Adieu, 2011-How Shall Thine Memory Linger?

Oh, 2011, where shall I put thee in the annals of Finley history?  How shall I remember thee to mine children?  Among those unforgettable years that stamp our lives with extra significance, you have found thine place, for you have brought challenge specific to your era.

Ah, but lo!  If I peer deeper, I make out more than mere challenge.  And so I ask again:  how shall I remember thee?  And how shall I answer when you're recalled in the curious questioning of my children? 

Fine art by Joseph Huber,
http://www.josephhuberart.com
/2011/10/weary-traveler-fine-art-print.
html

Shall I take on the buckled despondence of the road-worn traveler and quietly close the door on you, wiping your dust off my feet, and sighing, "Good riddance," as others who saw your challenge shall choose to do?  Shall I toss you away so carelessly as if your sunshine, your changing leaves, your life lessons, your birthday celebrations, your aspirations, failures, and successes were for naught? 

No!  I daresay I reflect on you and discover all you tried to hide under your tough facade.  Indeed, I can't help but want to rise and do a silly jig of delight when I realize all the joys that gained entrance through your gates, through your gift of days.  I want to laugh when I recollect, too, that every trial and every victory made very clear one most absolute, most glorious, indeed most absolutely glorious, actuality: 
the faithfulness of my mighty, loving God. 

Here I stand, at your closing and passing, grateful to stand.  I celebrate the air I breathe and every moment of each of your 365 days that provided me with one more opportunity to...live.

How, then, shall I remember thee to mine children, 2011?  How then shall I capture thee in mine own memories? 

You, 2011, are Victory.  You are another year we embraced, we lived, we drained, and in so doing, we changed into greater newness, greater versions of ourselves.  Wisdom rose as your pendulum swung.  Lessons triumphed as your sand filled the lower orb of your hourglass. 

Therefore, I shall not place trial on any pedestal where its victory ought shine.  I shall not rob Yahweh of the glory that is due Him.  I shall not cast off all your treasure merely because it shared the same earth's revolution as your adversity.

My children shall hear your tales and be emboldened with the reality that at your closing, you were the best year yet, as we moved from glory to glory.  My children shall recall from my memories and stories that you, 2011, were one more glowing opportunity for Yahweh to show Himself faithful, strong, loving, and mighty.  You were one more opportunity for twinkling birthday candles, first steps and words, excited anticipation, wedding dances, new music, new vision, and broadened revelation.

As I bid you adieu, 2011, I turn now to my friends reading this to wish a Happy New Year to you and yours.  May you especially recall all the happiness, simple and grand, that this past year has bestowed, and step into 2012 with a knowing grin and a twinkle in your eye.

 

Mr. Jones and Me

Searching for a car to buy is weird.  You're sort of comparing apples and oranges with each one, because the pros and cons over here might be totally different than the pros and cons over there, so which pros and cons matter most?  But then it starts to get fun.

I'm pretty proud of Jed and myself, because we've already gotten into negotiations for two different cars, and we are Negotiation Royalty!  I wrote a little while ago about how we want to be really wise and circumspect when we make this new purchase.  We don't want to be swayed by impulse, by "coolness," by what the Joneses are doing, or definitely by what amount of debt we could squeeze ourselves into and still get by.  We are the Joneses, and we'll decide what's best for us based on wisdom, and we do not want any unnecessary debt.  ANY.

The first car is this one, a Chrysler Town and Country (read: minivan), and sorry the picture's terrible:

So, we sat down to make a deal with this guy, George, and he was young and possibly still learning the ropes with this whole car sales thing.  We want to trade our Impala for whatever we get, and it's an awesome, fully loaded car the trade-in value of which we're fully aware from the Kelley Blue Book people.  So when George told us what he'd give us for it, I told him that was unacceptable and that I was not in love with his van.  He needed to do better, because Kelley Blue Book told us we could get so many dollars.

"Well, there's your problem right there," George pointed out to me. 

I'll pause here to give you some helpful information.  Of all the pregnancy moods I could've been in, I was not in a jovial or weepy or emotional mood.  I was in a no-nonsense mood.  I was not desperate to get a new car for all my precious cargo, as most salesmen would likely have assumed upon seeing my globe of a stomach precede the rest of me through the door.  On the contrary, I was ready to hold on to our money until someone bent over backwards for us.  But George told me I had a problem.  Poor George.

One more helpful point:  I asked Jed if we could play "good cop, bad cop" with these guys, and could I please, please, please be the bad cop.  Suffice it to say, I don't think George was quite prepared.

Jed said there was only one moment when he almost hopped over the desk to sit with George and defend him, but he assures me the rest of the time I was friendly enough, though firm.  It had something to do with the extended warranty, I don't know. 

But George told me about the Kelley Blue Book thing that that was my problem right there, listening to Kelley Blue Book.  They there at the dealership go through N.A.D.A. to get their quotes, because that's what the banks use, yada yada yada.  And N.A.D.A. gave them a quote that was two grand less than ours.  Like I said, unacceptable.

So after I punished him ever so slightly for telling me I had a problem at all, he did the whole Salesman-Rides-A-Merry-Go-Round routine where he kept going "to the back," then coming back with "OK!  Well, we can knock another $243.17 off this price!!!!  That is THE BEST I can do," just like he said every other time.  Though it was slightly exhausting to watch, it was most humorous.  Every time, we were like, "Well, you know what we can do, and that's not it, so....no." 

To which George retorted, "OK, well what?  If I got that monthly payment down to whatever-amount, would THAT make you happy?" Poor George.  After I punished him ever so slightly for that attitude, he went back to the drawing board. 

Honestly, the final deal was a great deal for some family, just not for ours.  And despite our most valiant efforts at repeating and clarifying for him what we were able to do, and him continuing to come back with something different but equally NOT what we could do, we finally ended George's agony and reached a stalemate.  Because the deal was decent, he was dumbfounded.  About the proposed monthly payments, he almost whined, "I mean, come on, it's not like it's $600 dollars a month!" 

You see, George is used to seeing people fall in love with cars, get emotionally involved in the negotiations, then see George return from "the back" with "the greatest deal ever," and see people thank him for coming down on the price so much, figure out a way in their minds to justify that little monthly payment they hadn't intended to adopt, and sign on the dotted line.  Most people George sees love debt.  They're glad for that little bit of indebtedness to walk out the door with that great deal on that car.

But somehow, Jed and I got this revelation that there are plenty of cars out there to choose from.  And we are not desperate for anything even if we will have to finagle a little with what we have once Roxie comes, if she comes before we can find what works for us.  We are in every way ready, willing, and able to hold our line. 

So we walked out.  George was a mess, and he called Jed about 12 times the next day to tell him another couple was taking it for a test drive, to tell him maybe he could work something else out, to ask him if we'd be stopping back by... 

Meanwhile, we found another car that I was out test driving that next day while George was calling Jed.  This one we like even more.  It's a Chrysler Pacifica and is a better price to boot:

When Jed told George I was out driving another car we liked, George really went into overdrive.  When Jed also told George that we researched the trade-in value of the Impala with N.A.D.A. and came back with a better quote than the one from the Kelley Blue Book people, George really changed his tune and came back with an offer very close to what we want. 

So now, with the Pacifica people, we told them we'd like to try and work something out, but their salesguys are on vacation till Monday, so we'll have to wait and see.  Jed's sending in the big guns all by myself to work this one out, and after the George Incident, I think Jed feels pretty confident I'll do an OK job.  The guy helping me with my test drive must have been just an office manager or something, because I walked in and told him we were interested and this is what we wanted, and he just said, "Yeah, I don't know why that wouldn't work out.  Sounds like a great deal!"  When I checked in with him later, he reported that he'd talked to the salesguy on vacation who nearly panicked at the thought of settling so easily.  He came back with his usual jabber about what they could actually do, so I'm gearing up for a good time with him Monday morning. 

So we "Joneses" apparently know exactly what we want, and meanwhile we still have George salivating on the sidelines. 

Poor George.

"See my tie, tie my tie, see my tie, tie my tie..."

Fully prepared to write a silly post over at .snug.button. about how insanely cranky I am with this pregnancy, I've been lured into a complete about-face by a fabulously raw and honest conversation on Facebook about signs and wonders, culminating thus far on the topic of speaking in tongues.

I've almost developed multiple personality disorder trying to figure out just who my "audience" is for this post, and I guess it's anyone curious.  Some of you who read this speak in tongues as a matter of course in your everyday lives, just as I do.  Some of you consider it a vile abomination against the Truth.  Some of you have no idea.  But I'd wager that most consider it a somewhat distant idea that's just weird.  Weird if you're a Christian.  Weird if you're not.  Actually, come to think of it, I think it's weird. 

Most of us probably associate it with the image of hyper-charismatic wailing that surely is way more emotional than in any way holy, with "wang-doodling" preachers who end every other word with the additional "-ah!" (as in "Jesus-ah! wants to give-ah! you your blessing-ah!!"), or (speaking of blessing) with the extreme brand of the "Name it and claim it" crowd who have sort of become a "Bless Me" club.  These uses of Holy Spirit giftings can be lawless and misleading at worst and are just immature or uninformed at best, but speaking in tongues has become for me one of the most practical, everyday means of prayer and interaction with Yahweh that I have.  I often refer to it as "praying in the spirit," versus praying in the natural, which is just using English and my own understanding.  And here's the part where I could break into a whole interwoven tapestry of an explanation, drawing from all kinds of different sources, but I'm determined not to overdo it on my first try.

Is it just for personal edification?  Does it always necessitate an interpretation?  What about in public settings?  OK, so it's in the Bible, but it's somewhat unfamiliar and extraordinary, and bottom line, what's the point?

We could trudge verse-by-verse through the Bible, but that starts to get more complicated than I intend for this post.  Some of you put no stock in the Bible anyway.  (Though I whole-heartedly recommend it!)  If you read this and wonder about specific Bible references, please ask!  The whole New Testament talks about the Holy Spirit, signs and wonders including speaking in tongues, crazy miracles, and the basic movement of all the believers establishing and growing the early church.  It's a total trip, and what an exciting time.  And it was just the beginning, our foundation.

I'll answer my last question first.  Speaking in tongues does have a point.  I'm the kind of personality who values logic, used to be quite cynical, and now just holds a healthy dose of skepticism but is willing to acknowledge something that seems to maybe have validity.  I like to know there's a reason for things.  So the purpose of tongues:  You could say it's an avenue to get outside of ourselves, to push beyond our natural thoughts and emotions in the moment, to stir up the Spirit indwelling us.  My apostle (or pastor or spiritual father) has described it as akin to "lifting weights on the inside," building up your spirit man.

But who needs that?  That might sound a little fluffy, ungrounded, void of respect for solid, foundational doctrine.  All I can say is this.  We are called to live not as mere mortals.  Yahweh's original intent was for man to walk in open relationship with Him.  We botched it.  The whole Old Testament He is creating opportunities to bridge the gap, prophesying the whole time about His Son and how He will ultimately be that bridge that connects us back to the Father by the Spirit.  In the New Testament, Yahshua (think "Jesus" if that's better) bridges the gap, then tells the disciples who lament His ascension that it's better for Him to go, because when He does, the Father will send them the Holy Spirit to live in them.  According to Yahshua, "in" is better than "with," so all those Christians who say, "Oh, I just wish I could've been right there with Jesus when He was walking the earth" are missing this revelation of His presence currently in the body through the Holy Spirit and that He Himself said that this way IS the better deal. 

In the beginning, there were two trees in opposition in the garden.  The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil that represented natural things was forbidden.  It did not bring life.  It brought death and separation from God.  But the Tree of Life was of the spirit.  We are created and called to abide in the spirit realm, transcending our natural selves as we abide presently in Him now, not just someday in heaven ("Your Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven").  And Paul talks about how the spirit and the flesh war against each other.  I want my spiritual eyes and ears and thoughts to have the upperhand over my natural experience or mind capacity or emotion.  Whew!  OK, so if we're to understand the deeper things and abide in the spirit and really have a relationship with Almighty God, that has to require getting outside our merely natural selves.  Praying in tongues is a hugely practical way to do that. 

We're created to feed from only one tree.
Only one will satisfy: feed the spirit.

As for interpretation, that's another of the practical reasons for praying in tongues.  I don't know Yahweh's will in every situation.  He warns us not to bless or curse haphazardly, and so now when I pray, I take it very seriously, especially if a person has asked me to pray for them.  I think, "Geez, well, what are you doing here, Yahweh, and how can I pray and prophesy to back you up?"  I pray in the spirit until I begin to "hear," with my spirit ears something clear to pray, then I'll pray that in English.  But I have no interest in praying something for someone that might be working against what the Father wants.  It's usually through praying in the spirit like this that I get words of knowledge or visions.  And especially for issues that hit close to home for me where my emotions and thoughts are totally convinced and hell-bent on one war path, I must pray in the spirit to get some perspective and to make my natural soul, thoughts, and feelings submit to the greater authority.  We canNOT be ruled by our experience but by His will, His voice of direction.  That might be the most practical application right there.  Every time I start praying in the spirit, I might still be distracted by my to-do list, or a patch of dust I suddenly can't ignore, or my thoughts and feelings, then I press on and press in and suddenly I begin to experience what I'd call a breaking through where suddenly I'm in the flow.  As I get started, I am cognizant of merely yielding myself in worship to my Father.  Once I'm in the flow and have gotten past all the immediate life issues, I start hearing Him.  It's awesome.  I don't always get direct answers, but I guarantee that when I'm done, I've just communed with the Most High and my spirit is amped, and I do have direction, regardless of what my original intent or question was.

In public settings, I think corporate praying in tongues serves the same purpose, but I do believe that there should be some sort of interpretation.  When we pray in the spirit at church, it's either part of worship, so it's a personal thing for each person, or there is interpretation.  Usually several people will get up to share what they've seen or heard, and it's uncanny, it can only be God, that more often than not, everybody was seeing or hearing a separate piece of the same larger picture, or were seeing the same picture altogether.  When you experience that time and time again, you begin to see the validity.  And it's not just for us to "ooh" and "aah" over each other and give pats on the back. Nor is it for us just to "ooh" and "aah" over Yahweh.  It's, again, for a purpose.  It brings direction or encouragement, but it almost always is a nudge or a call for action.

Alright, get me to pray
in tongues.  No, really, can't you
tell it's what I want?

Praying in tongues is a fruit of being filled with, or baptized in, the Holy Spirit, something that can happen by someone laying hands on you or can happen when you're on your own and receptive to it.  When I was first filled with the Spirit, I was so adamantly opposed to faking a response that I was almost dead-set on not falling over, on not going nuts.  So I was rather stoic.  And I didn't burst out into tongues the moment it happened (though that was Jed's experience).  Why him and not me?  Well, I guess part of it is that I was dead-set against it even though I told myself I was open to it.  Funny we people are.

Then over the next few days, I was so stirred in my spirit, so alive and hungry and thirsty for more.  I told my apostle that if praying in tongues is legit, and it was starting to appear that way as I watched some of my firends' lives, then I wanted it.  But I felt like a turtle guarding myself at all costs.  (Something about the spirit and the flesh at war...)  But I wanted it.  I knew by then that it was right.  But yeah, it's weird.  So, my apostle told me to just go somewhere quiet and begin to worship, to tell Yahweh how much I love Him and to let it pour out of me and to be open to whatever happens in the spirit.  This will sound contrived to some of you.  I can't convince you of how opposed I was to contriving things, so you'll have to trust me.  But what he was suggesting was right for me:  "Let down your guard.  Trust.  If it can happen, it will.  But you must let go a little bit for the reality to even be a possibility."  So I did it.  And I started praying in tongues.  And it was the most hilarious thing, because I thought I sounded like such a freak, but I couldn't stop, and I was so relieved, and I began to experience a strength that I've now come to rely on.

In the end, when I read this stuff in the Bible, I wonder about those who are so adamantly opposed to it.  I understand the trepidation that comes from the unfamiliar element.  I understand that when you get into subjective experiences, people begin to become skeptical of one another.  I also know that true subjection to the Holy Spirit makes you that much MORE accountable, not less, to the reality of our spiritual lives, to the words that you hear and to the Holy Spirit in those around you as iron sharpens iron.  At first, immaturity will cause people to think they've heard weird things or to not be sure if it's Him or their own thoughts, and that's why having people of maturity around you, people off of whom you can bounce it all, is highly beneficial.  But I wonder about adamant opposition to things of the spirit, because these things are, perhaps uncomfortably, rampant in the Bible.  If it was good enough for Paul, for the seventy, for Timothy, it's good enough for me.  Does it not make a person even curious as to what that was all about and how it might be a part of our walk and who we are?  I'm loath to discount something like that altogether until I've given it a fair shake.

As I re-read this, I am painfully aware of all the gaps I'm leaving for the sake of "sticking with the basics for now."  I think I'm about to birth some sort of "Foundations" series or something; I'm not sure.

For now, know that for the walk we're called to walk, I don't believe it can be done in fullness without the spiritual access opened through the gift, available to all, of praying in tongues.  To me, this whole thing goes waaaaaaaay beyond just having a different spiritual philosophy than other religions.

And, by the way, with the severe crankiness of this pregnancy, any guess at what I do to get Holy Spirit perspective, put my fickle feelings in their rightful place, and overcome it?  ;)

Our Savior with a Side of Beef

They say (something along the lines of) if you make seven new friends on your first visit to a church (or maybe your first few visits; I'm not all "read up" on church growth methods) then you're more likely to "stick" there.  So there are those churches that greet you when you pull into the parking lot and direct you to a spot (how do you do it all by yourself at the mall, I wonder?), then greet you at the outside doors and maybe have tables with literature on the inside with another greeter waiting to meet you and answer your questions.  And so on.  It's nice to feel welcome, to be sure. 

We hear the catchphrase "seeker sensitive" all the time, and there is no shortage of churches that are quite high on the entertainment factor.  One time, probably a decade ago when we still lived in Texas, Jed went to a church where the praise team had a giant screen behind them.  On the screen was a music video of those worship leaders all wearing similar khakis-and-white-shirt uniforms, but each with a different color sweater tied loosely around their necks, singing the song they were leading for the congregation.  And the real-life leaders, on the stage, that were leading the song, in front of a giant screen of them wandering around in grass leading the song, they wore the same outfits.  It seems a bit much, but so it was.  That was absolutely a "seeker sensitive," program-driven, entertaining church.  To this day, it's huge.  It's good to have a place where seekers can seek, to be sure.

(As long as it's the Kingdom, the King, they find.)

Then there are places with coffee shops and all kinds of different "Your Label Here" groups, and I'm not saying that either of these things are (always) bad in and of themselves, but I am saying that we can easily tread a fine line trying to make Christianity appealing and become distracted by scratching a carnal itch, or caressing the soul (minds and emotions) or even just feeding the bodies (cushiony couches, coffee, and donuts) when the Real Deal Christianity is about as appealing as it gets.  When it's not watered down to a social club.  Or a Do-Good Society.  Or a "Let's all hold on till we get to heaven" sing-a-long when we're commissioned to bring heaven to earth. 

Jesus is down with that.
The Buddy Jesus from the movie "Dogma."

My apostle says, and now I say, "We shouldn't have to tie a steak around Yahshua's neck (that's Jesus) to get people to like Him."  And he also says, "If I have to tap dance up here in a Big Bird suit to get you to come, I'll have to keep tap dancing up here in a Big Bird suit to keep you."

There. Has. To. Be. MORE.  When you read the stories in the Bible of those who walked with God, when you read the words and actions of Yahshua, our Savior, who did not concern Himself with making the Truth palatable, and when you embrace the abiding power of the very Holy Spirit of God in your own life, you realize more and more how what you've seen and known isn't enough.  You want more. 

When you begin to witness miracles, become healed, encounter demons but see them subdued, and see visions or have words of knowledge that are beyond anything you ever could have known, then you realize, "Holy cow!  This thing is REAL!!"  If only a person can come to experience the very real living Presence of Almighty God, they won't care whether they have a coffee right then or not.  They won't care if everyone's wearing matching sweaters or not.  How can one experience Him or even just read the realities of this life as presented in the Bible and not be searching for more than just the programs, the rituals, the rules?  Once you experience Him, the Big Bird suit becomes offensive to you.  Makes you want to scream at Big Bird: "There's MORE!!"  How, then, can people experience Him?  It happens only when He's accurately demonstrated, either through legitimate, genuine personal seeking or, more commonly, through a son of God on assignment who IS, in fact, demonstrating Him.  Not flash.  Him.  That is, Yahweh.  How important that we get it right and don't get lost in other...stuff.  Missing it by an inch is still missing it.  Only worse.

I would be so upset if I realized too late that I was content with the mundane milk and all the while the real meat was right there, just always masked by pomp and circumstance, by a flash in the pan.  No wait.  Not masked.  It can't be masked.  It's either there, exploding in your face, or it's not there, being kept from rising in power.  The real deal cannot always be predictable.  That scares a lot of people.

We don't have church attendance at The Rock of Greater Burlington.  You either know that you're joined by the Spirit or you aren't.  Isn't that weird?  So few do it that way.  But making someone sign a form isn't going to make them stay, or if it did, it's obviously not for the right reasons.  And since our success is not measured by what kinds of numbers we're sending in to the boards higher up, we're free from that formality ever the more. 

So this is kind of funny, to talk about meat around Jesus' neck, but one more funny thing before I wrap this up.  The Bible says that the Kingdom smells like life to some and death to others.  The Kingdom is polarizing.  Once encountered, people either dive in and can't get enough or they run screaming.  Our goal, then, is to follow Holy Spirit's direction at every service so that we know we're releasing the Kingdom, unadulterated, and so often our services take a completely different turn than any of us, including my apostle, ever would've predicted that morning when getting ready.  And we've found that Bible verse to be absolutely true.  For those of us joined there to that purpose, by the Spirit of God, we smelled life and have remained at all cost to play our role.  But we have had people walk in the door into the power and the unfamiliar freedom of our worship and literally run out the door!  And I don't mean that our music has "unfamiliar freedom" in that there's lots of charismatic gyrating and snake charming or whatever weird stories we've all heard, though we do dance.  If there's another thing I love about our church, or house, or ekklesia, it's that there is authority and order.  But the Spirit always has free rein to move.  And our music takes turns into new songs none of us has ever heard before, and the weight of Yahweh's presence is so palpable, it scares some people away.  Like, literally, one girl ran out.  So funny!  Does it sound strange to hear a Christian talk like that?  I hope so.  And no, we didn't chase her out.  We let her go.  She saw the Kingdom and had a perfectly viable reaction. 

So, if you're a seeker (which is where most all of us start), take the Savior with a steak tied around His neck if that's the best way to get you to be willing to meet Him.  Then really get to know Him.  Get to know the Father.  Dig for the deeper things.  And then you'll be challenged and drawn to that great adventure where the real meat is, and having tasted and seen, you'll know He's good, and you'll never look back.

Offense: The Painful Massage

Even if you're staring at someone you trust with all your heart and you ask them for it, it's never fun to be told that something about you needs to change.  (Perfect as we all are.)  Unless you're just a glutton for misery, which some people actually are, or find your identity in being "not good enough."  But no, even then, it's not happy. 

Offense.  It is... offensive.  It likes "to irritate, annoy, or anger; cause resentful displeasure in" (good ol' dictionary.com).  One of the most helpful things I've learned over the last 9 years has been that Yahweh is not above offending me.  Sometimes that's the best way to get me to take a look at what needs to be changed.  And every time he does it, whether it's straight from Him or through a situation with other people, He does it with an intent on leading me to a greater understanding, a greater glory.  He's always trying to show me, "Hey, look.  Here's something you believe so fervently, but what if it's not quite right?  Would you be wiling to reconsider?"  Or, "This thing that matters so much to you has started to matter too much to you.  Would you be willing to let it go?"  Those things that we cherish are the ones we cling to.  And sometimes it's hard to change our minds, our paradigms, our emotional responses.  So many of us have lots of these things tied up into our very identities, our very structure of who we think we are.

That's why in my little "About Me" section on this blog, I've written that there are a lot of roles I play but that at the end of the day, I am and always will be nothing less than a daughter of God on assignment.  That way, I don't have to have my self-worth or sense of identity tied up in being a worship leader or a Vermonter or a Texan or a conservative or a brunette or whatever other strange things might creep into my perception of what makes me "me."  If God told me today to stop leading worship, it would not destroy my self-worth.  As it is, He actually did tell me that at the beginning of this pregnancy.  About two days into the euphoric thrill of realizing we had another baby on the way, I was folding laundry and suddenly thought of worship at our church, and I heard Him as plain as day say, "You're not going back."  That meant that once I got far enough along to take time off for the delivery, I wouldn't be returning as the worship leader.  That will no longer be my assignment.  And while it is truly bittersweet, my identity is not wrapped up in the task I'm performing.  It's in the One who gives me the task.  He's got plenty more in store for me, to say the least!

Finding out who we are.  That is a big deal.  It was a big struggle for me in my earlier years, and in my own experience, it seems that so much of that struggle for anyone is that we are learning how to trust and whom to trust.  If a hateful, belligerent bully offends me, I bow up and might very well toss whatever he had to say.  If my sister Deborah says it, I listen.  Because I trust her.  The poet Lord Byron had issues galore, but he was a great poet and said something I really like: "In solitude...we are least alone."  Ah yes, that's where you hear all the inner voices and the solid, deeper stuff starts to surface.  And one thing that makes me really hurt for someone is when I see that they are struggling with deep issues and sadness, jadedness and deep dissatisfaction, but they refuse to look it in the eye and address it.  They would rather make their lives so noisy and busy than get quiet and listen to the deep inner voice that is crying out for help but that will absolutely lead to pain and offense on the way to Truth and healing.  The only way to have success in that vulnerable place is to know that you can trust.  Nobody wants to go there if they can't trust the others in there with them. 

But if you can trust anyone, you can trust God.  Sound a little trite, cursory, religious?  Nevertheless, it is the TRUTH.  And He always has a sent one somewhere close by that can be found if prayerfully sought out.  And He is all about helping us all know what's real, what's true, who He is, and therefore who we are.  True identity.  Going back to the garden.  Creating man to tend to the earth and walk and talk with Him.

What He will not do is take away the offense.  But what He will show you about the offense is that whatever that painful thing is, whatever that soft spot is that doesn't like to be touched, it is not truly who we are.  We may have received it for so long or courted it for so long or become so familiar with it that we are scared to part with it even though it's hurting us, that we think we cannot be separated from it and survive.  Be it a long held belief, or a way of reacting to people or life, or a habit, sometimes the only way for us to get past it is to face the offense of being told it's got to go.  And part of the healing balm that comes with that edict is the reality that that thing is not a legal part of us, not what He had in mind for us, and is an invader He's trying to rout out for our benefit.

If we know that it's for our best, if we know that God sees a picture bigger than what we see, what is it about us that would rather hold on to it than go through the edginess of change and come out in a greater glory?  We are creatures of comfort after all.  Or maybe sometimes we're just too proud.

Regardless, though, what is our best solution?  To embrace offense.  We ought never take it personally, because if it's something that must go, it's something God's pointing out as "It never was you, anyway, and I'm removing it, if you'll let me, so that you can be free of it and free to move on to a new level of revelation." 

If He's trying to work on your behalf, don't stand in His way!  Let Him.  If it hurts, and it usually does, do what I do:  think of it as a massage on really sore muscles.  :D 

In the End, It Ain't No Thang: It Is Well with My Soul

I've avoided writing about this or even talking en masse about it, but for some reason, I'm going to do it now.  I want to know that I'm doing it because it's in my spirit, not because I needed to for some emotional release.

It's strange how much has changed since mid-June.  Then again, so little has really changed.  It's the implications of those changes I guess that most speak to a mother.  After a little boy's sickness, an ER trip, 24 hours in the hospital, and an inundation of information overload, we now have the change of giving Levi around 4 shots a day, usually in the arm, about 5 or 6 finger pricks to check his blood sugar level, and carrying around the yellow bag and the white notebook with us everywhere. 

It was an intense month or so after that, so why didn't I want to talk about it until now?  Well, where to begin...

First, we didn't want to invite other people's fear or pity into a situation that we knew was less significant than our God.  Our first response in all things is really no response at all; it's just our lifestyle of always giving Him praise in all things, being comforted and bolstered by the reality that HE does all things well and is greater than our circumstances and certainly greater than our enemies, even the sicknesses we're fighting here that carry an intimidation factor for many people.  In the ER, when I was awake next to Levi, where he slept soundly in the hospital bed while a nurse pushed more buttons around 3 am, I talked to Yahweh.  I prayed in the spirit to get His perspective for Levi and for our family.  And He gave it to me.  And I had both peace, strength, and a certain kick-your-a** attitude toward this enemy that would go after a four-year-old.  It is in these moments between me and God where He gives His specific heart, His mind, His perspective, and where I've transcended the haze that wants to settle and prophesy helplessness to us.  'Cause we're not helpless.  We don't want pity.  It sounds strange or arrogant, but that's not what I mean.  I just mean that when a person is fighting that "I'm a victim" thing that tries to debilitate us, pity makes it harder.  Pity is not a Kingdom mentality.  People in wheelchairs trying to live their lives don't usually want pity.  They want the same respect as everyone else. 

My dad called me about 10 days after everything went down, and he sounded terrible.  I thought something was very, very wrong.  (And I hadn't yet told him about our ER trip with Levi...)  He said he'd heard from one of his relatives in Mississippi and that she said, with lots of pity, "I'm soooo sorry about Jen's little girl..."  (For a family trying to keep it "close to home" for a bit, I am amazed at how it still managed to spread so far so quickly...people love to talk.)  Dad panicked and, true to his overly dramatic fashion, was sure that every other family member alive was in Vermont at a funeral.  Good grief!  Gossip tends to skew the facts, because people thread their emotions and misconceptions into it, and that was a huge reason why we were keeping our family stuff close to home.  So I assured him that nothing was wrong with Adelaide (the facts weren't even correct!), and that nothing was wrong with Levi.  He had gotten a diagnosis that required our attention but that it's attention we can give.  Before the 1920's, people didn't have such good options.

Another reason we didn't blab about it is because we needed some time to acclimate to it on our own and to work through our own grief and learn what we needed to learn and settle into the mind of Christ before we addressed everyone else's reactions (see the story about my dad and his extended family above).

I have also determined from the beginning that I will never grow used to it.  I do not ever want to grow comfortable acquiescing to this thing that has invaded our home.  I will fight it on the physical level, and I will fight it on the spiritual level.  By the same token, we want Levi and all of us to just go on with life, with business as usual, and not make a big deal out of the changes that have settled in.

Now when we go to the grocery store, if they have free cookies for kids, and if Levi wants one, he can't just grab one and eat it.  That goes for any snacky type of thing, and with a pregnant mom who's always grabbing food between meals, it can be a challenge.  In the mornings, he's just at that glorious age where he can sort of get himself dressed and going and was learning to grab a yogurt or something from the fridge while he waited for his (pregnant) mom to get going and get Adelaide and get breakfast.  Now, as he has to wait till I check his blood and to get his shots, I'm often awakened not just with snuggles but with a boy holding out his finger pricker and blood meter pouch so we can just get the show on the road!

Now we cannot leave the house without the yellow bag full of supplies and the white notebook that details every bite taken and the carbs therein, sugar levels, and the patterns that emerge.

We have old plastic water bottles sitting in cabinets around the house full of used sharps. 

And we always have a drawer full of string cheese in the fridge, as it's one thing Levi can just grab and eat without having to think about anything else.  If he really wants something else, he has to weigh whether or not it's worth an extra shot.

And is he ever my hero!  Most of the time, he's like, "Sure, I'll take the shot, whatever..."  Levi is so very unaffected by all the pricking and the sticking that I just ponder him and marvel.  Jed and I did everything in our power to remain above it all from day one at the hospital and to just treat it as, just, whatever.  It's what we do for now.  No big thing.  The worst times are when Levi asks why his pancreas stopped making insulin (and, yes, that's how he phrases it; nothing's lost on that one) or if Yahweh's going to fix it for him.  Ugh.  The best part?  That every time, the Father gives us the explanation needed that both alleviates the uncertainty and maintains God's majesty in all things.  We've had some great open doors for teaching the Kingdom and about what it really means to walk with the Lord through those honest question-and-answer sessions.

The funniest thing is hearing Levi talk about Yahweh to all the medical personnel, some of whom are believers but who are still somewhat dumbfounded into silence when they listen to him.  After that first rough day in the ER and a night full of slumber interruptions, Levi was walking around with his big IV tower on Day 2, and he took a deep breath and said, "Ahhh, today's a great day!!"  I was like, "Yeah, man, you're right!"  As the medical folks in the room dropped their jaws, I couldn't help but smile.  They're used to thrashing children, sobbing parents, and all the other perfectly natural responses that many give to such life alterations.  In Levi, they saw peace, and he told more than one random person, "Yahweh is stronger than anything!"  They had no idea what to say.  This is Vermont, after all.  Many people here have no grid for God, or certainly not for people who walk with Him and take Him seriously.  And certainly not in the midst of "bad news."

I had a moment this morning that is, I presume, responsible for this post.  I have been thankful since day one that this thing is something we can manage.  Before the 1920's when insulin (artificial) was invented, people just starved to death.  I in no way believe that doctors or scientists are God, but I do truly believe that medical advancements are part of the ever-increasing Kingdom.  I have gushed forth my thanks over and over that we live in a time when insulin has been invented and when it's a fairly basic routine to handle the issue at hand.  So before I ever allow myself to feel complain-y about constantly having to calculate every carb, then calculate the insulin, then give the shot(s), often times with Adelaide getting antsy about her food, and with Levi being always accommodating, I remember to be ever grateful that I can give a shot, just one silly shot.  No big deal.  One way sickness and death are enemies of our God is, I believe, in their ability to distract people from life, from what He's still doing, and worst of all, from relationship with Him that is not governed by an obsession with that sickness.  That will never be the case in this house.  We will handle what needs handling.  But Levi will never bear the stamp of "Diabetes."  That's another reason we don't talk about it much.  We have other, more important things to talk about, and that is part of how we fight stuff: never allowing it to rob us of carrying on with our lives and the purpose of Yahweh therein. 

Levi is always, first and foremost, and ever will be, "Yahweh's Son."  We'd be remiss to assume that means enemies don't rise that we must fight.  And fight we will.  But the fight does not ever define us.  When something rises against us, we say, "Bless God!  Thanks for the compliment.  Meet the bottom of my foot as I trample you.  In the meantime, while you're here, you'll be subjected to a constant worship of Yahweh.  Enjoy." 

And the sun goes on rising and setting, and our lives continue to increase from one glory to another, and all is well with our souls.

"Prayer" Rhymes with "Scare"

I refuse to get into my thoughts about September 11th and all its memorials other than that I grieve for any family that loses a beloved family member, especially in an untimely or tragic manner.  (Because I would surely be overly wordy in the desperate attempt to explain, yet I still would not do well, and I would offend a lot of people.  Not that that's a huge deal, BUT that's not the point of this post... *deep breath*)

However, despite my constant, vigilant, sometimes taxing determination not to be moved by what gets me riled up in our popular culture, government, and media, I have succumbed only slightly for this post.  For some reason, the fact that they banned prayer from the recent 9/11 memorial services made me extra annoyed.  (As if I expected any less...)  The people running these things are obviously representing "the world" from their government or civil servant posts, and I certainly don't expect those to be my spiritual leaders.  And I understand the whole "separation of church and state" thing (and hope said government servants do as well as they salivate over currently untaxed church properties...).  But I just got all in a tizzy thinking, "It's just PRAYER!  It's a wholesome, pleasant, well-intentioned, happy thing where people are finding comfort and hope in the midst of yucky stuff!  There is nothing harmful in it.  It's fairly innocuous..."  At the word "innocuous," Holy Spirit jumped in and said, "IS it??"  And then I realized, of course it isn't.

Then it dawned on me, and I felt a little knowing chuckle begin to bubble up.  Prayer is major.  It's big.  It's not some fluffy rite we do every so often.  I guess I was assuming that "they" would have used it that way, and therefore, what's the problem?  But we wrestle not against flesh and blood but the spiritual realm, the principalities and powers that we do not see.  One of our most lethal weapons is prayer. 

No wonder they don't want us to do it. 

The Bible tells us to pray for our enemies, and while that verse is in the context of turning the other cheek and blessing those who curse you, I also know that David prayed for his enemies, and his prayers were along the lines of, "Dear Holy Yahweh, wilst thou please obliterate and humiliate mine enemies in Thine Holy Name?"  In other words, I pray that they get out of my way and burn. 

So I guess I was just pondering the whole thing and realizing that while they might not know it in their "flesh and blood" state, there are certainly the principalities and powers at work who are shaking in their boots. 

The good news is that I don't need some governmental memorial day to give me permission to pray.  I can pray till the cows come home.  And somewhere around 85% of Americans still call themselves some form of Christian, so they can all do the same. 

Remember that scene in "Princess Bride" where Valerie, Miracle Max's wife, chases him around the room threatening him with the words "Humperdink.  Humperdink. HUMPERDINK!  Humperdii--iii-iiinnnnk..." and he's terrified, covering his ears?  That's how I think all those goons up top look when they hear about prayer.  But if they set themselves against God, I can't blame them. 

I'd be scared, too.

*Note from the Editor:
We at God.Love.Family.Life would like to state that not all of Jennifer Finley's opinions necessarily encompass the full attitude of this publication.  We (and she) recognize the slight "Redneck" tone that might be gathered from this post and hope the humor is seen.
However, our official position is this.  Separation of church and state is good.  We feel that way not because we want spirituality out of government but because we want the government out of our spirituality, believing that the Kingdom of God is the ultimate government and that man's government is a supporting player in helping to keep people organized. 
We also feel that if Christians really want prayer at the 9/11 site, they ought to organize it and do it.  The Body of Christ ought to be the larger and more influential entity when compared to the government of man.  The best statement would be for this Body to organize itself and pray away if that's the Father's leading.  Or do it privately.  But to be mighty. 

Editor-in-Chief
Jennifer Finley

We Are the Joneses, and We Love Wisdom

Our latest news of a third little addition to our family has catapulted us into the usual thoughts and preparations that such news brings.  One of the biggest adjustments we'll be making is that of purchasing a larger vehicle.  Big fun, big research, big decision.  We will sell our two older cars, which is a process itself, and meanwhile, we're trying to hone in on the best car choice for us.

My aunt in Texas has loaned me her Saturn Outlook for short jaunts during visits in the past, and I have absolutely fallen in love with that vehicle.  Not only is it awesome, but it's also, I don't know, awesome.  In my recent online wanderings to learn about current options, I've also come upon the Chevy Traverse, have since stepped inside one at a dealership, and have found it to be pretty sweet as well.  Finally, there's the minivan, which everyone swears they'll never get, but that apparently lots and lots of people end up with nevertheless.  We drove a Chrysler Town and Country (a minivan) on a recent trip, and it was pretty awesome, too. 

All that background lays the groundwork for the rest.  It's basically that silly conundrum of minivan versus no minivan.  Stylewise, it wouldn't be our preference, but here's what I've found.  We can get a nice one for our cash price range and very likely end up with zero car debt.  That is super, to say the least.  And in the end, we're told they get better gas mileage than the crossover SUVs in consideration.  So along comes our dear friend and confidant Wisdom.  Is there anything in us style-loving Finleys that might be tempted to go into a leeeeetle bit of debt to spring for what we think might be a "cooler" choice?  Sure.  And what really makes it "cooler?"  I have no idea.  Is it the Joneses?  Whoever they are... Maybe. 

But again, dear Wisdom, talk to me.  My mom had a professor in college who made decent money and drove a low-style, reliable, older car.  His students would ask him why he didn't get a newer car since he could surely afford it.  One girl said, "You know, keeping up with the Joneses?"  He looked at the group of students and said, "I am the Joneses."  I absolutely love that!  In effect, he was saying, "I set the standard."  And presumably, if more people acted on that, they'd not only be setting a new standard for themselves but for those around them as well. 

And you can take a look at the various millionaires and billionaires like Bill Gates who still live in the same $35,000 house they bought in their twenties or still drive the same reliable car they've always enjoyed.  True wealth doesn't have to mean opulence, flashiness, or extravagance.  I don't think those things are wrong at all, but I do find provocative the idea of understated affluence, of resource that gives influence, of simple excellence in life that doesn't look like it's trying too hard.  Many folks we see who have such an appearance actually have little in the bank and are struggling to dig their way out of debt.  Others are sitting on a lovely cushion that most of the world would never know is there.  Now again, for the record, if it's within one's means to get whatever they want, I say go for it.  And if it turns out that our preferred "style" is within our budget, we might just go for it.  This process has gotten the Holy Spirit stirring in me, though, to consider all these things: motives, choices, discipline, Wisdom.

We've really been taking a chisel to our finances lately, and in some places an ax.  That's what the move has been about, partially, though we've ended up with a much bigger place.  I don't even know what the Joneses are doing, but if they're Average Americana, I think we'd all do well to steer clear of that pattern and start defining a new norm that espouses Wisdom and the peacable fruits that come from choosing well. 

How refreshing!  We are the Finleys, we'll set the standard, and we love wisdom.  May we be diligent planters of seed and harvesters of the fruits, not consuming all but walking circumspectly with a perspective larger than our place and our time.  We have a little generation coming after us that very much looks forward to an inheritance, after all!

Snakes, Frogs, Spiders, Mice, Moths, and...Cows: The Finleys Have Gone Country

We live in the country now, and it's pretty awesome.  This place is very old; we're told it's around 200 years old, and its unique flavor is tons of fun.  However, the previous resident(s) for however long have somehow not cared about terribly ugly, peeling wallpaper and other aesthetic atrocities, so we have our work cut out for us.  It's the fun work, though, if we can carve out the time to get it done.  Peeling off wallpaper is one thing, but when the walls are made of plaster that's partially crumbling at the edges, and when your carpenter husband has aaaaaaall these great options including tearing down and rebuilding the wall, it gets a little more complicated.  So maybe you'll hear more about our beautifying escapades in the future.  And one day we will post pictures!  Our camera decided to work very momentarily the other day and now refuses to budge again.

For now, I'll say that the view is amazing.  Our home faces a large cow pasture that is well tended, and in the distance behind it is a beautiful range of mountains in the east, which means we see the sun rise behind them (when we're awake for the sunrise, which is becoming more possible now that it's not happening at 4:30 am).  And every afternoon, a group of wild turkeys, one of my favorite things, wanders the field for food.

A few welcome-to-the-country anecdotes...

I mentioned the cows across the street.  Good thing I spent half my growing up years on farms, because the, ahem, not so pleasant smells that sometimes waft our way are lovely nostalgia for me rather than something less pleasant.  It doesn't bother Jed, either, so we're good there.

One night at bedtime, the only lights on in the house were in mine and Jed's room.  We discovered a window that was barely cracked open behind the shade, because 800,000 moths were attacking our faces and ramming into our lights.  Armed with a flyswatter, Jed took no prisoners.  He finally waved a triumphant victory flag after the Great Moth Massacre came to an end.  Oh, the carnage.

Also, there are spiders everywhere, and they build webs at an incredible rate!  I watched one do it right before my eyes a week or so ago right before I destroyed it, and her.  I did feel kind of bad.  But I will go through the house sweeping down webs only to find them rebuilt within hours.  Pesky.  Before you get all arachnophobic, though, they're just daddy longlegs, and they stay out of our way, tucked into corners.

We were told to get a cat to help control the mice.  OK, so that's fine.  It's an old farmhouse in the country.  I spent hours pondering and wringing my hands over where to store our pantry items, especially those in bags and boxes.  I know from experience that mice can tear most things up, use the scraps for a nest, and eat the food.  So my wonderful mom and I vacuumed, scoured, and Lysol-ed every cabinet, and I bought air-tight canisters for many baking items and finally made a decision.  I swore I heard mice scratching in the walls on my second night here.  But I've heard and seen nothing since.  Yeehaw!  Jed did say he heard the equivalent of a mini herd of cattle run through the ceiling in the bathroom the other night, so who knows.  I'll become very vigilant come winter, though, when our house will be a nice, warm, appealing haven.  Stay tuned. 

And finally, there's the Levi's First Day Incident.

Our first morning here was a Sunday, so it doesn't really count.  It was still just night lodgings, then we hurried out that morning and spent half the day away.

But on our first full day, the Monday after, Levi spent most of the morning out front, digging with his toys in the gravel driveway.  He came in after a long while and went to hang out in another room, nonchalant.  A bit later he came into the kitchen where I was staring at the aforementioned cabinets with mice on my mind, and he relayed a story.  He told me about how he saw a snake and a frog outside and that he shooed the snake away, then killed the frog to protect it. 

I smiled down at him and said, "Wooooww!  That is SO crazy!"  wink, wink.  Clearly, he was making it up, right?  He was like, "Yeah, it was!"
"That's just a funny pretend story, though, right?"  I thought I'd double check.
"No, it happened."
"When?" I wasn't convinced yet.
"This morning while I was digging outside!"
I assumed a slightly firmer Mommy expression: "Levi...is that the truth?"
"Yes, Mom!"
"OK, where's the frog?"
"Out there." Pointing toward the front.
"Show me."

Let's pause here, briefly, for me to say, in case you don't know already, that I despise frogs.  I do not like them, even though they are cute, and have a completely irrational fear of them and am convinced deep down that they are involved in some insidious conspiracy to attack people and that they have fangs.  I would never let Levi know this for two reasons:  I don't want to pass on to him any more lunacy of mine than is absolutely unavoidable from genetic predisposition and close proximity, and I do not want him using it against me...ever.

So he started walking toward the front door.  I was starting to realize that he was not just making up some awesome story.  We reached the driveway, and there it was, pulverized by a preschooler with a large rock, by my own son.  I was still dumbfounded and asked him if he found this smashed frog (perhaps hit by one of our cars.)

"Nooooo, Mom, I kiiiiiilled it!" 

Yikes.  I finally got the whole story out of him and began to get more and more creeped out.  He saw a snake attacking a frog by the side of the driveway, somehow managed to scare the snake away before it really got going (I guess), watched the frog hop away across the driveway, then found a big rock and beat the frog to death so that the snake couldn't come back to hurt it.  He was trying to save the frog.  I later saw the snake over by some of my flower pots, watching us and the frog.  I disposed of the frog, talked to Levi about respecting nature and not needing to beat frogs to death, or any small thing that's doing you no harm, then started throwing rocks at the snake.  I know.  The snake was a tiny garter snake, but it was still A SNAKE.

Another day, my mom was rototilling in the front yard, God bless her, and she managed to scare out a much larger snake from under a rock, but it too was a harmless one.  Nevertheless, it is still flip-flop season around here, and when we get home at night in the dark, I hop and dance all around the car to get the kids out and to carry Adelaide inside.  I always manage to get Jed and/or Levi to walk ahead of me so that they scare anything off before I get there. 

So despite my boring ramblings on the matter, the reality has been quite adventurous already!  And I love it.  The quiet, the views, the pitch black at night, all of it.  Sorting through the chaos of the move and the many projects has been offset by the constant reminder that life is not all busyness and bottom lines.  Sometimes it's just you versus nature.  But we seem to be holding our own, as long as we keep fly swatters and heavy stones always at the ready... 

Jed's the Man

I have to brag on my husband.  When we got married, we were fairly clueless and blissful and knew less than we do now about marriage.  That's not to say that we know everything now, but we certainly know more.  I've watched him grow into a husband in the true sense of the word.  It's derived from "husbandman," and it essentially refers to one who manages well and cares for what he is given.  He sets himself to bring out the best in it.

He is the head of our family, and part of the anointing there is for him to stand at the "doorway" and decide what is and what is not permitted in to the family.  He is our covering, our authority, our anchor, our calm. 

I'm writing this because on Sunday evening just before dinner, I made a quick run to the grocery store with Levi.  We picked up a few things, then we started home.  At the store, my stomach (like the actual stomach organ up in the middle-left of my abdomen) started to feel a little crampy.  It was uncomfortable, but I pretty much ignored it.  But when we got in the car, I don't know if it was the sitting position or what, but I suddenly had stabbing cramps that nearly incapacitated me.  And if you're thinking, "It must've been gas," I can assure you, it wasn't.  I have a strong stomach and have never felt anything like it.  I would have pulled over and called Jed, but I left my phone at the house, and the store was just down the street.  I focused on the road and groaned the whole way home, praying hard.  It was almost decided in my mind that Jed would have to take me to the emergency room.

Once home, I left the groceries in the car and went straight through the door, grasping my middle, to collapse on the couch.  Levi said to Jed, "Mommy needs your help.  Her tummy hurts," and Jed came to find me on the couch.  I was curled up in the fetal position and sobbing.  I have to mention again how totally weird and unprecedented this is.  Jed sensed the unusual nature of it and did what he does.

He put his hand on my back and began praying in the spirit with authority.  He prayed and prayed, never striving, never using an agitated voice.  He prayed with calm, decisive authority.  Then he began to prophesy over me that the pain was relieved of its assignment and no longer had a right to me.  He wasn't asking.  He was telling.  You see, he's in charge, and he knows it, and because Yahweh loves authority and has arranged things this way, things in the spirit realm that we don't even see also know that Jed's in charge.  And they have to listen to him on his turf.  I am his turf. 

Now, I have seen countless people healed.  Jed has healed people.  I have healed people.  But it is thrilling and amazing every time, because Yahweh at work through His people is always a trip!  So what happened next is absolutely what I expected, and yet it still left me speechless.  The excruciating, gripping pain that had come out of nowhere in no time was as gone as gone can be, instantly.  Gone. 

Jed proceeded to run me a warm bath and give the kids their dinner.  When I came downstairs, he made me a grilled cheese sandwich at my request.  I couldn't help but marvel at how I had totally scored when I married this man.   

The kicker:  The word and celebration at church that morning were crazy-good.  How does one even begin to describe our services?  I'll attempt it here at some point.  But for now, let's just say that I know that what happened Sunday morning with all that we received from the Father with His direction, affirmation, and continued establishing and what happened that afternoon with a little test and my husband kicking it to the curb are not unrelated. 

So while Jed and I are, very simply, just two people with strengths and weaknesses like everybody else, it's almost electrifying to take our God at His word when He says He's no respecter of persons, to walk out the "greater things" Yahshua promised His disciples, and to find success there. 

My apologies for the gratuitous, public-mush factor, but yeah, Jed's the man.  If you come looking for the Finleys, you find him at the door.  He's as cordial as they come, but I wouldn't want to reckon with him.  His God backs him up, and the part that really matters is...he knows it.

Kinda makes a girl feel all secure and stuff.  :)

My View from the Throne Room

I'm gonna get right down to some nitty gritty here.  You in?

This morning, I was taking some time to prepare for the new June chorus sheet that we'll start practicing with the band this week.  The majority of our worship songs are songs we've written in-house; it's something that stuns me whenever I think about it.  Over time, they've really begun to add up when you tally the ones written by teenagers before they became worship leaders, the worship leaders and musicians, and the people of the house who have gotten songs in their spirits and submitted them to us to do with them whatever we want.  Lately, we've had that unction in our guts that it's time for a new, fresh sound that relates to where we are presently.  In addition to writing songs, we've also been looking for current worship songs that other worship bands have been releasing. 

So I have a confession to make.  It's hard for me to listen to a lot of Christian music.  It sounds awful, I know.  Worshipping Yahweh is paramount in my life, and to say such a thing sounds like I just want to pick a fight.  The trouble is, there's an attitude, or a spirit really, in so much of popular Christian music that I don't think actually glorifies God.  (I know I just offended a bajillion fellow believers, but bear with me through the offense; healing salve is coming.)  I truly believe the musicians' hearts are likely in the right place and that they're just misinformed.  But there's a sense of groveling and "running to You" and longing for heaven one day.  There is a time in everyone's life that we must seek Him, run to Him, and beg Him for forgiveness.  Oh, how I can testify!  So those songs are useful for those in that season.  And He is always a loving, comforting Father.  But once His forgiveness is received, we should no longer remain in that cycle.  We are no longer identified as "sinners."  We can move on to that which His forgiveness gains for us. 

Here's what happened this morning.  I saw a song title that sounded really strong and confident and potentially full of true Kingdom revelation.  (I was very wrong.)  I opened it on YouTube and began to listen, hopeful.  The singer said something about running to His throne room, sung in a sort of desperation.  I thought about how these people are already Christians.  If we're seated with Christ at the right hand of the Father, positioned in a position of authority by His side in the throne room, why ought we be out there running for it, hoping to make it, again, and again, and again? 

I'm not trying to be contrary, trust me.  Sometimes holding a line you know is right can feel exhausting.  But I love the Truth, and I'm always after the Father's purpose and His heart. 

If He says we are seated with Christ at His right hand, but the current Christian theme is that we still need Him to forgive us and accept us every day or after we feel bad or messed up (which we all do), then who's right?  If He says we're clothed in Christ's righteousness and have business to do under His authority, but the current Christian theme is that we're still naught but lowly sinners, who's right?  (Of course, these are rhetorical questions.  He's right!  He always is.)

As uncomfortable as it has made me feel to accept that I can be fully healed and effective and positioned with my brother, Yahshua, I've had to trust His word over my feelings and say to my soul (that is, my mind and my emotions), "Soul!  You will line up with the truth of your God!  You will accept the responsibility of forgiveness.  You will accept the responsibility of walking healed.  You will accept the responsibility of being a son whom He has made whole in Him."  So as soothing as it sometimes feels in the moment to really feel my bad day or bad circumstances and ask Jesus to come fix it for me, I realize that my salvation relationship must grow from glory to glory, and that there comes a time when the baby must grow beyond milk and become the capable being who can handle meat, putting away childish things, growing up in Him.

If you don't know Yahweh, I'm not talking to you, but I will say this:  seek Him, run to Him, ask Him to speak to you and listen for it, because He absolutely will.  It will be the best decision you ever make. 

But if you do know Him, and if you still feel like you're running to the throne room to visit there, rather than abide, change your perspective to His.  Don't let the lie dilute His truth about you any more.  He wants to do mighty things through you, not just through the church leaders who are "supposed to" do that kind of stuff.  He is no respecter of persons.  His promises are for "whosoever will."

It makes me giddy to think about what will ensue when the church realizes, collectively, who we are.  Can you picture it?  Right now much of the church and most outsiders see it like this:  A tired, repentant believer facing the Father with a posture of one undeserving but so grateful and receiving His forgiveness and grace and goodness once again. 

But what about this?...:  A son or a daughter of strength; grace, peace, confidence, and power in his countenance; posture of royalty; clothed in finery; crowned; standing with the Father and the Son; all facing the same direction, after the same purpose.  Then imagine hundreds, thousands, millions, billions of such sons and daughters standing with the Father, having received life from Him, saying, "I've come to do your will, Yahweh."  Which picture do you think truly honors the Father?  If you're a parent, which one would please you?  From Yahweh's perspective, if He did in fact send His one son to die and defeat death to purchase forgiveness for our sins, Holy Spirit empowerment in our lives, and the right to become sons of God, what do you think His heart longs for? 

I know where I am.  And the responsibility to stand there and to say the hard things it requires me to say, to challenge the status quo, is something I will not fear but will embrace.

...including the joy of writing my own worship songs.

When Hearts Overflow with a Good Thing

Life is good.

We've been back from Philadelphia for almost a week, but the experience there and the perspective we've had upon returning home have signified yet again how incredibly great life is.

It doesn't have to always be the big struggles we encounter or the great victories on the other side that show us how much we have to celebrate.  It reminds me of that bumper sticker that says, "Don't sweat the small stuff.  It's all small stuff."  It's catchy, and some things aren't necessarily so small, but it's the attitude of relaxed contentment that comes from casting our cares on our loving God and trusting Him in all things. 

During our trip, we were able to be with lots of family who love us and whom we love.  We were able to take time away as our own family unit and be together for almost an entire week.  We got to stay in a hotel where complete strangers took the time to wait on us and clean up after us.  We got to eat at a lot of wonderful restaurants where someone else prepared and served and cleaned up the meals.  We got to play an intimate role in the marriage of two people we love.  We got to play in the pool and hot tub with our kids.  We got to sleep in.  We got to shower the happy couple with gifts.  On a personal note, I got to live a sort of dream of mine and sing in a particular, out-of-my-comfort-zone style in a giant cathedral.  We saw a beautiful city, Philadelphia, in full-spring bloom with azaleas bursting forth colorfully, almost edibly.  We got to rest.  We got to dance.  And we got to dress up in really fancy clothes.

We came home refreshed and glad for the opportunity to celebrate with so many friends and family.  Really, at best, we were only sideline players in the big event.  It wasn't our event after all, but it's one we got to share.  Even so, we came home totally moved by the whole experience of being able to vacation together in such a way.  It reminded us of simple pleasures and the importance of feasting and celebration.  The time also provided ample opportunity for Yahweh to talk to us and share with us new and important revelation about who we are and what He has for us moving forward.  The new scenery was a great backdrop for some new perspective, and we came home different than the people who had left just a week prior. 

The simple pleasures of life are as important as the more complicated aspects.  And when our hearts overflow with a good thing, with His presence, with true joy, others can be touched out of that overflow.  We have enough for ourselves and enough to share.  Granted, our hearts can overflow with such goodness whether we've had such a great trip or not.  That's the incredible gift of the Holy Spirit.  But the trip and its blessings showed us in a new light what we already knew:  life is good. 

And we know that "every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows" (James 1:17).

I stand today, grateful.  Grateful that we serve a good God, not a vicious tyrant.  Grateful that He relishes true life and giving good gifts to His children, rather than being abusive or hateful.  Many people view God either as a distant Grandpa in the sky or as a never-pleased wielder of violent, unfair judgment.  Both views would be wrong.  I'm grateful, again, that He is good.  In His judgment and in His mercy, in His love and in His discipline, in His pushing us and in His giving us rest, He is good.

Because of Him, my heart overflows with a good thing.  And there's plenty to go around.

Lessons I Learned from Mom

If you're afraid of something, go to it. 

When I was young, if the house made a strange noise that bothered me, she would teach me this.  Then she'd go with me to the sound, and we'd find out it was just part of the house making noise.  She helped me learn that most fear is just in our heads and doesn't have to overtake us, which applies to so many things in life.

If you're feeling down, go help someone else.

She passed this one down from her own mom.  If the nasty little self-pity monster ever tried to get us down, she taught us this.  If you're helping someone else, it makes you feel better for the sheer sake of being helpful.  It also might give you some handy perspective about your own challenges.

You can be a lady and still kick some serious boo-tay.

My mom is hands-down the most lady-like person I know.  She is all delicate femininity, kindness, beauty, and manners.  But I've seen her lift a garden hoe over her head and bring it down repeatedly to hack to death a giant, 4-foot snake that tried to nap in our garden when I was eight.  She can slop pigs and lay sod with the best of them, and it's one of my favorite things about her.  Those images have had a major impact on me throughout my life.

You can choose to be happy.

During a couple of my college years, I faced some major personal challenges, and Mom sent me a book called Happiness Is a Choice.  It was so annoying to me at the time, because I was like, "If it were that easy, then why am I not happy?"  But actually, I ended up working through all of it and learning this very lesson, because I did, in fact, choose decisions that lead me out of those circumstances.  Now, understanding that we can decide how we'll feel, and that we don't have to be ruled by our emotions, has become a cornerstone of wisdom for me.  Mom was right all along.

Watch your mouth; there's a power to our words that, whether we understand or not, we ought to respect.

Anytime we'd say something like, "It was so funny, I almost had a heart attack!" or "I was scared to death," Mom would say, "Hmmmm...you shouldn't say that.  Your tongue and your words matter."  Something in me knew she was right.  It was my spirit.  Now I understand way more about the power of our words, and that when we speak, we create, just as God does, in whose image we were created.  Weird, but true, and again, Mom was right all along.

Pray without ceasing, cast your cares on Yahweh, and have faith.

The single most prominent characteristic I equate with my Mom is prayer.  I'm not talking about one who sat down with us and prayed over things often, which she did.   I'm talking about consistently, vigilantly, passionately setting aside time to go to a quiet, hidden place to pray to the Father.  She understood the power there, and she put it into practice, and He honored her prayers in her life and the lives of her children.  Especially back in those tough, college years I mentioned, I cannot explain it other than to say that there were times that I knew she was praying for me and that, were it not for her faithful prayers, some things would absolutely have turned out differently.  I cannot say how much it has impacted me.

So, here's to my mom, so full of love, grace, patience, and wisdom.  Not just in theory, but in practice.  This list, full of depth and insight, is only just the short list that most readily comes to mind.  She has been a constant teacher, and seen from my perspective as a grown-up, I marvel at the blessed life I've had to be entrusted to her care.

Love you, Mom!  Happy Mother's Day today and every day!

Philly Trip: Wedding Bells!

Days 4 and 5:  Wedding Fever

(My apologies for switching tenses and whatever other confusing writer errors I commit...No time to edit!)

Day 4:  T-Minus One Day  

After Day 3, Day 4 was so leisurely, and the weather was gorgeous.  We had our late breakfast, then went back to the mall:  I was determined to find THE red shoes (red pumps, closed toe) I needed for my chosen dress for the wedding day (out of the SIX dresses I purchased...six, I said).  But mostly, Jed needed a very particular prop for his Best Man's speech at the reception.  We were in no hurry.  We had no engagements other than the rehearsal and dinner that evening.  We were in wedding mode. 

Almost all the shoe stores in the mall were not in my preferred price range.  We entered the mall through Nordstrom (Nordstrom's?), where I casually grabbed the price tag of a sundress I liked as we walked by:  $298.  Maybe I'll get into the colorful mental/emotional/moral exclamation points that danced in my head in another post.  They had a live pianist at a grand piano playing lovely music, which we all appreciated.  I wondered how much of the $298 went to his compensation. 

Anyway, the highlights of Day 4 are that Jed found the perfect prop, I dragged everyone to about 5 stores that might work without finding THE perfect red shoe, then as we headed back to the car through Nordstrom, I ran through their shoe department just for fun.  And found THE red shoe!  How much?  $298.  No joke.  They just have a thing for that number, I guess. 

As we drove back to the hotel through the beautiful neighborhoods, Jed (who comes from a Penn State family) informed me that on the next house we buy, he's going to take the most prominent, flat, forward-facing roof  face and arrange dark and white shingles in a way to create the image of the Penn State Nittany Lion.  I expressed to him my excitement over this vision.  And how very classy it would be.

The rest of the day we got ready for the rehearsal and dinner, then the events started rolling.  All went off without a hitch (Kevin wasn't there for the rehearsal but sauntered in at the end and agreed to run through Ave Maria one last time; when Levi saw him, he shouted in that great room, "HI, MR. KEVINNNN!!), and the dinner was at a fancy, "old thyme," rustic type of restaurant with amazing, not-too-dry-or-creamy crabcakes, full of flavor with the perfect crispy breading.  Mmmmm...  Excitement was in the air, wonderful toasts were given, and there was much celebrating.  We got the exhausted kids to the room after a late evening, but I was still thinking about THE shoes.  I had found them on Target.com (between mall trip and rehearsal)!!!  I therefore found a Target nearby and therefore took this small window of time (between 10pm and 11pm) to go there and procure my shoes (We also needed formula; I'm not totally nuts).  I was tired, but stubborn, took a couple wrong turns, speed-walked past some possibly shady characters into the store, went straight back to the shoes, navigated over and through the horribly messy aisles where customers had scattered the wares all over the floor and employees didn't seem to care, and discovered that they did not have the shoes.  OK, I would let the shoe thing go.  After all, tomorrow was the Big Day!!

Day 5:  The Wedding

Flurry of activity.  Everyone getting ready.  Me running through the hotel, one dress on, two more in hand, asking girls I passed which one I should wear (the shoe thing made me undecided again), then arriving at Becky's room (my awesome mom-in-law).  Josh was there!  As in, the groom!  "Hi JOSH!"  I almost started to cry, but he was highly focused on his task, as I was on mine.  Joe (Grandpa Joe, Becky's awesome husband) chose my favorite, the Moroccan dress, saying, "That one is so you."  But was it too busy for a wedding?  Josh assured me it was fine, Becky picked it as one of the two she liked, then Jed, back at our room, officially chose it for me so that I would just move on with life.  Curlers in my hair, fun-time meticulous make-up application, Levi in handsome little suit, Adelaide in beautiful little gown, me rushing: curlers out, finish hair, shoes on, which earrings?  Perfume on, look up:  Jed in pinstriped tux pants, pulls out his coat, with tails, and puts it on.  Hello there, handsome!  Such a dapper choice, Josh! 

We meet in the lobby to take our bus to the church, and everyone looks gorgeous, dressed to the nines.  Arrive at church, drop kids off with sweet sitter, Jessica, get the lay of the land, put on our corsages, and I find a private spot outside the church to warm up my voice without interfering with anyone.  Make sure I have my reading and a program, leave Jed in the back with the wedding party, and find my seat up front.  Deep breath. 

Bridesmaids in knee-length, steel-gray gowns carrying rich red bouquets:  so beautiful.  Groomsmen in the aforementioned tuxes, escorting them:  so handsome. 

Katie was stunning and vibrant and elated, and Josh was dapper, calm, and proud.  The Catholic ceremony had its various rites and parts, and everything went smoothly.  I don't normally get super nervous before doing this kind of stuff, but for Ave Maria, I was a little antsy.  It ended up going well, and as soon as the last organ chord rang out, I sat down and let out a long breath.  And then, Mr. and Mrs. Josh Finley!!

Buses to the reception at an exclusive country club.  Pictures.  Party.  Both families are a blast, and the bride was the life of the party, leading the way on the dance floor!  She is full of energy and life and fun, and the reception followed suit. 

There are two things that stood out to me on a personal note. 

First, Jed's Best Man speech was hilarious, moving, honoring to the bride and groom, and delivered with some serious panache.  I was so proud!  And despite the fact that he is from a radically Penn-State family, he cast a line of peace to Katie's family, who is University of Michigan all the way, by donning his prop, a University of Michigan baseball cap.  This act made Josh hide his face flat on his plate as he shook his head in shame.  Katie, however, loved it with a victorious arms-raised celebration.  The crowd was vehemently divided between cheers and disapproving groans. 

Second, Levi has got some serious moves on the dance floor!  All the practice worshipping Yahweh at church really paid off for his spectators at this party.  He and the other little kids all had the crowd in stitches and imitating their moves, with videographer and photographer following closely behind. 

Jed's honored position in the wedding party meant we got the bus ride back to the hotel, which also meant we and the kids got to stay till the very end.  The kids were absolute troopers, partying and smiling and winning admirers left and right.  In the last moments, they both gave in and collapsed in our arms. 

What an absolutely memorable series of wedding events and parties it has been!  Congratulations to Josh and Katie!  Today is Day 6, and Josh and Katie are hosting a Bar-B-Q before they leave for Puerto Rico tomorrow.  This post will likely be my last of this series.  This relaxed Mother's Day with all the family, now that all the planning and hard work have come to such a satisfying fruition, will wrap things up perfectly.

Happy Mother's Day!