


Of course, I have tempered this with limitless nurturing and unconditional love. The result is boys who know their boundaries, are assured that they will be allowed to experience the consequences of the actions they choose, and who can take care of themselves in many ways. 


Today that pride was dented by a relatively tiny, weak, and helpless being. Wee 1 wore me down,d and I actually picked her up before she was asleep and she was still crying.


I tried to justify my actions. She is teething and, therefore, hurting. Her schedule has been odd lately with lots of family travel. But the fact of the matter is, she won. Fair and square, she held out longer than I could. 


Now, there are many out in the big wide world who would say this happened because my heart has softened and now I simply cannot do to this child what I should not have done to my own children. That is certainly one interpretation, and I respect those who would see it that way.


I, however, can see only one logical explanation: I have met my match.

Yesterday's Trauma

I forgot to blog yesterday.

To be honest, after last week's blizzard I just haven't had anything quite so exciting to write about. But as I listen to Wee 1 wind down from fighting her nap, I will relive a traumatic event that occurred yesterday.

I failed (I think) a test yesterday. I am taking a seminar in Acts and had to take a content test on Acts to see if I know enough to work at the seminar level. Having two opportunities to pass it and this being my first seminar content test, I knew not how to prepare except reading and re-reading Acts (which I did many times over the past month). However, I know this professor well and was certain the level of detail needed would exceed my current knowledge level.

After considering all options (one of which was to commit hari-kari trying to know everything I thought I ought to know and overdoing it), I decided to take the first test with just the multiple readings for review. Then I could see what was expected, get prepared, and conquer the second test, all the while maintaining my alive status.

After guessing on about 50% of the test (like who was was the High Priest's brother's dog's name (just kidding, his brother is named, but not the dog)), I came home and sat down with Acts and quickly knew that prepping knowing how I need to prep for will not be difficult. So I think I made the right decision.

Nonetheless, as the professor's GA, who also happens to be a member of the class, took the tests with him to grade, I gulped and gasped as a big ol' wad of pride forced its way down my throat.

Let Go and Let God: A Cheesy but True Slogan

I used to fret a lot over what ministry I could do. That may be the understatement of the decade, but it's too early to tell for sure.

Ministry is my passion. Opportunities to speak God into the lives of people impassions (I don't think that's a word) me. That is to say, it infuses my life with passion.

Fifteen years ago I thought that meant organized ministry; teaching adult classes, speaking at retreats, being recognized as one who ministers. I worked hard to make ministry happen for me and was deeply frustrated and angry at the times it didn't. I was miserably jealous anytime another woman was asked to do the things I was gifted at. And I was doggone mad at God for it all!

This morning the preacher preached about letting go. Not a pat-answer shallow lesson filled with slogans and sound bites, but a deeply theological and timely reminder that things really go better for the entire world in which we live when we do let go, experience the "shalom" God offers, and let Him be the doer.

That is the very journey God took me on beginning about 13 years ago. He had made it clear to me that no matter how hard I tried or how much I fretted, I could not manufacture ministry opportunities for myself. That was His job. The journey also involved learning that the things I thought ministry meant (status, recognition, self-glory) were not true ministry. Over time and with much wrangling on my part I came to see that ministry is about touching lives in whatever way you are able as people come across your path.

As I listened to the preacher this morning, I thought about how much more shalom I have in my life devoted to serving God's people than I used to (of course, you don't have to have much to have more than none).

I no longer fret, mostly. I no longer manufacture, mostly. I no longer envy, mostly. Now I wait, mostly. And I experience shalom.

Ministry is much more adventuresome now, too. I never know what form the sacred and eternal moments God invites me into might look like. A visit to a hospital room, a moment of speaking His forgiveness and love into the life of one of His children, a classroom of His people to teach, a prayer with the grieving, thanksgiving with the rejoicing, or simply allowing people to be who He made them to be in the space of my life.

None of these things are glamorous or bring worldly recognition and status. But every single one of them brings a joy I could not have imagined when I fretted and fought to create "my" ministry.

More Memphis Snow Mania

Well, it did snow...but only barely. I was going to add a picture of it today, but it did not last long enough to get a good one.

All area schools were closed except for the Memphis City School District, so my boys were up and out as usual. Boy 2 was duly disappointed. Snow brings him great joy, more even than a day off from school. I snuggled him while he cried a bit this morning, cleansing his heart of its bitter disappointment. Then he got on with the morning and had a good day at school...

...that is, until school was dismissed an hour early. Another part of the Memphis Snow Mania. It was not, in fact, snowing again, nor was it predicted to do so. It was, however, feared that with dropping temperatures and increasing winds roadways would freeze (even though there was not much, if anything, there to freeze).

So off I went at 1PM to drive carpool at Boy 2's school while Boy 1 was dropped off from his school by the carpool. On the way home I stopped at a neighbor's to bring her son over to play in the tidbit of snow with Boy 2, which they were dying to do and did for all of 15 minutes (not much one can do with only a dusting of snow).

So with Wee 1 napping blissfully, Boy 1 loading more information into his self-created Latin website, and Boy 2 and friend playing Wii, I have no where else to be today. All are happy and warm in the Parker Home.

Let It Snow!!

As is typical, the forecast for the major snow event has lessened both in severity and possibility over the course of the week. Of course, that did not put a damper on the preparations Memphians make for snow I wrote about yesterday nor on the ever optimistic hopes of our children. It has, however, put a damper on my own dreams of a cozy day at home with no carpool, piano lesson, errands, etc.

Visions of giving my GPS a well-earned day off tomorrow were dancing merrily in my head this afternoon as I sat in the blizzard temperatures waiting to pick the kids up from school today.

Alas, as I write, snow chances have lessened by at least 20% and if we get any it won't be a wintry-wonderland of 3-6 inches, but a mere dusting of half an inch with winds blowing it swiftly away.

That is life here south of Tipton County; all the hopes of snow, very little of the reality. Still, no one in Memphis will regret having a few extra frozen pizzas lying around. One does not have to be snowed in to enjoy such fine eating!

Prepared for Possible Snow

It might snow later this week. In Memphis, the "might" in that phrase is a pretty big one. Snow only comes to Memphis at most once a year, and we are thrilled if an inch of it stays on the ground an entire afternoon.

Regardless of how much does, or does not, fall, though, we take our snow very seriously!

There is strict protocol all Memphians adhere to when we might get our snow. The first thing we all do is assume that everything will be cancelled and closed the day the snow might come...even if it hasn't come and might not come. Blackberries and iPhones in hand, we begin checking our calendar for the date of the supposed snow event and systematically cancelling everything, just in case.

Once all the cancelling is complete, it's off to the local grocer to buy all the milk, water, and other necessities (soda, frozen pizza, ice cream) we may need during the hours we may spend stuck at home due to the inch of lovely white stuff all over the ground in shady spots.

Finally, anyone not already subscribing to Netflix heads to Blockbuster or finds a Red Box to stock up on all the hottest new releases to get through until conditions improve without too much boredom.

Once all the stores are laid in and preparations made (which may or may not include remembering to cover the outdoor faucets), we incessantly check the forecast to see if the snow is still a possibility or if, once again, it is going to go just north of us.

With the possibility of about an inch of snow coming our way after midnight tomorrow, preparation across Memphis is already well underway. Store parking lots are packed as if it were the day after Thanksgiving, and I have already sent the e-mail reminder to my office staff that we close for snow only if the schools close.

There are lots of things one can say about Memphis and the people who live here, but the one thing that will always be true is that we are definitely interesting!

The Good Doctor is Late

The new graduate school semester started today with a surprising call that my Tuesday class was actually a Monday class. After rushing home to get my books and laptop and to gulp down some lunch, I casually strolled onto campus 15 minutes early.

Since the professor for this Tuesday class that actually meets on Mondays is in Germany this week another professor was to stand in his stead and wax eloquently over the introductory issues and controversies of Acts.

There are five students in this seminar, only one of whom I knew very well. As we awaited the beginning of class I chatted with the three new to me, getting to know the stories of their lives. Time flew and we were all surprised when we noticed that we were 20 minutes past the start of class and had no professor.

Many students may have seen this as an opportunity to get away with something and, having given the standard 15 minute wait for the PhD, abandoned class with glee. At Harding University Graduate School of Religion, however, we are a different breed altogether.

Some students commute as much as 3-4 hours once a week to come to class, while others (like me) fit graduate school into a very tight time limit which allows more important things to have appropriate priority. And all of us really enjoy school and the subject matter at hand. These are just a few of the things that kept us hanging around class longer.

39 minutes into class time with still no professor in sight and having caught up on my emailing, I began to listen more intently to the conversation of my fellow-students which I had only peripherally engaged in since our first realization that the doctor was late.

The talk revolved around college football, a coach named Leech (sp?), and the fact that there is a golf course in Dubai named for Tiger Woods. This turned chit-chat to Tiger's current status and the rumors about where he is and who he's with.

The natural progression of the conversation led to various sports mega-stars, past and present, and whether they were jerks or should be applauded for their willingness to do whatever it took to get where they got. Finally, in response to a question posed by me, there was a 15 minute discussion of fantasy football and it's rules, regulations, and worthiness as a pursuit in life.

The banter described above perhaps illustrates one of the best reasons we all stuck around until our worthy professor graced us with his arrival 59 minutes after the official start of class: students at HUGSR are fun to be around.

Sure, we can be boring when bogged down in conversation better saved for when we write our commentaries. And we can be loud in our ardent expressions of personal views. We can even be, dare I say, obnoxious in our use of big words to say pretty simple things. But when you get right down to it, we're a decent group of folks who really do enjoy each other's company and the larger community offered by HUGSR, where our motto is (unofficially and quite tongue-in-cheek) Hugs-R-Us.

(By the way, one might well be impressed that our revered professor, who was late due to multi-level miscommunication, was nonetheless able to lecture intelligently for nearly two hours with no preparation time.)

Mitigon the Mighty and Sira the Strong

My wonderful husband just finished a mini-renovation of my home office as a Christmas gift to me. In the sorting and reorganizing of my office things, I came across a Christmas gift he created for me 13 years ago.

In 1995 we were living in Croatia and awaiting the birth of Boy 1. Through circumstances beyond our control we had moved only two weeks before Christmas into another apartment, yet Mark still found time to create a timeless gift...a book, a love story just for me.

It is titled Mitigon the Mighty and Sira the Strong: A True-Love Tale for Christine Parker. Not only did he write this original three chapter short story, but he turned it into a lovingly adorned book which he bound himself.

The tale is the story of a king and queen of neighboring kingdoms who are brought together through the suffering of her people and their shared love and service for all people and for God. Mitigon was called Mighty because he was so full of love that his subjects could think of no better word to describe him. Sira's people called her Strong because she was "the kindest, most generous person in the kingdom."

As the story progresses, the two marry and ultimately sacrifice themselves and a life happy ever after in mitigating the suffering of Sira's people. When Sira offers the last drops of water in her drought-ruined land to a dying child, she dies in the boy's stead. Mitigon discovers the final sacrifice of his beloved upon his return from his own kingdom with water and other supplies for Sira's people.

Both kingdoms mourn the loss of Sira the Strong such that their tears flood the plains and high places of her kingdom and the drought is relieved as, "In the midst of grief, God made flowers bloom once again."

Mitigon, weeping over his bride and lovingly caressing her cheek, feels the warmth slowly passing back into her lifeless form. "Once again," the tale tells, "God had turned tears of sorrow into tears of joy."

At the point in our life together when Mark wrote me this story, God had already turned sorrow into tears many times. He had made us witness to His working of sadness to joy in the lives of countless others. And he had allowed us every time to return to the warmth of each other's might and strength.

Now, 13 years later, this story is more real than I could ever have imagined. I thank my God daily for my Mitigon the Mighty.

Pretty Blogs

I have not been part of the blogging world for very long. Only since my 39th birthday in November of last year. I started my blog on a whim and used a blogger template to get it going thinking I would go back later and pretty it up.

I have some friends who have super-pretty blogs. One friend has completely customized her blogspot with photographs she herself has taken, sidebars leading you to spots where you can purchase her photos, and many other cool and pretty items. Another friend changes her banner from one lovely picture to another whenever the fancy strikes her, and the new always is prettier than the old. A couple living overseas not only has a pretty blog, but they have tons of cool gadgets that allow their followers to customize where, when and how they receive blog information.

Nearly two months into my blog it still looks the same as always. I am fairly computer savvy and can manipulate most programs to do what I want. I have sat down to pretty my blog several times, but each time I end up writing instead.

It may turn out that my 365 days of blogging will all look exactly the same. I hope, though, that in the course of the writing you gain something of the pretty of life from my words, if not from my layout.

Inspired to Look More Closely

I never really saw him for the great man he was. By the time I met him he was 70-ish and had been retired for many years, and I knew him primarily as Dr. Jack's brother. He had the persona of a jolly old man who never tired of telling me blonde jokes (which I loved!). He was famous for his jokes and would e-mail really good ones to all his friends.

But there was so much more to him than I ever saw.

I attended his funeral yesterday and was moved by the story of his life. Raised on a farm, he went to college and became a successful accountant. He was an accomplished musician and during WWII often was called on to play Taps for fallen soldiers. He and his wife stayed married until her death in the early 1990s and raised two daughters together. One of his daughters spent 30 years of her 37-year life in an iron lung due to the effects of polio. Not wishing her to be denied more of life than she already had, he designed and built a "portable" iron lung so that she could go on short trips with the family.

He served God's Kingdom as deacon, elder, and, most important, faithful child of God. After retiring he spent 13 years in nearly full-time volunteer service digitizing the card catalog for the largest theological library in the south. At the church he and his surviving daughter, who grew into a woman who displayed his same passion for serving others, and her family attended, he built the church's library into one of the best church library's around.

All the while he lived a deeply frugal, but not ungenerous, life and by the time of his death had contributed $50,000 to the endowed scholarship fund created in loving memory of his wife and dedicated to the training of God's ministers on earth.

I don't blame myself for not really seeing him. We cannot truly see the depths of everyone with whom we cross paths. I don't know that my relationship with this laughter-loving man of God would have changed had I known his heart more deeply, but I do know that in his death he has inspired me to look closely and pay rapt attention to those I do have the blessing of truly knowing and seeing in this life.