One Bright Corner

Roses Are Red

2012-01-27T08:04:00.000-08:00

Every Valentine's Day for the past 10 or more years, a beautiful bouquet of red roses has been handed to me by my Valentine--my Papa. When I was younger, I used to proudly declare to friends, "My boyfriend gave me these roses!" and then hasten to explain away their confusion. I thought I was so cute!

It's not quite time for the Valentine roses yet, but I have already exchanged Valentines with this man who has my heart. It all started when, several weeks ago, Tiffany announced she was doing a giveaway of three essential oils. All you had to do was write a Valentine's poem that began with "Roses are red" and then passionately beg, borrow, or steal the most votes for your poem. This was an interesting idea, but I wasn't really inspired at first. After all, I'm a single girl, not in a relationship, so what could I write about Valentine's Day?

And then it hit me.

Roses are red,

The sky is blue.

Daddy,will you be my Valentine?

I'm keeping my heart with you.

I sent it in and e-mailed the link off to Papa so he could vote. When he arrived home that evening, he smiled, hugged me, and said that since I wrote a poem, he had to write one back to me. With anticipation, I hurried up to my computer. I vaguely remembered Mama saying that Papa had written her beautiful love poems before they were married, but I was not prepared for what I found embedded in his vote:

Roses arered, an elegant hue,
Graceful, exquisite, just like you!

Beauty and radiance, reflecting the Son,
Growing in Christ, ‘til the day is done.

I cherish the rose, I water and feed,
I turn up the soil, meet every need.

Prune the dry limbs, repair the fence,
Enjoy the beauty and the pleasance.

The Master Gardner will bring a new vine,
For you are His own, you’re really not mine.

Engraft your heart, the new vine will nourish,
Your delicate bloom will continue to flourish.

But until then, I’ll cherish your heart,
Guarding it always, we’ll never part.

Yes, I cried. I just went to a funeral where a daughter had to sing to her Daddy in Heaven, so I cried. I've seen too many daughters whose Daddies don't cherish them, water them, feed them, or prune them, so I cried because I am so blessed with such a godly father. I realized that this stage in life in my father's house won't last forever, so I cried. My Valentine's Day came early this year, and that's just fine with me!

If you are interested in voting for this father-daughter duo (which is currently not in the lead), then head over here and cast your vote for #1. The votes must be in before Friday is over!

Called to Deny

2012-01-24T08:14:00.000-08:00

Photo Credit

“’For Christians, every day we're called to a life of biblical self-denial,’ [Alan Chambers] says. ‘We take up our cross and follow Christ, and we deny what comes naturally.’ But he says denial isn't without reward: ‘Those who reject the concept of self-denial haven't reaped the joys that come with it.’

“Self-denial isn't a new concept to Chambers. The 39-year-old president of Exodus International—a Christian ministry that helps people struggling with homosexuality—grew up in a Christian home but embraced homosexuality as a teenager. But through years of an active gay lifestyle, Chambers couldn't shake the biblical conviction that what came naturally to him was also sinful. He didn't want to be gay[1].”

Whether you call yourself a Christian or merely a “good citizen” with moral standards and codes of ethics, you choose to deny yourself every day. You deny yourself the the wish for those luxuriously supple leather shoes because you cannot afford them and you will not steal. You deny yourself the temptation to eat the last slice of double-layered chocolate fudge cake because you know your daughter will want a piece when she gets home. You avoid those friends with wrong influences, refrain from illegal drugs, and don’t pull a gun on the woman who cut in line—all because you believe in right and wrong to some extent or another.

And whether you like to admit it or not, your moral code is inextricably based on God’s moral code—His standard of absolute right and wrong laid out in Scripture and imprinted upon our conscience (see Exodus 20). For denying ourselves is not evil—it is good, and something which everyone but sociopaths and psychotics have come to terms with in one way or another. Christians, however, are called to habitually deny themselves, not because they believe themselves to be good, but because they recognize their own sin natures and rely upon the strength of God to live blameless and harmless in the world.

Although there are many moral battles for this generation, the truly current moral battle is that of homosexuality. 2011 was the first year that a majority (53%) of Americans stated that they believed homosexual marriage should be recognized by law[2]. 56% of Americans now believe that homosexuality is morally acceptable, a number which has steadily grown since the 2001 number of 40%[3]. On our watch, we have played the audience to the runaway success of homosexuality, debuting as "morality" and receiving widespread acclaim from critics.

Homosexuality, however, is morally wrong. God, through His Word, has declared it to be such. "Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived. Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners will inherit the kingdom of God (I Corinthians 6:9-10)." Homosexuals are not created differently and then unjustly turned on their head by a god who has a personal vendetta against their orientation. No, they are created in the image and likeness of God, just as I am, and they are born with a virulent sin nature, just as I am. They must deny their sin nature each and every day, just as I must, and they should be treated with the same compassion and support as I am by those who keep me accountable. Homosexuality is no different than theft, addiction, libel, bribes, or adultery--except that many of these sins are still deemed immoral and illegal by those around us.

If you are a Christian, then recognize God’s Word for what it says, and hold up that standard of Truth with love and mercy. Defend morality against the onslaught of media, politics, and liberal churches. Do not base your definition of morality upon the whims of culture, but upon the unchanging and infallible God of the universe. Stand upon God’s Word and act now: for future generations. 2012 is a year of crisis, a determining factor in this millenial battle of good versus evil. Furthermore, if you live in Washington State, you have a special task for today.

A bill (Senate Bill 6239 and House Bill 2516) is making its way to the House and Senate floors which would cause “Washington [to] join New York, Connecticut, Iowa, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont and the District of Columbia in legalizing gay marriage. The state has had a domestic partnership law since 2007, and an ‘everything but marriage’ law since 2009[4].”

People line up outside an overflow room for a
Senate committee hearing on SB6239 that would legalize
same-sex marriage, Monday, Jan. 23, 2012, at the Capitol
in Olympia, Wash. (AP Photo/Ted S. Warren)

One of the variations of the bill being considered would even require couples (whether straight or gay) to take each other as "spouses" instead of as "man and wife" in marriage[5]. The bill would also add a discrimination section to the Washington Marriage Code, raising the potential for future litigation of “discriminators”[6].

The liberal sponser of the bill, Rep. Jamie Pederson, D-Seattle was exhorting his supporters, but what he said has much relevance to the Christians as well: "I want to re-emphasize that we fully expect that this issue is going to end up on the ballot. People should not be complacent [7].”

Washington State needs your prayers and your action. Please use this simple form below to email your senator and representatives. And please proclaim morality in 2012.

Photo Credit: Chris Moncus. Used by permission.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[1] Dean, Jamie. "2011 Daniel of the Year: Alan Chambers: Change We Can Believe In." World 17 Dec. 2011. http://www.worldmag.com/articles/18908.

[2] Newport, Frank. "For First Time, Majority of Americans Favor Legal Gay Marriage: Republicans and Older Americans Remain Opposed." Gallup Politics. Gallup, Inc, 20 May 2011. http://www.gallup.com/poll/147662/First-Time-Majority-Americans-Favor-Legal-Gay-Marriage.aspx

[3] Jones, Jeffrey M. "Support for Legal Gay Relations Hits New High." Gallup Politics. Gallup, Inc., 25 May 2011. http://www.gallup.com/poll/147785/Support-Legal-Gay-Relations-Hits-New-High.aspx.

[4] Corte, Rachel La. "Washington Has Enough Votes to Legalize Gay Marriage." The Associated Press. The Associated Press, 23 Jan. 2012. http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/U/US_XGR_GAY_MARRIAGE?SITE=NCAGW.

[5] Faust, Rebecca. "Family Policy Institute of Washington - Washington’s Voice for Families - Senate Committee Will Consider Substitute Bill." Family Policy Institute of Washington. Family Policy Institute of Washington, 22 Jan. 2012. http://www.fpiw.org/about/family-policy-blog/senate-committee-will-consider-substitute-bill.html.

[6] Fuiten, Joe. "Pastors, Are You Ready for a Gay Wedding in Your Sanctuary?" Family Policy Institute of Washington. Family Policy Institute of Washington, 17 Jan. 2012. http://www.fpiw.org/about/family-policy-blog/pastors,-are-you-ready-for-a-gay-wedding-in-your-sanctuary.html.

[7] Corte, Rachel La. "Washington Has Enough Votes to Legalize Gay Marriage." The Associated Press. The Associated Press, 23 Jan. 2012. http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/U/US_XGR_GAY_MARRIAGE?SITE=NCAGW.

Fount of Fonts: A Fairy Tale

2012-01-20T10:49:00.000-08:00

Photo Credit

Once upon a time, there was a village wherein every person had one day beengiven a special gift. When anyinhabitant of this place spoke, their words floated through the air as lettersfrom a book, and they could be seen as they were spoken. You could seetongues lashing their words to the timeline of history. This gift had its benefits. For one thing, it made the question, “Whatdid you say?” quite archaic, as everyone’s words trailed out behind themendlessly and it was easy to read a sentence your ears missed. But as you can imagine, therewere also difficulties.

The inhabitants of the town could watch the TimesNew Roman shoot from a boy's lips, all angles, and embed in his sister’sheart. They could see feeble diplomatictruisms fade as soon as they appeared, like a double rainbow in a noon sky. These gifted citizens could watch someone’slips moving, but see issuing out only transparent letters faintly outlined inblack: empty and hypocritical. In thisvillage, a person could voice whatever he wanted, but the truth would be revealedin the form taken by the letters sliding into the atmosphere. For once, the euphemism “white lie” actuallyheld true, for deceitful words were as colorless as hypocritical ones. Furthermore, there would be no doubt as towhether a person was angry (red words), depressed (blue), or sarcastic(orange).

The good people of this city have a curious comprehension ofthe volume of their words. The storygoes that the mouth of one young miss was never quiet. On that bewildering day when the people wokeup with the gift of seeing their words pour out in front of them like warmbreath on a December day, this miss was cured of her gabbiness. Wherever she went on that day, her tonguewagging, she was spinning a mile long train of letters which grew to be such aweight that she could hardly drag them behind her. Furthermore, the other inhabitants of thetown either cackled uproariously at her embarassingly long train of words orskittered away, amply warned of her active tongue. She soon learned listening was better than littering the ground behind her with words.

Another vice was demolished that day as well—gossip. The ladies of the town used to indulge in achat about all the other people in the town like some people indulge inchocolate. It only took a week or sobefore one of these ladies turned around from her chat and greeted the one she had beengossiping about—who could easily see the snarky sentences the woman had justbeen speaking spelled out in front of her. If you had to drag thosecaustic words around behind you all day, you would think twice before speakingthem, too. The fact that they werewhispered in secret only served to italicize them, not to hide them fromthe public eye.

But words of praise were all the more sweet and prevalentbecause they were displayed all the day long. Words of repentance challenged every other person who saw them to clearup clouds in their own lives. Words oflove let everyone know who was important to each person.

This gift simply appeared on that sunny June morning, andone gray Monday five years later, it just as suddenly disappeared. The first early bird awoke, stretched, andwhispered “Good morning” to his wife, then suddenly grabbed at his mouth. He tried again, and the words sounded, but nowords flowed from his mouth. He shookhis wife awake in desperation, and she grumbled, “What is it?” before her eyes widened and she realized that the gift was gone.

The whole town was abuzz with the loss of their gift, andthey poured out of their doors, milling around in the town square and mourning together as if their sole source of livelihood had been destroyed. The young miss who had previously been agabber tentatively began to gab again, now that no one could see her wordsdragging her down. The gossips began tospeculate about who could be to blame, and nearly everyone forgot to praisetheir loved ones. The confusion was onlygrowing, and some citizens were plotting desperate action to recover theirgift.

Suddenly, a young man leapt atop a chicken crate, filled hismouth with his fingers, and whistled ear-piercingly. The whistle slammed against the rumbling of the townspeople, shocked silence billowed, andthe young man cleared his throat.

“Good people! I hailfrom yonder village, and my grandfather here has a tale he wishes to tell youof! Give him heed!”

The young man helped up an aged man with a silvery pointedbeard, who opened his mouth and spoke with a great deep voice. He needed no words floating in the air to communicate.

“When I was but a boy, I heard my father tell the story of amysterious gift that had been bestowed on our village when he had been but ayoungster. This gift, I now know, was the same oneyou have enjoyed for the past years, and like yours, it too disappeared after fiveyears. Was it all just fantasy, myfather said his townspeople asked? Nay, he said, andI agree. True, your words now do notincarnate themselves in visual form, but all the ramifications of speechembodied in visible symbols still hold true. Do shots from our lips not pain our loved ones as truly as a bloodystab? Do meaningless niceties not getdevoured by true, courageous statements? Does not gossip somehow spread like food poisoning at a picnic…almost asif you trailed the words behind you?

“Hear me when I say to you that even though you may nolonger be able to discern the true motive behind every word others speak to you,God still can. Furthermore, He sees ourwords as deeply as if we could see them flowing from our mouths, a fount offonts. And His sight is far more important than ours.”

The old man stepped down, and the young man grasped his grandfather's elbow as the old man hobbled away. The townspeoplewere silenced, and then, in that silence, they began to look at each other andsmile. The gift was not all gone, then,and they lived that day and every day afterwards as if the gift was still intheir possession. And not a happier ormore prosperous town existed in the entire land.

“But I say to you that for every idle word men may speak,they will give account of it in the day of judgment.” -Matthew 12:36

How It Came to Be

2012-01-17T08:52:00.000-08:00

"Sorry, we're sold out," the lady in the glass hexagon told us. Lauren and I both stared at her, hoping that the longer we stood there, the greater our chances that the answer would change. Finally, we turned away and stood under the marquee, murmuring about our options.

"I'll go inside," Lauren decided, "and see if they have any tickets there."

"Okay?" I answered, highly skeptical that the inside ticket sellers would be hoarding tickets when the outside ones were empty handed and apparently oblivious. "I'll stand out here and look pathetic."

Joshua Bell is one of the great violinists of our time--do not be deceived by his disarmingly youthful good looks. He is forty-four and has been a serious violinist since the age of twelve, having now recorded over two dozen albums, in addition to movie soundtracks, received the prestigious Avery Fisher prize, and been appointed Music Director at my favorite orchestra, the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields. So one might imagine the ecstasy of Lauren and I on our sweltering August birthday last year when our parents and siblings gave us each a ticket to experience Joshua Bell playing the Shostakovitch Violin Concerto (changed in the last month to the Brahms Violin Concerto) with the Oregon Symphony.

Snow was the last thing on our minds.

Nevertheless, as the monthly countdown melted into a weekly countdown and then into days, the weather report obstinately insisted that snow was predicted for the Northwest. We were all nerves, anxiously hoping our special day would not be snowed out. Sure enough, Sunday dawned cold and white, and though we made it to church safely, Mama was decidedly uncomfortable with the thought of Lauren and I driving to Portland on our own. At this point, our dear Papa volunteered to take us, reluctantly deciding that he could spring for a $45 ticket (the cheapest available at this late date).

Through relatively excellent road conditions we drove, making it to the beautiful Arlene Schnitzer concert hall in downtown Portland, where Papa dropped us off to investigate tickets while he began the arduous task of locating a parking spot. And yet, we were immediately informed of this terrible news that there were no more tickets available. I felt glum and melancholy as I stood outside the Hall, knowing that Papa would cheerfully brush off the fact that he had taken the long trip to bring his daughters to Portland, only to sit in the car or a coffee shop for 2 1/2 hours waiting to drive them home.

I turned to look at the entrance, watching people flood the doors with white and orange tickets clutched in their gloved hands. I didn't have to worry about looking pathetic--it came quite naturally. A coupled moved in front of me, blocking my view.

The man held up his ticket in the air. "I have an extra ticket," he began loudly. I was right there, and I jumped and exclaimed, "Yes!" I had been lost in my own world, not thinking about him, not preparing to pounce. But in the split second after I had reacted, two men behind the ticket benefactor also jumped forward to claim the ticket. Truly, the Spirit had prepared and prompted me, for I was now the rightful possessor of one $62 ticket, gratefully pouring out my thanks to the couple and explaining the situation.

I pulled Lauren out of line, and we jumped around gleefully, waiting for Papa to walk up so we could pretend we had spent $62 of his money on a ticket. The concert, which included not only Joshua Bell and his own genius cadenza, but also Handel's Music for the Royal Fireworks, and two Oregon Symphony premieres, one a Baroque piece--The Battle--by Adriano Banchieri, and the other a gorgeous Sinfonietta by Leos Janacek, was breathtaking. Joshua Bell was astounding. Meeting Joshua Bell was exhilarating. And going out to coffee afterwards with Papa was delightful.

Yesterday, as Lauren and I rested in the snow from our sledding endeavors with the kids, she asked, "Did you think why God sent snow?"

I paused, blank faced, thinking about the allegories of snow and purity and the wonderful application snow can have on our spiritual lives. But as Lauren explained, I realized what she meant. We bemoaned the snow and worried about its coming all week, hoping and praying the God would keep it at bay so we could attend our much-anticipated concert. God, however, had a much more magnificent plan in store for us. Even as Papa agreed to come, wondering where $45 would fit in the budget, God had it all worked out. And then, when the ticket lady told us they were all sold out--that was God's providence too.

Lauren showed me this passage that had come to her mind about Sunday:

"By the breath of God ice is given,
And the broad waters are frozen.

Also with moisture He saturates the thick clouds;
He scatters His bright clouds.

And they swirl about, being turned by His guidance,
That they may do whatever He commands them
On the face of the whole earth.

He causes it to come,
      Whether for correction,
      Or for His land,
      Or for mercy.

'Listen to this, O Job;
Stand still and consider the wondrous works of God.'"

~Job 37:10-14

Such a small thing really, but oh so precious to me. I rest confidently in my God, knowing that each turn of events in my life are for my good and God's glory.

Telephone Call to Discernment

2012-01-13T11:12:00.000-08:00

Photo Credit

The phone shrilled, percussive in the backdrop of anordinary evening. I answered it.

“Hey, Lauren, remember me?” For a moment, I couldn’t say that I did, and then she prompted me withher name: “It’s Sophie.”

Oh yes. And Iremembered.

I met Sophie on a very long one day skiing trip with siblings, Papa, andtwo good friends. Along for the ride wasa group of young people I didn’t know from a local church, including Sophie whohad, in some sense of the word, charisma.

As soon as I met Sophie and she offered a glimmering, “It’sgreat to meet you!” I wanted to be her friend. The whole vehicle laughed at her well-timed quips—she was hilarious, andI began to keenly feel my own lack of wit. Somehow, even with her thick ski pants and coat, she managed to lookwonderful—she was cute, and I suddenly despised my Michelin-man-styleoutfit. She used words that had neverhad a niche in my vocabulary before—words like the hazy if not endearingadjective “gnarly.” She was an oldergirl, and I felt young and unsophisticated next to her, but not becauseSophie looked down on me. I was engulfed in my own fear of man: my desire to have Sophie think well of me.

Even while she made me laugh and engaged me in conversation,however, I began to observe her actions and demeanor, and I began to notice things that made me decidedly uncomfortable. I wavered between loving her and being confused by some of her standards. Then, at one point in the day we were discussing skiing and, asif she were opening her arm to let me into her circle, she offered to letMikaela and I know when she and her friends were next going skiing so we could go withthem. We exchanged phone numbers because I did very much want to go, yet there was still that same uncomfortable feeling in my heart. I was inexplicably enamored with this girl, and therein lay my danger, for any friendship that begins with caring more about the other person's good opinion than God's is doomed.

I am certain that I am not the only one who has wrestled,discernment against desire, with how close a relationship you can have with aperson who knows God and claims Him as her Savior, yet has areas of carelessness in her life. How close can you get to someone whose charismaand likeability is magnetizing without her standards and worldliness becomingmagnetizing as well? This is not aboutdiscipling or seeking for opportunities to minister in the context of familyor giving a friendly greeting when you see the person: this is about a relationship. For even in “hanging out,” a relationship is being developed in which you rub off on the other person and she rubs off on you.

How close do you want to get? How much like that person does God want you to be?

Malachi 3:17-18 says,

“‘They shall be Mine,’ says the LORD of hosts, On the daythat I make them My jewels. And I willspare them As a man spares his own son who serves him.’ Then you shall again discern Between therighteous and the wicked, Between one who serves God And one who does not serveHim.”

That telephone ring was a call to discernment for me. A call to discern between me serving God or man. A call to choose my friends with the utmostcare. A call to remind me that I am the Lord's jewel, not someone who needs to fear what others think about me.

Yes, I remembered Sophie as I talked to her on the phone, and I loved her, prayed forher, and secreted no illusions that I was more righteous than her—it was my ownweakness that had got me into this dilemma in the first place! But I also knew what God wanted me to saywhen she invited Mikaela and I to go skiing with her. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

If Everybody Did

2012-01-10T08:02:00.000-08:00

What if everybody was late?

What if everybody wore sweats?

What if everybody frowned in the grocery store?

What if everybody let their dogs bark?

What if everybody forgot to vote?

What if everybody yelled at customer service representatives?

What if everybody watched TV?

What if everybody sided with the majority?

What if everybody was a musician?

What if everybody grew gardens?

What if everybody opened doors for each other?

What if everybody had a Bible in their language?

What if everybody drove two miles under the speed limit?

What if everybody was fearless?

What if everybody read books?

What if everybody wore pink?

What if everybody was like me?

Would the world be better or worse?

Inspired by the classic children's tale If Everybody Did

Picture 1
Picture 2
Picture 3
Picture 4
Picture 5
Picture 6
Picture 7
Picture 8

Used by permission

An Enchanting Evening

2012-01-06T15:49:00.000-08:00

The evening of January 1st, 2012 my family donned beautiful gowns, pulled on white gloves, tied cravats, curled ringlets, glanced in the mirror one last time, then drove an hour, our dark car stifling with anticipation. We were going to a ball!

The ball consisted of English Country Dancing, such as you might see on Pride and Prejudice. This young man, one of the host family members, called the dances for us.

Sarah...the lovely hostess and inspiration behind the event!

l-r: Joshua, Micah, Jonah, Zachary

As we entered the room filled with over fifty people and shed our cloaks, we noticed handsome young men whose toes were tapping in readiness to dance...

l-r: Susanna, Mikaela, Rachel

As well as handsome young women whose tongues were filled with greetings!

For the first dance, "Hole in the Wall", fathers lined up on one side and the eldest daughters lined up on the other. I had so much fun dancing with my Daddy! In this photo, Melanie is getting prepared to dance the Duke of Kent's Waltz with Papa.

Brothers danced with sisters, fathers with daughters, mothers with sons, husbands with wives, girlfriends with girlfriends, and here I am dancing with an adorable little princess!

After several hours of stepping to the music, it was time for dinner! We ate...

...and cuddled babies...

...and talked, of course! I wish I could remember what I was saying at this juncture!

We couldn't help but dance some more then!

Here I am dancing with the dashing Caleb (the tinest suit in this photo!), a charming young man who loved to dance and asked all the older girls to be his partners!

l-r: myself, Sarah, and Mikaela

Wonderful friends, and don't they look gorgeous in their outfits?

Our family

Gentle music, sincere laughter, breathless excitement, kindred spirits, beautiful dresses--outside it was chilly and dark, but inside we were having an unforgettable, in fact, enchanting evening.

It's a Family Trait

2012-01-03T12:15:00.000-08:00

I remember my blissful ignorance as a girl--never realizing my teeth stuck out into the next state until I got braces, or that I had undereye circles the color of plums until a woman asked in concern if I had slept the night before. And, suddenly, right around the time the acne hit, so did my self-awareness. Where before, all I needed to feel pretty was braids and a Daisy Kingdom dress, now I realized the world's definition of pretty, and I thought that my fat eyelids and red skin could never measure up.

Sadly, I have a hunch that I am not alone in this never-ending comparison game. Despite our best efforts, and the best proverbs ("Beauty is as beauty does," "Favor is deceitful and beauty is vain,"), we still find the opportunity to bemoan our worst faults before the mirror regularly. Yet, this beauty I spend so much energy worrying about is only passing: "When with rebukes You correct man for iniquity, You make his beauty melt away like a moth; Surely every man is vapor. Selah (Psalm 39:11)."

Of course, I know--and I hope that you know--that I find my worth not in my outward appearance but in my standing as a redeemed child of God. I have something much more important than outward beauty with which to concern myself--I have a soul, once black and ugly, now made new and beautiful, bought with the very dear price of the life of my Savior.

I also know that God created me. Created me the way I am with exactly the features I have for His purposes. I remember as a child spending the day with my great-grandma, the mother of my grandmother and Mama's mother, who died before I ever met her. Great-Grandma looked at Lauren and I searchingly that day and said, "Your eyes are exactly like your grandmother's--hazel and green, changing in the light."

Photo Credit

The very next opportunity I had to go to the bathroom, I did--and I stared hard at my eyes, not admiring any perceived beauty, but trying to imagine them as Grandma's eyes and what she must have looked like in person. I felt oh-so-proud to have Grandma's eyes after that. Never again did I wish for the blue eyes of my favorite heroines.

And then, there was the time a few months ago, where Papa made a passing comment about how I had the deep-set eyes of my Bobcha. These "deep-set eyes" have been the bane of my existence, but the minute he told me that, I knew he was right--I could already picture the very same feature on the face of my beloved great-grandmother (Papa's grandma).

This new year and always, I hope that you too will look at yourself searchingly and find those features which make you you but which also have been passed down through the family. Be blessed by the preciousness of sharing something in common with those whom you love so much. Then, remember that this is insignificant and generally unimportant: "Do not let your adornment be merely outward—arranging the hair, wearing gold, or putting on fine apparel— rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God (I Peter 3:3-4)."

Take the time, after that exercise, to engage in something eternally significant and vital: look at your soul and heart searchingly. If you have not been redeemed by Jesus Christ, then you will find nothing beautiful or Godly there, and you must hasten to the cross to receive the gift of salvation and be covered by the blood of Christ. Be grieved at the sin and ugliness you still find and plead with God to eradicate those features carved into your being, but also rejoice, if you are saved, at the similarities between you and your Heavenly Father and how the Spirit is continually conforming you to the image of God!

"But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord." ~II Corinthians 3:18

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson,
Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Photo Credit: She Hit Pause Studios

The Year In Verse

2011-12-30T09:25:00.000-08:00

Back: Mama and Melanie
Center: Susanna, Lauren, Mikaela
Front: Micah, Jonah, Papa
Taken on San Juan Island this summer

2011 was a year ofmuch growth.

It began with February’s celebration:

Mom and Dad’s twenty-seventh anniversary,

Which they spent at the beach in great jubilation!

Our church family camp was a highlight of July.

We tented at Lake Loomis in both rain and shine,

Nonetheless, we laughed hard and played long in the night,

And learned of families and God’s perfect design.

Soon after, we took a road trip to Idaho

For Christmas in July with Papa’s family.

From alka seltzer and soda-swallowing games

To chatting, the day was full of festivity!

August brought adventure Susanna, fourteen, planned.

The Olympic Forest was our lush camping ground,

This time without any rain, so we made mem’ries

And hiked several ridges Susanna had found.

When poor Jonah endured over twenty bee stings

He won the badge of bravery for that long hike,

And he found the balmy bee-less Sol Duc hot springs

Much more hospitable with much much more to like!

We finished the trip with a lovely ferry ride

Debarking at Friday Harbor, San Juan Island.

We soaked up lavender farms, historical sights,

And the ocean’s beauty created by God’s hand.

In October, Melanie was the leader of

The kid’s program for a creation conference.

Painting lizards, creating huts, teaching lessons—

Helping was quite a wonderful experience.

This year found Papa travelling to Canada

Then for a week to North Carolina for work,

(Where he squeezed in touring Kitty Hawk and Roanoke)

He continues to lead as an elder at church.

Mama produced an amazing garden bounty,

And is Homemaker Extraordinairre for us all!

She and Melanie have been gluten free this year;

Their gluten-free baking is quite delectable!

Last week Mama went in for major surgery

Which will, Lord willing, once she heals up, do away

With pain she has been experiencing since June,

We are grateful if you would join with us and pray!

Mikaela and I travelled to Utahin June

With friend Sarah for violin teacher training

And since September have been enjoying taking

Charge of our three youngest siblings in homeschooling.

We still teach music and play in the symphony.

Blogging is another thing that we delight in.

We continue working on our college degree,

And, praise the Lord, we are both nearing completion!

Melanie graduated from high school in June,

And she has also obtained her driver’s permit.

A Bible and Science degree takes up her time,

But her love for piano she does not forget!

Anna excels at violin and piano,

And her schedule is filled with school, babysitting,

Helping mothers at church, passing me up in height

And thrilling us with culinary creating.

Micah is twelve, and he is industrious at

Beating me by a long shot when we go jogging,

Mastering the cello, getting smarter each day

And memorizing the book of Titus since spring.

This is Jonah’s final year in single digits;

He’s our encourager, making us laugh each day!

He plays the violin, herds our zoo of creatures,

And cuddles our three cute orange kitties in play.

It has been a satisfying and fruitful year,

Not all easy, but God’s grace has been sufficient,

And we pray that that grace will surround you and

Your Christmas and New Year will be magnificent!

A Traditional Christmas

2011-12-27T13:40:00.000-08:00

We had a wonderful wet Christmas this year, and were so thankful that Mama was strong enough to enjoy it with us (albeit from the couch). As many of our friends and family struggled with physical problems this Christmas, some even facing the possibility of death, Lauren reminded me that this is what a "Merry Christmas" is all about--Jesus coming to earth as a Babe to save us from this curse of sin we are hopelessly entangled in. Sickness, pain, toil, and death are our lot because of our sin, but Jesus brought Light, love, hope, and Life to all who will accept it this Christmas season! We rejoice because of this blessed hope within us.

Left to Right: Melanie, Lauren, Susanna, Mikaela holding Micah, with Jonah underneath.

After our traditional candlelight Christmas Eve service at church, and energized by our traditional fondue meal, we posed in our traditional pose with the new pajamas we traditionally open on Christmas Eve. (Phew! Who knew there could be so many traditions in one night and in one sentence?) We always pick a different victim...er...person to carry in the picture.

"You won't drop me, right?" Micah asked, somewhat skeptical of the muscular power of his four sisters and little brother.

"Oh no, Micah--we would never drop you!"

After dreaming of sugar plums, we went to church on Christmas morn, where the final candle was lit on the Advent wreath, and the children of the church (below) shared a special rendition of "Who is He in Yonder Stall?" Papa preached the message that morning, expounding on the divinity of Christ, and God's revelation through Him. It was a wonderful time to redirect our focus once again to the point of all our Yuletide celebrations.

When we got home, we opened presents. We siblings always draw names, and it's so much fun to brainstorm and give these special gifts. In the top left corner, Lauren and I pose with the dress I had just given Lauren. Top center, Susanna hugs a soundtrack Melanie had just given her. And in the bottom right corner, Micah shows off the Regency-era vest Lauren made for him (the use of which will be revealed in two weeks' time). Other highlights included the gorgeous tie Melanie made for Papa, the beautiful rings Mama and Papa gave to Lauren and I, the t-shirt bearing Jonah's absolute favorite soda (Orange Crush), the monkey slippers Jonah gave Mama, and the leather hat all the kids gave Papa.

Lauren and I introduced a recipe we had tried only once before to the Christmas feast--roasted cauliflower. By the looks of the dish, everyone approved! It was very delicious, and I highly recommend it.

ROASTED CAULIFLOWER with Garlic & Pine Nuts
Serves 10
2 heads garlic, separate into cloves but do not peel
4 large cauliflower, cut into florets (not too small)
12 Tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

After baking:
1/4 cup olive oil
3/4 cup parsley, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
black pepper, to taste
12 Tablespoons pine nuts, toasted
1/2 cup lemon juice

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
2. Bring a water to boil in small pan. Using a strainer, add unpeeled garlic cloves. Boil for 15 seconds. Drain and peel.
3. On rimmed cookie sheet, toss cauliflower with garlic cloves, olive oil, and black pepper. Bake until tender for 25 to 30 minutes, stirring twice. Spoon into bowl.4. Mix together: olive oil, parsley, kosher salt, black pepper, toasted pine nuts, and lemon juice. Toss with roasted cauliflower/garlic mixture.

Our Great Aunt Bev and a dear family from church joined us for Christmas dinner, and we supped on ham, cheesy potatoes, spinach cranberry salad, homemade foccacia bread, roasted cauliflower and tiramisu, almond cake, and Hershey peanut butter pie for dessert.

It was such a blessing to be together with family and friends and to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior. What special traditions do you have for Christmas? I'd love to know!

With Love From Your Great-Great-Great Grandmother

2011-12-23T11:13:00.000-08:00

I hold in my hands a part of the past. A scrapbook, the tale of Elmira Meadows' life. One page brings uproarious laughter, but the next draws tears. There is a newspaper clipping from when Teddy Roosevelt was president (1901), a report of the casualties of the Spanish American war in 1898, obituaries from 1894, and, towards the end, something from 1929. Elmira passed this precious book down to her daughter, Edna, who passed it down to my Great Grandmother, Irene.

My treasure trove is not all black and white, as my Great-Great-Great Grandmother filled the pages with carefully cut Victorian flowers, emblems, and stamps. Above, the first page, gives instructions for a superior scrap-book paste made of cornstarch and water. "It is said to be the kind used by all daguerreotypists on gem pictures." The right page contains the announcement of Elmira's wedding to Mr. Jesse O. Meadows in Wallowa County, Oregon. It thrills me to imagine their quiet romance and the hard but sweet life they led!

Only the next page over, though, I feel her tears as obituaries tell first of her parents' deaths, and then of her beloved husband's. "He leaves a wife and five small children to mourn his loss" the obituary says. It also adds, "The family were unable to attend the funeral on account of being under quarantine for scarlet fever."

She still knew how to laugh however, as she carefully pasted in a column of small town news.

"Mr. Tracy Whittaker, of Pearisburg High School, came home to spend the holidays, but after wearing out several telephones in trying to talk to his best girl in Pearisburg, he decided that it was cheaper to stay in that place and returned several days ago.
"Mr. C.L. Eaton added much improvement to his already good looks by getting a new hair cut last week." This is attributed to "Tootsy Wootsy." (-:

Another clipping reflected on the things that have happened on Fridays. "Lee surrendered on Friday. Moscow was burned on Friday. Washington was born on Friday. Shakespeare was born on Friday. America was discovered on Friday. Lauren posts on her blog on Friday." (Whoops! How did that last one get in there?)

The pages are stiff, thick, and yellow. They report Mrs. Grover Cleveland's taste in dress, and the fact that the "whitest, worst looking hair, resumes its youthful beauty and softness by using Hall's Vegetable Sicilian Hair Renewer." A quote informs us that "a steel thimble is as good as a gold one for a girl who cannot darn her own stockings" while another article deviously lays out tricks to play on Grandpa.

One yellowed page informs about the reprehensible tradition of throwing rice at brides, and it speculates that the "next device will probably be a rice shower, arranged on the principles of stage rain." As I flipped through the pages, an article entitled "Being a Good Sister" caught my eye and my heart. It urges that "it takes brains, heart, conscience, womanhood, to be a good sister....There is no nobler missionary work on this planet than to give [your brother] at least a good sister. You can make no grander contribution to the world's treasure....Every time you add to your worthiness or independence, you add to the capital of the race and the quality of your future."

It is only a book, yes, but from it I learn of this woman who braved the rough life of the West over one hundred years ago. From the clippings she saved, I learn that she was a noble woman and a true follower of Christ.

I am favored with a glimpse into the life of this woman whom I would otherwise know nothing about, and I can't help but wonder if she looked into the future. I can't help but wonder if, as she rocked in front of her fire one cool night or helped her husband on their land one sunny day, she thought about her great-great-great grandchildren.
I do.

This is a reposted article from 2009. Especially at this time of year, I love dwelling on and thanking God for the heritage of family He has given me. I wish you all a Merry and Blessed Christmas!

Grandpa Grass

2011-12-20T10:36:00.000-08:00

A favorite pastime of Grandpa Grass and mine was to peruse his many photo albums. Early on, he would hold the book robustly, lingering on each picture and soliloquizing about every detail in each picture. I would look at the sepia photograph of a handsome, vibrant young man in uniform with his beautiful young bride, and then I would look at the elderly man next to me—the very same man. Unless he was in bed, he was always impeccably dressed with manners to match: careful introductions, walking me to the door, and wanting to provide snacks or drinks. I could look at that picture of his younger self, attending university in Germany and forced to fight for the Nazis, and I recognized him in this ninety year-old man before me—still debonair and gentlemanly with clear blue eyes.

What an incredible man he was. I marvelled at the stories he would tell me—born in Argentina to German parents, moved to the United States in his childhood where he excelled musically and even got a chance to sing with the Metropolitan Opera when they traveled to Detroit. Even as a soldier, caught on the wrong side of the battle, he managed to make the best out of a terrible situation, marrying a girl he had first met in the US, and surviving the war with a wound to his leg that would plague him for the rest of his life. Eventually, he made it back to the US with his family, where he worked and raised his three children. In his retirement years, he and Grandma Grass travelled to an astounding number of places.

He began to curtail the stories to accompany the photos, however. The first time he told me of his mother, ironing in South America with an oil-powered iron (only to have it explode and burn her badly) it was a long, dramatic tale. But the second and third times it was reprised, the story was abridged. This year, at 91, he was in constant pain. He would look at Lauren and me with weariness in his crystal blue eyes and say, “Never, never get this old.”

He could still remember his German, Spanish, and English, and he always amended Lauren and my pronunciations of the great German composers when we played something for him. Eventually, the hands that held the photo albums grew weaker, so that I now turned the pages while he remembered the stories about his two sisters, gone before him, his wife gone to heaven in June, and countless other friends and relatives.

Through the pain, there was also delight and joy with him. He was always a gallant host when I came to visit, and I remember one time where he insisted on painstakingly setting the table, layering a napkin, then a bowl, then a Ferrero Rocher candy, with a fork and a goblet of juice next to it. Once, as he was sick and nauseated, a nurse tried to give him some water. “Do you have anything stronger?” He asked, and I thought I could still see the capricious twinkle in his eye through the sickness.

Mikaela and Grandpa Grass

But this week, his body surrendered to the wear and tear of 91 ½ years. And as Lauren and I visited him on Saturday for what we knew would be the final time, I had to turn away for a moment to compose myself from the shock of seeing him so deteriorated. With tears streaming down my face, I knelt down and looked one last time into his beautiful, lucent eyes. He couldn’t say anything, but neither could I, so we were a pair, just looking at each other and saying good-bye. Finally, I managed to thank him for all the times of music and games and pictures. I couldn’t thank him for his love, for his time, and for being Grandpa, but he knew. And after awhile, I gave him a kiss, squeezed his hand, and said good-bye—for now. On Sunday afternoon, he slipped away to Jesus. I am elated for him, and so selfishly heartbroken for myself.

On the night of his death, as I read the next chapters in my quiet time, God providentially ordained that I should read Isaiah 25 and find these words of promise:

     "He will swallow up death forever,
      And the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from all faces;
      The rebuke of His people
      He will take away from all the earth;
      For the LORD has spoken.
       And it will be said in that day:
      'Behold, this is our God;
      We have waited for Him, and He will save us.
      This is the LORD;
      We have waited for Him;
      We will be glad and rejoice in His salvation.'"

~ Isaiah 25:8-9

Grandpa Grass taught me many important lessons—about history, culture, and music, but also about raising a family, loving God, and aging. And though we were not related by blood—though I did not know him as long or as intimately as his family, yet I am so grateful that he was the great-grandfather I never had. I am so blessed to have known him and I yearn for the day when we will reunite for eternity.

Privileged Reinforcements

2011-12-16T11:35:00.000-08:00

Photo Credit

“Which of the ten unchangeables that God has created in yourlife do you wish you could change?” Mysmall group leader at a children’s program I attended around age tenasked. The list of the ten unchangeableswe had been learning about included things like parents, gender, and mentalcapacity, but the question received not a pause for thought from me.

“Time in history,” I answered matter-of-factly. “I wish I’d been born in the oldendays.” The ‘olden days’ denoted somelimitless era long past which was far better than the modern state ofaffairs—after all, everybody knows that hoop skirts trump indoor plumbing anyday.

My opnion hasn’t changed much in eleven years, especiallywhen I dwell on the steam feminism has gathered in the last decades. Women are fast growing extinct, and girls area dying breed. If only the feminists ofthe 1960s could have known that in asserting the superiority of womankind, theywere obliterating women and womanliness and setting the future of the humanrace itself in jeopardy. What thefeminists didn’t understand and continue to ignore is the truth that the titleof “woman” is so much more than a gender label: it carries with it ourGod-given design, purpose, role, drives, and instincts. Titus 2:4-5 says,

“That they admonish the young women to love their husbands,to love their children, to be discreet, chaste, homemakers, good, obedient totheir own husbands, that the word of God may not be blasphemed.”

This is why I have come to realize that I am able to be andin fact must be grateful that God counts me worthy to be a woman in the 21^stcentury.

God could have put me in the 18^th century—I wouldstill have had temptations and struggles and discontentments, but at least myvery femininity wouldn’t have been at stake, right? But God didn’t put me in the 18^thcentury—why? I ask that question againlike the two year old who has just learned the word: Why didn’t God place me inthe 1800s, when feminism began to really roll in the United States? Why didn’t I grow up in the early 1900s? Could I not have accomplished so much morefor God then?

In a word, no. Theonly time in history in which I could glorify God to the full extent that Hedesires is this brief span from the 20^th to the 21^stcenturies that is called my lifetime. God chose to drop me into this bedlam of iniquity that our currentculture is, but not to be conformed by it. God chose this time, this moment to place me, when true women are beingderided into extinction and the mission of motherhood is being scoffed as “notenough” and girls must seemingly choose between the extremes of becomingimmoral objects of desire or the androgynous boy-girl creature.

I did not happen to be born in this time in history when thebattle seems all but lost and the enemy is crowing their victory chant—Godplaced me here and now rather than during any of the other 6,000 years becauseHe has a plan. You and I are thereinforcements in this battle, and if we feel this is the most depraved time inhistory, we should also feel all the more grateful that God deployed ushere. If we feel the dreadful onslaughtof the world and the old feminist lie wearing us down until we cannot standanymore, we should also feel the more powerful grace of God, for even when theneed is the greatest in history, we still cannot find the end of God’sgrace. If we feel the darkness is simplytoo great for our weak, frail selves, we need to realize that our tiny flame oflight that feeds off the oil of the Holy Spirit shines the brightest that itever has in contrast to the pitch blackness of the surrounding culture.

It is no chance that I am a woman living in 2011 when truewomen are going extinct—it is a miraculously spectacularly planned point inGod’s Master plan. Nor is it apunishment that I am a woman living in 2011 when true women are goingextinct. It is the most awesome privilege that I am counted worthy by my Lord tofulfill the Great Commission in times that are not full of spiritual wealth, to experienceHis fathomless grace in times that are not brimming with ease, and to know His strength and powerbehind my light in the midnight, not just the midday. We are privileged, are we not?

Lord I Need You

2011-12-13T14:12:00.000-08:00

It has been one of those weeks.

But I told Lauren I wouldn't whine through the whole blog post. Maybe just the beginning, eh?

Most stressful and emotional and all-consuming has been a major surgery Mama went through last Thursday. Home from the hospital only since Sunday night, we have already had to make another trek to the doctor's office to address complications. Dealing with extreme pain, insomnia, and the lovely side effects of all the pain meds has been brutal for Mama and stressful for the rest of us. Add on top of that Melanie's college finals, sickness for four out of the eight of us, two concerts in a weekend, teaching, and lessons, and we have had one of those weeks.

Photo Credit

But it is during these kinds of weeks, when I have to remind myself to breathe and I barely have time to consume dinner, that I suddenly feel compelled to take extra time with God and His Word. I have abruptly realized how weak I am, and in tears, I go to Isaiah and read the precious words there. I wish it were not so; I wish I was as dependent upon God in the good times as I am in the bad. I'm working on that--when life is whistling along and I'm feeling tremendous, I'll remind myself of this feeling of a helpless babe held securely in God's arms.

      "Have you not known?
      Have you not heard?
      The everlasting God, the LORD,
      The Creator of the ends of the earth,
      Neither faints nor is weary.
      His understanding is unsearchable.
       He gives power to the weak,
      And to those who have no might He increases strength.
       Even the youths shall faint and be weary,
      And the young men shall utterly fall,
       But those who wait on the LORD
      Shall renew their strength;
      They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
      They shall run and not be weary,
      They shall walk and not faint (Isaiah 40:28-31)."

One of my favorite hymns is "Lord I Need You" by Ron Hamilton, and that has been a great comfort to me this week:

Sometimes when life seems gentle and blessings flood my way,
I turn my gaze away from You and soon forget to pray.
But when the sky grows darker and courage turns to fear,
My anxious voice cries upward with words you long to hear.

Chorus:

Lord, I need You when the sea of life is calm.
O Lord, I need You when the wind is blowing strong.
Whether trials come or cease, keep me always on my knees.
Lord, I need You. Lord I need You.

Lord, help me to remember I'm weak but You are strong.
I cannot sing apart from You, for Lord You are my song.
Although I'm prone to wander and boast in all I do;
Lord keep my eyes turned upward so I depend on You.

Last night, I dreamt that Jesus came back. What a wonderful lovely dream to have last night! It put things in perspective and reminded me, once again, not to worry so much about all the dirty laundry I haven't gotten to, and the clean laundry that is molding into the shape of our laundry baskets, and the Christmas gifts I have yet to make, and the Christmas traditions I am cheating my younger siblings of because of my preoccupation with other things. This life is the indent to the first paragraph of a great novel called Eternity.

So I'm living today with Eternity reflecting in my eyes and God's Word in my heart, and I'm writing this post so I can come back next week and remind my forgetful self.

Photograph: Dia

Mercy Isn't Always Rosy

2011-12-09T18:27:00.001-08:00

Photo Credit

I’m a lot like Jane Bennet from Pride and Prejudice, so my sister tells me. Mercy is my strength, while teaching isMikaela’s, which frequently makes for some opposite yet complementingperspectives. Just recently, Mikaela andI were both involved in the same situation, and when talking it overafterwards, Mikaela asked if I had sensed reticence in the person we had beencommunicating with—a certain unwillingness to help us out. I hadn’t noticed anything of the sort—wasn’tthe person just a bit distracted? Yet,in the next week, the matter revealed itself to be according to Mikaela’sdiscerning. How had I missed thisperson’s subtle communications and excused what signs I did observe, yetMikaela had discerned the true heart of the matter? This was not a huge shortcoming in this minorexample, but what about when I need to discipline a child or discern that arift in a relationship has occurred and needs mending, and my vision is toorose-colored to notice?

Don’t get me wrong—in some ways it can be helpful to gothrough life with rose-colored blinders fastened securely over my eyes. It is easier to avoid little hurts andoffences. It definitely invites lesspain to me. Indeed, it is good not tohold grudges, not to hug bitterness close like a friend. But it is also good to live in reality,saying out loud the truth that we all are fallible, and we all makemistakes. It is good to live in honestyabout failures in my own life as well as in the lives of others rather than indenial.

I want to give people second chances, excuse a fault, witholddiscipline, all because I do not want to cause them pain. But if what someone needs is to feel theconsequences of their choice the first time, be called on their blind spot, andexperience discipline, and it is myBiblical responsibility to do so, then it is the worst kind of hatred toprotect a loved one from that. if I cansit by and refuse to offer honest help when the matter is in my jurisdiction,then it turns me from the loving Jane to the sadly pitiable Mr. Bennet whoshowed bitter lenience to his wild daughter.

As a music teacher, when a student plays a pieceimperfectly, the temptation to simply pass him onto the next piece is not verystrong anymore because I have seen the results of such a bitter mercy. The child will slog on, mistakes compounding,confidence dwindling, practice time shrinking, until such discouragement andfrustration sets in that he gives up.

For those of us who struggle with applying mercy correctly,we need to keep in mind that God’s mercy is rich and unfathomable, yet alwaysjust. He always keeps His word, yet Heis always ready to forgive. He did not giveAdam and Eve a reprieve from the immediate consequences they chose by their acts ofrebellion, yet He promised them aSavior from eternal death. Jesus died that He might save usfrom our sins, and yet we still experience the loving reproof of our HeavenlyFather when we stray. Even the mercyseat on the ark of the covenant in the Old Testament reflects God’s perfect balanceof mercy and justice, as the mercy seat lay over the just and unbendingTestimony that God gave His people.

“You shall put the mercy seat on top of the ark, and in theark you shall put the Testimony that I will give you. And there I will meet with you, and I willspeak with you from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubim whichare on the ark of the Testimony, about everything which I will give you incommandment to the children of Israel.”-Exodus25:21-22

What would the Gospel be without justice? It would be an empty shell, with no need for Godincarnate to descend from Heaven to save us from sins God was not holding usaccountable for. Yet what would theGospel be without mercy? It would be ahard façade, still with no God incarnate to be willing to descend to earth tosuffer, to redeem us from the very sins that would put Him on the cross. May my life be neither an empty shell nor ahard façade, but a beautiful reflection of Christ Himself.

Stony Last Words

2011-12-05T21:37:00.001-08:00

Photo Credit

For the past eight days, I've been regaling my family, friends, and anyone who will listen with random rememberances from one year ago. (For the record, one year ago today, I was sitting in Heathrow airport, waiting for my very delayed flight to come and take me home!)

Mikaela in front of the Tower of London

"Today, one year ago, we were flying to England!" I reminded Mama on November 28th.

"A year ago, we were at the World and Royal Premiere of the Voyage of the Dawn Treader!" I mused on the 29th to Papa.

Yes, I've been living in the past just a little bit, warming to those beautiful memories I made with Mama, which I will hold in my heart forever.

Mama posing in the Tower

Photo Credit

One structure has especially stood out amongst my memories, however, and caused me to ponder upon deeper topics. Beauchamp Tower--part of the Tower of London--caught my fancy the minute Mama and I stepped inside, shivering in the below-freezing dusk. The romance of standing in a place erected in 1275 was overwhelming (although not scarce to be had in England and France). But walking through the stone corridors and up the winding stone staircase was even more emotional. For, painstakingly etched into the rock walls, were dozens of names, dates, quotes, and engravings. Of the hundreds, if not thousands, of prisoners kept in this three-story tower over the centuries, many of them were never released. These walls, I realized, were covered in the last words of men who had found themselves checkmated. Some were fools who deserved death, but many more of them were brave wise souls who had done nothing wrong.

The Tower of London, from Mama's camera lens

I found the nonsensical (see picture below):

"You that these beasts do well behold andsee,

May deem with ease wherefore here made they be,

with borders eke wherein 4 brothers names who list to search the ground. John Dudley"

Photo Credit

The hopeful: "I am waiting for my liberty. Philip Howard [Earl of Arundel 1587]"

The spiritual: "We adore thee, Blessed Lord. Thomas Peverel [1571]"

"In God is my hope. [Sir Richard?] Page"

"Better it is to be in the house of mourning than in the house of banqueting.

The heart of the wise is in the mourning house.

It is much better to have some chastening that to have overmuch liberty.

There is a time for all things, a time to be born and a time to die, and the day of death is better than the day of birth.

There is an end of all things and the end of a thing is better than the beginning.

Be wise and patient in trouble for wisdom defendeth as well as money.

Use well the time of prosperity and remember the time of misfortune. William Rame 2 April 1559" (See picture below)

Photo Credit

"Learn to fear God. J.C."

Then there was the guilty: "An evil conscience makes men afraid even when safe. G.G. 1586"

There was the romantic: "My heart is yours till death. Thomas Wyllingar"

"Jane"

Which almost certainly stands for Lady Jane Grey, who died in the Tower of London, but was never know to have resided in Beauchamp Tower. What is most likely, is that her husband, Lord Guilford Dudley (one of the aforementioned four brothers in the first quote) or his brother enscribed her name there in support of her. Both Jane and her husband were executed by Queen Mary in 1554 because of Jane's rightful claim to the throne.

And there was the wise: "To whom you tell the secret you give liberty. Richard Blount 9 July 1553"

"The word of the Lord remains. John Prine 1568"

The despairing: "Close prisoner 32 weeks, 224 days, 5376 hours. T. Salmon 1622"

"Oh, unhappy man that I think myself to be."

And the hasty: "R.D."

All of which leads me to wonder...what would I laboriously etch into stone during my last days on earth?

All unattributed pictures are Mama's and my own.

Routine is for Sissies

2011-12-02T08:58:00.001-08:00

Photo Credit

What are you doingtoday? Maybe you are teaching yourlittle boy the letter “d”—just like you did yesterday and the day before, andevery day for the past week since he’s looked up at you every morning andgasped with dismay, “I forgot my “d”, Mama!” Only twenty-two letters to go. You gird yourself up with the thought.

Maybe you are doing schoolwork—the story of your life, thesame thing you have been doing for the past six months, or the past elevenyears, for that matter. Essays, algebra,and tests. Repeat. Trying your hardest not to get an “F”, andstretching towards that Christmas break like a marathon runner towards thefinish line.

Maybe you are peeling apples like I will be doing—just likeyesterday and the day before that, juice dribbling everywhere, all but drowningin the stickiness. Piles of browningpeels, a floor glistening with sticky apple juice, arm-deep in it—it’s aglamorous job.

I could be wrong—perhaps you are actually doing somethingexotic and exciting today, like elephant-riding or parasailing ordolphin-swimming. Yes, there is thepossibility you are leaving for your European tour today—there is alwayspossibility after all, but it is far more likely that today you are anticipatingjust another standard, ordinary Friday. It is far more likely that you are making beds or cramming for thatfinal or practicing for that concert or writing that paper or wiping thatbaby’s nose for the umpteenth time. Thecacophony of possibilities of what you—people from all ends of the globe—couldbe doing today mounts into one joyous, rowdy symphony—the symphony of Friday,December 2^nd, 2011.

And whatever the person next to us is doing today, I am sureit sounds enchanting to us, for that is the sad way of human nature. But I am equally as sure that the veryhum-drum that you are doing sounds equally as enchanting to that otherperson.

“Let your conduct be without covetousness; becontent with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, ‘I will neverleave you nor forsake you.’ So we may boldly say: ‘The LORD is my helper; Iwill not fear. What can man do to me?’”-Hebrews 13:5-6

So take a moment, lay your routine out on the table next tomine and that of every other person reading this, scan them, and marvel at howun-routine your hum-drum really is. Stare open-mouthed at all of the little candles spread across the table in all the corners of the world, and rejoice in how mighty a light these little candles form when they brighten their corners. Allow yourself to be bowled completely off your feet with the giddydelight of a first-timer at your old hat routine. Revel with me in the privilege that out ofall this world, God hand-picked youfor today’s assignment. Only you. And God doesn’t do routine assignments—Hedoes pop quizzes, sudden twists, lurking surprises, and extraordinaryundertakings, but no routine. No corner-brightening mission is ever routine.

Inner discouragement with boring routine means spiritualblindness to God’s eternal goals. To acasual observer we may just be teaching the letter “d”, doing schoolwork, andworking elbow-deep in apples, but God knows and we know that no battlefield isroutine.

Know That Jehovah He is God

2011-11-29T07:25:00.001-08:00

Our Thanksgiving was full of festivities, friends, food, and fervent gratefulness for another year of provision and protection. Mama has been dealing with health problems this year--which makes us even more grateful for good health when it is bestowed--so the bulk of the meal was up to Lauren, Melanie, and I to complete. Thanks to Mama's help and advice, and the contributions of our friends and guests, everything came off well and without a problem!

Since we had to rise early to pick a selection of fresh rosemary, sage, parsley, and oregano from our garden, which we then pulverized with lots of butter and coated all over the turkey, Proverbs 31:15 seems fitting: "She also rises while it is yet night, and provides food for her household, and a portion for her maidservants." ;-)

Our baking was completed the night before--Old City Tavern Chocolate Pecan pie, which I made using our traditional family recipe from Philadelphia's famous haven for the founding fathers; apple pie, which Lauren carefully covered in pie crust leaves; and chocolate chip cookies, which Susanna made to munch on in the late hours of the evening.

The centerpiece was also completed, thanks to Lauren's creativity!

And as the morning wore on, we set the table and prepared the food.

Our guests--two families--arrived just in time!

Top Left: Susanna; Middle Left: Jonah; Bottom Left: Micah; Bottom Right: Mikaela and Lauren

It is tradition in our household to take five kernels of corn and reflect aloud on five things for which you are thankful. These kernels of corn remind us of the hardships and privations the Pilgrims endured during 1623, when they were sometimes forced to subsist on nothing but a few kernels of corn. It was beautiful to hear everyone's points of gratefulness, and we all wrote them down on index cards which Papa collected for a rememberance.

For dinner, we enjoyed roasted turkey with cranberry sauce, gravy, and sausage stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, fresh vegetables, pickled vegetables, green bean casserole, roasted brussel sprouts, and rolls. Delicious! The only thing I passed on--which I do every year, to be consistent--was the sweet potatoes.

After feasting, some of us felt like napping, and Darcy--our new kitty named after Fitzwilliam himself--is not one to deny himself the pleasure of such an event.

Top Left: Lauren singing, Mikaela on the piano; Top Right: Great-Aunt Bev; Bottom Right: Mama and Papa; Bottom Left: two of our guests.

We taught everyone a very old hymn which was new to them. After I discovered "Old Hundred" in my ballad book a month or so ago, I suggested that we sing it on Thanksgiving, since it was one of the Pilgrims' most cherished songs. It is set to the tune which we are accustomed to calling the "Doxology." Psalm 100, the basis for this hymn, was the passage the Pilgrims quoted upon reaching the New World and has a very special significance on Thanksgiving.

Make ye a joyful sounding noise
Unto Jehovah, all the earth;
Serve ye Jehovah with gladness
Before his presence come with mirth.

Know that Jehovah he is God;
Who hath us formed it is he
And not ourselves; his own people
And sheep of his pasture are we.

Enter into his gates with praise,
Into his court with thankfulness;
Make ye confession unto him,
And his name reverently bless.

Because Jehovah he is good,
For ever more is his mercy;
And unto generations all

Continue doth his verity.

Then, of course, hours of games ensued. (And yes, that is Melanie's very own bearded dragon on her shoulder.)

We interrupted our games only to enjoy Chocolate Terrine, Chocolate Pecan Pie, Apple Pie, Pumpkin Pie, and Cranberry Pie with ice cream and whipped cream. Yum!

Somewhere past ten but before midnight, the newspaper came out and we perused the ads together, laughing at and ridiculing the Black Friday craziness, but still attracted to the deals and sales. You can see Mr. W. on the right playfully covering his wife's eyes--"Don't even look!" he seems to be saying. ;-)

Our Thanksgiving was a wonderful, blessed event--I sincerely hope yours was as well!

And, on the unlikely chance that you still have turkey hanging around in your refrigerator, may I suggest a Turkey Cranberry Wreath, which is an annual post-Thanksgiving tradition, and which we enjoyed immensely for dinner last night?

Turkey Cranberry Wreath

Serves 4-6

2 (8 ounce) packages refrigerated crescent dinner rolls
1/2 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons honey Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
2 cups chopped cooked turkey
1 cup shredded swiss cheese
1/2 cup sliced celery
1/2 cup dried cranberries
3 tablespoons snipped fresh parsley
1/4 cup walnuts, chopped
1 egg white, lightly beaten

Directions:

Preheat oven to 375*F. In bowl, combine the mayonnaise, mustard, and pepper. Add turkey, celery, parsley, cranberries, and cheese and mix well.
Unroll the 2 packages of crescent rolls; separate into 16 triangles in a circle on a large pizza pan or stone with wide ends 3 inches from the edge of pizza pan and points towards the outside. Points will extend off the edge of the pan (depending on size). Arrange the remaining triangles in the center of the pan, matching wide ends with triangles already in placed. The points will overlap in center.
Using small rolling pin(or small round jar or drinking glass), roll over seams of triangles where wide ends meet, making a smooth surface for filling. Don't seal center triangles.
Using an ice cream scoop, scoop filling evenly over the dough in a continuous circle. Sprinkle walnuts over filling.

5. Beginning with the last triangle placed in center of pizza pan, bring point of triangle straight across filling. Next, bring point of the opposite outside triangle diagonally across filling, covering point of previous triangle. The filling will show.

6. Repeat, overlapping points of inside and outside triangles to form a wreath. Tuck the last end under first.

7. Brush top of wreath with egg white. Bake 25-30 minutes or until golden brown. Enjoy!

Eye on the Stop Sign

2011-11-26T20:12:00.001-08:00

Photo Credit

Saturday morning, way-too-early AM, circa 2002. Papa would be on his way upstairs to roll Mikaela and I out of bed. Grabbing a swig of water, we would stretch up and down and sideways together in the early morning dew, then trot down the driveway side by side, swinging our arms and chatting giddily. Soon our tennis shoe-clad feet would hit the pavement, my breath would suddenly catch, and the air would eddy around me as my ponytail went flying. Mikaela and I would run a little over a mile in the beginning—to the culvert—gasping and cherry-faced, while Papa’s long legs would take him past us at some point and on to the end of the road—the stop sign.

Eventually, on his way back, he would catch up with us and amuse us all by listing off the foods he was dreaming of at the moment: “A big, juicy steak. Or how about warm, melty chocolate chip cookies!” Mikaela and I would protest at this exhilarating over food right at the climax of our run, but Papa would jovially persist.

I clearly remember pondering Papa’s running four miles to Mikaela and my one or two, and dreaming of some hazy day when I would be an adult and would come back with my family for Christmas and go for a run with Papa. Then—then—my tall, beautiful adult self would be able to run to the stop sign with him. I’ve smiled at that memory since then, and have thought about it often when I have been running these last few weeks—I’m almost back to that red stop sign again after a spell of laziness!

But I have also been thinking about that stop sign in terms of my spiritual run. At the beginning of my spiritual run, I prayed for God to show me the next thing He wanted me to run to, and I remember Him telling me, “Truthfulness.” At that time, I had several sins of dishonesty on my conscience that I needed to make right, and a cold shiver passed through me when God told me that. I protested in my heart, “Yes, I know, God, and I’ll get on that soon, but it’s going to take some time. So while I’m working on that, what do want me to also be doing?” But this disobedience would be met with silence, and I would realize that if I didn’t run in obedience to this first mile marker of truthfulness, I would not be running in the race at all. I would be standing still while everyone streamed around me, the sideliners cheering on everybody but me. And so, slowly, I learned the lesson of victory in truthfulness.

I have had other mile markers since then. There was the mile of love that I ran, the mile of submission, and the mile of dying to self. Each one I have struggled through, but reached still running towards that stop sign.

This whole year, however, I’ve been stuck at the same mile marker, windmilling my arms and legs, trying to run forward to the next mile marker, but not getting anywhere. When I asked God what He wanted me to run to this time, He replied, “Give me your whole affections.” “Okay, Lord, they are Yours!” “Then that means not setting your heart on worldly possessions, worldly entertainment, worldly thoughts. That means whatever delights you the most is your god, and only I should hold that place.” To be honest, I would give most of my affections to God, but still rationalize a few worldly strongholds. In truth, I am thick-skulled.

Through the year, though, God has been stripping my affections down (why do you think He wanted me to read the book of Hosea this year? J ) And finally, at long last, I learned again the lesson I had learned when I was working on truthfulness—I need to follow God’s steps in God’s order, or I am a cheater in the race. Proverbs 16:9 says,

“A man's heart plans his way, But the LORDdirects his steps.”

If I had succeeded in skipping that mile of truthfulness or the mile of submission or this mile or this mile of whittling affections, then I would be like that person who runs the first mile of the marathon, steals a ride in an air conditioned car to the 25^th mile, and finishes with fist pumps galore. He received no benefit from the race other than earthly accolades, and his run was pointless. So would my run be pointless. I would have skipped the lessons of truthfulness and submisison and loving God alone, and when I reached the stop sign of death, in the eternal life beyond I would find that I had wasted far too much time receiving only earthly rewards and no gold medal would be waiting.

So as I type this I am running, my eye on the next mile marker, my muscles kindling energy and bulging with the action. Inexplicably, that crimson stop sign which marks the line of eternal life is still just as far away as it seemed when I was ten, but remains just as tantalizing as ever. I am running with a spring in my step now, but I know the time will come again when my breath heaves in jagged gasps and I cry, “I can’t do it, Lord! I can’t!” But when that time comes I will look up from the asphalt, sight the mile marker with my eyes and gaze in the distance at the cherry stop sign afar off, and I will keep running.

“Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.” -Hebrews 12:1,2a

Besieged!

2011-11-22T08:39:00.001-08:00

If you have yet to read "Kiss, Bed, Sweep, Church," Part I of this tale, click here and read it before you continue--the conclusion will make much more sense that way!

One day, however, everyone’s contentment was abruptly interrupted by an awful revelation—their island had been attacked, and indeed all was lost save their own small village, which was now beseiged. They had had just enough warning to close up the gates and arm the towers thanks to the brave feat of a lad who had traversed rill and river to get to them ahead of the Continent’s troops. The village was in a fit of activity, and all the fathers and sons gathered solemnly to defend the wall.

Thus, their surprise was great, when, instead of a flaming arrow shot to destroy, a pigeon was sent over the wall with a message. The villagers all gathered round, anxious to read the message, but flummoxed by the unfamiliar characters and the foreign words. The call was sent out for someone—anyone—who could translate, and all were about to dismay, ready to call for surrender, when one of the girls of the village remembered Hannah and suggested her.

Hannah was summoned from her cottage, and brought to the square, where she was quite undone by the commotion and crowd. Yet, summoning her wits about her, she slowly worked through the message, until she could confidently read aloud the translation—a call for total surrender with the threat of massacre if they persisted. Instantly, commotion became chaos and then cries of despair.

Timidly, Hannah went up to her father and whispered something in his ear, handing him a roll of paper. Her father glanced at it, then cleared his throat and shouted for silence. In his strong voice, he sang Hannah’s ballad,

Come all ye young men all,

Let this delight you;

Cheer up, ye young men all,

Let nothing fright you.

Never let your courage fail

When you’re brought to trial,

Nor let your fancy move at the first denial [1].

So the men stopped their murmuring and found their manhood again, taking to the walls to defend their families, their country, and their honor. The days stretched into weeks, and while bravery remained steadfast, gardens, larders, and cellars did not. Livestock began to be killed off. Every day, however, Hannah’s mother made an enormous kettle of stew to share with all who had no food—into the stew went the turnips, potatoes, beets, cabbage, squash, and carrots Hannah had so diligently tended. And so the hardy spirit of the villagers was not snuffed out, but continued to burn bright and hot.

Meanwhile, unbenknownst to the villagers, the Continental Army got word that their own country was now under attack from barbarians in the east, and there was little time to spare. One morning, nigh on two months after the siege had commenced, the villagers woke up to find the enemy gone. Great was the rejoicing and jubilation in the town, and though none—not even Hannah herself—realized it, the Providence of God had worked through one small girl to save their lives and fortunes.

After that, all the village girls began to follow Hannah’s example, and soon they were known far beyond the island for their diligent industry and disdain for the idle foolishness so common to their sex. And as for Hannah herself? Her character caught the eye of that brave man who had first brought word of warning to the village, and he asked her father for her hand in marriage. Both father and daughter consented, and Hannah became his wife within the year.

Painting: The Accolade, by Edmund Leighton
[1] The Ballad of the Death of General Wolfe, ca. 1759, author unknown.

My Heart Overflows With Gratitude

2011-11-18T08:38:00.001-08:00

What are you giving thanks for right now?

Kiss, Bed, Sweep, Church

2011-11-15T08:57:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time, on our very own green, grassy, aqueous earth, only several hundred years younger than it is currently, on an island country still in existence today, in a quaint village, which was really just a collection of thatched roofs, mud-filled streets, noisy animals, and sensible, stalwart people, there was a group of females. Bonny, lithe, strong, and Christian were they, having grown up together, the whole lot of them, since infancy and been taught the Scripture from nigh the same age. They kissed their fathers when they went out to the fields for the day; they made their beds and swept the floors; and they brightened the church sanctuary every Sunday. This they were content with. Kiss. Bed. Floors. Church. What they did with the rest of their time, no one knew, but the maidens were content, and their families were content, and the village people were content. So there was no need to change the kiss, bed, floors, and church.

Photo Credit

But there was one girl. Hannah. She began to grow weary of the novels she had previously enjoyed so much, and her fine embroidery became dull too. Her muscles ached to be doing something, and her mind ached to be learning something, and her soul ached to be helping someone. So, one day, after the kiss, the bed, and the floors, she went out to garden, pulling out weeds and plucking ripe vegetables from their luscious vines. The morning passed surprisingly fast, and she discovered that she had worked up an appetite and required more than the usual fluff to satisfy her hunger. Come afternoon, she found her long-neglected dulcimer and worked at picking out a tune. And so the week went—and the experiment was so successful, it became a habit.

While her friends continued to kiss, make the bed, sweep the floors, go to church, and fritter away the remaining 161 hours of their week, Hannah kissed father, made the bed, swept the floor, gardened, made music, became proficient at the Continent’s foreign language, read the Scripture cover to cover, made meals, schooled children, scrubbed washrooms, spun wool, wove cloth, filled wardrobes with clothes, wrote ballads, befriended the orphans, traded and bartered, learned forbearance and self-denial, and strengthened her body through the vigorous exercise many of these endeavors required. It seemed to her friends that Hannah was never available to trim hats or gossip or amble aimlessly.

Come back next Tuesday for the conclusion! (And can you believe it--this makes 300 blog posts!)

Photograph: Requiemm

Mirror, Mirror of My Heart

2011-11-11T14:42:00.001-08:00

Photo Credit

I look into the mirror,

And I don’t like who I see.

An awkward, blemished person

Who cannot really be me.

I claw my skin and look in;

My filthy heart is rotting,

Is heinous like none else,

Is sin-clogged, hardly pumping.

I turn away, disgusted,

To beautiful Jesus' gaze.

His eyes show no repulsion

As His pierced hands touch my face.

He strips all my ugliness;

He swathes me with His beauty.

He carves out my foul, sick heart;

A newborn one He gives me.

I smile into the mirror,

And I see Jesus, clearer.

I go with Him; the old me

Is left beneath the mirror.

Lilla Rose Giveaway Winner!

2011-11-09T06:07:00.000-08:00

I hope you all are having a wonderful Wednesday!

I visit your dashboard today to announce the winner of our Lilla Rose Giveaway!

Cue cute drumroll...

Photo Credit

The winner is Dani Marie!

Congratulations, Dani! I'm so excited that you won, and I hope you enjoy your flexi-clip as much as I have! I got your e-mail address off of your profile, and will send that to Mrs. Moore, who will be in contact with you shortly!

Mrs. Moore also wanted me to mention that for the month of November, she is running a special: buy at least three items, get a free flexi-clip ($15 or less).

Thank you to everyone who entered! I'll see you on Friday! (-:

Opportunity

2011-11-08T08:54:00.000-08:00

Photo Credit

Isn’t it fantastic when someone walks up to you and says, “Hey, I’ve been watching you, and you’re a Christian right?”

“Yes, I am!” You respond.

“I knew it! What must I do to be saved?”

Yeah. Except that’s never actually happened to me. Certainly it does happen—Nicodemus, anyone?—but if you go through life waiting for people to come to you and ask questions, then you’re missing opportunities. As intimidating as it can be sometimes—especially for us ladies—listening to the Spirit and then boldly speaking up when we’re prompted by Him can be the most valuable opportunites you’ll ever have.

"For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ,for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes, for the Jew first and also for the Greek (Romans 1:16)."

Two weeks ago, for example, I met a guy, and he was sharing with me about the rough year he’d had—between his mother’s death, his sister’s imprisonment, and his father’s motorcycle accident, it had been one long rollercoaster ride. Never once did God, faith, or religion enter into our conversation. But as he left to go grab something, the Holy Spirit worked on my heart, leading me to ask him how he was dealing with his loss.

“I don’t know how I would get through something like that without Jesus!” I exclaimed. “Do you know Him?”

He said that he did—and in the same breath supplied that he’d gone to church all his life, as if that were the reason. As we talked further, it became increasingly apparent to me that he did not personally know my Lord and Savior. And then, when he soliliquized about how the Bible teaches that everything should be in moderation—nothing is bad if it’s in moderation, the Holy Spirit again was leading me and speaking through me.

“Well, you know, Scripture doesn’t actually teach that. The Bible gives us God’s holy Law, which sets for a clear standard of morality for man, declaring what is right and what is wrong. We can’t keep the Law, which is what makes us sinners.”

I got no comment after that—and just as surely as God had led me to share Truth with this man, He was now saying that the seed had been sown and I should go no further today. Pray for Josh, trusting in Isaiah 55:11:

"So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth;
      It shall not return to Me void,
      But it shall accomplish what I please,
      And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it."

Only the very next day, I took Melanie to an astronomy presentation—the two of us walking into a room full of old, geeky guys was certainly an experience I’ll never forget! Mel graciously questioned a few of the lecturer’s facts on global warming and the “ozone hole” during the presentation, but afterwards, she would not leave until she got a chance to talk to the man, a former science teacher and current NASA ambassador. She engaged him by asking what he didn’t believe about the third day—where God put water on the earth, since he had addressed his hypothesis (and the general belief of NASA) that water had gotten on the earth through a comet.

From there, she challenged him on Truth and a Scriptural worldview in science, declaring that science could and does align with all of Scripture. I stood off to the side, wondering where this conversation was going, and if it would even do any good for a man so seemingly set in his evolutionary faith.

And then, “Can I share something personal with you?” he asked.

“Sure!” Melanie answered.

“I used to be a staunch Catholic—believed the Bible like you. My wife even converted to Catholicism when we got married. And then I went to college. It proved to me that science was right and the Bible was wrong, so I left the church.”

Pray for Les.

And this week, pray that God drops opportunities in your lap—that someone will come to you asking questions, hungry to know more about Jesus. Pray that your life brightens every corner you walk into you, so all who know you, know Jesus. Most importantly, however, pray that you are open and willing to speak and act as the Holy Spirit leads you, whether you can see an “opportunity” or not.

Kinsman Redeemer

2011-11-04T17:33:00.000-07:00

Photo Credit

Two knights in shining armor, both manly and as true and pure as the day is bright. Two women who could never, ever be friends. One is a widow, the other a prostitute. One faithful to her family, the other never faithful to anyone in her life. One lived to bless others, the other lived for others to bless her. The one was content with her life of sorrow, the other unhappy with her life of joy.

The chasm between two women could never be more gaping. Two opposite women, two worthy redeemers. With love and passion more beautiful than any love story you have ever seen, a redeemer stepped in for the first woman. When life seemed a hard and endless track of struggling to stay afloat, the kinsman redeemer stood up. He redeemed her life, brought joy where there had been sorrow, love where there had been pain, and comfort where there had been servitude. The love story of Ruth and Boaz is one of the greatest ever told, and I could hear it over and over.

But there is a love story still greater, and it takes us back to that miserable, forlorn wretch of a woman—Gomer. Hosea married her, loved her with all his heart, and had three children with her. And one day, she walked out the door and didn't look back. People looked askance at Hosea from that day forward when he walked through the marketplace, and Gomer had abandoned the care of their three children to Hosea.

If Ruth was the Proverbs 31 woman, Gomer assuredly was the Proverbs 7 woman, the sort of woman who shames womankind. She became nothing more than a prostitute, the woman you avert your eyes from in the street. And she gradually fell lower and lower in her whirlwind of debauchery and immorality, until her newest lover could not even feed her. She lay in her hovel night after night and wondered why she had ever left her husband. She shed bitter tears and even made up her mind to return to him. But when morning's light crept in through the window, her courage always wavered.

But while she shrank from him, Hosea quietly wended his way through the alleys and slums until he came to her lover’s house, and he faithfully left there for Gomer grain, new wine, oil, silver, and gold (Hosea 2:8). Then he turned and traced the same route home, his heart breaking with his love for her who had so wronged him and sorrow for her betrayal. This became his ritual of love and faithfulness to the faithless Gomer, but she never knew, and thanked her lover for the food. And still she did not come home, and every day that she did not appear was like another stab in Hosea's heart.

The days passed, the leaves fell, and Hosea still made sure that Gomer was taken care of, even as he preached the word of the Lord to Israel and fed babies and fell into bed at night with tears on his face. Finally, one turbulent day, he got word of a slave auction. Gomer was one of those about to be sold.

“Go again, love a woman who is loved by a lover and is committing adultery, (Hosea 3:1)” God told Hosea. Hosea put on his robe, trembling with anticipation and pent-up emotions, kissed his children, and strode out of the house to redeem the woman who had thrown his love in his face. This honorable, noble man stood in front of the slave auction, his tear-filled eyes fixed only on Gomer.

Her cheap finery was torn, her face haggard and aged by self-destruction, her voice raspy, and she averted her eyes from his face in shame. His wife, shrunken and despised, stood on the auction stand, and no one else in the crowd could find anything desirable about her. But her kinsman redeemer stood in front of her, and he bought her for himself, after all those painful months.

“It’s you!” she said in a voice of awe when he came up to her. Gomer broke down in sobs as Hosea helped her down and towards home—to redemption. “You shall stay with me many days; you shall not play the harlot, nor shall you have a man—so, too, will I be toward you, (Hosea 3:3)” Hosea told her. Gomer could hardly walk, she was so weak with her overwhelming amazement. Slowly, timidly, she lifted her face, covered with shame like a veil, to look up into Hosea’s, and saw in his eyes only true, true love.

Ruth is beautiful, and the beauty of her story resonates with me. But somehow, my tears only begin to flow when I read Gomer’s story, because in her I see a vivid picture of myself. A girl vile and wretched to her very core, a girl deserving of no love, no mercy—only death. And yet in the midst of my betrayal, in the very blackest, deepest moment of sin, my Kinsman Redeemer's hand stretched into the pit. “I will ransom you from the hand of the grave; I will be your kinsman redeemer to redeem you from death. (paraphrase of Hosea 13:14 to reflect original language)”

Boaz stepped up to the gate against poverty and a nearer relative to redeem Ruth. Hosea stepped up to a slave auction against the glaring eyes of the world, the blatant rejection of his wife, and vile prostitution to redeem Gomer. Jesus stepped up to the cross against all the sin ever committed, against the jeers and spitting of those He was dying for, and against my own unfaithfulness to redeem me for eternity. For that He has my undying love.

Barszcz

2011-11-01T21:08:00.000-07:00

If you've heard of it at all, you've probably heard of "borscht," a slavic soup which appears in various forms in Russia, Ukraine, Germany, Lithuania, Turkey, and Poland. In our family, barszcz is a well-loved part of our Polish heritage, with its unique blend of flavors such as vinegar, dill, and beets, and its special color. Who doesn't need more pink in their diet?

We began our beef broth early the day before, simmering soup bones, celery, onions, and carrots all day until we achieved a rich, flavorful base for our soup. Then we gathered beets, carrots, potatoes, and dill from our garden and supplemented with cabbage and onions from the market.

We tried chopping the beets this time, but we usually shred them, and we recommend that. Not only do shredded beets give a more pleasing texture, but they also provide the maximum amount of beautiful color.

Be prepared for stained hands!

Before adding the vegetables, we skimmed the fat off of yesterday's broth; strained it to remove the vegetables, bones, and meat; and then seperated the meat from the bone. Next, we added the beets, carrots, and potatoes and simmered that for thirty minutes or so, and then we added the cabbage, fresh dill, and meat. We seasoned it to taste with salt and pepper and stirred in red wine vinegar before letting the whole thing simmer for a few hours until it was dinner time.

Barszcz

~Serves 12

16 cups beef broth with soup bones

10 large beets, peeled and shredded

8 carrots, peeled and shredded

3 large russet potatoes, cubed

4 cups thinly sliced cabbage

3/4 cup chopped fresh dill

6 TB red wine vinegar

Salt and pepper to taste

Sour cream and dill for garnish

Seperate meat from soup bones; set aside. Add beets, carrots, and potatoes and simmer for thirty minutes. Add cabbage, meat, and dill and simmer until cabbage is tender. Add vinegar, salt, and pepper. Best the next day after flavors have melded together.

Yummy! I topped my bowl with sour cream and more dried dill and enjoyed this beautiful, delicious, and healthy soup.

For dessert, Mama treated us to makowiec, a delicious Polish poppy seed roll, which we first discovered at the Polish festival in September. {cue picture from the archives}

You can find a good recipe for this not-too-sweet concoction here if you want to try it!

Also, don't forget to enter our giveaway if you haven't already--it ends this Friday!

Devil's Cucumbers

2011-10-28T11:12:00.000-07:00

Photo Credit

I do love it when people think well of me. When I can drop a story that casts myself in an angelic light. When I can share a tidbit of information that nobody else knew, yet that fascinates everybody. When I can avoid revealing my weaknesses and counsel everybody else on theirs. When I can receive compliments oh so graciously, not worrying all too much about encouraging others.

A short time ago, I observed a slender emerald sprout growing in the garden of my heart. At first the sprout looked promising, like the honeysuckle of wisdom or the rose of love. Instead, it soon blossomed into a cucumber. Such a plant one should cherish and nurture! Thus I evidently did, unconsciously, because my cucumber of pride soon revealed itself to be what my family calls a "poisonous cucumber," a plant also nicknamed, "devil's cucumber."

These plants produce fruit that look temptingly akin to luscious cucumbers, but are in fact poisonous. They spread like food poisoning at a summer picnic, ejecting their devilish seeds into the ground, and their vines are like corkscrews that bind nearby plants and suffocate them completely. The lily of humility was the first to go, and then the fern of sincerity followed, withering away into a dead mass of brown wilted leaves.

Soon enough, I glanced in at the garden of my heart and saw only poison cucumbers everywhere, sapping strength from my soul and releasing a repulsive aroma. Strangely, the lily of humility and fern of sincerity I had sweated and labored to grow still always remained somewhat sickly and invalid. Yet this poison cucumber, without me even realizing it or shedding a drop of sweat, had infested the entire plot.

As I surveyed this disaster, I finally realized that my thumb was most decidedly brown, and I have decided to call in the Master Gardener. I have previously been treating Him as the weeder: "Can you weed out the poison cucumber of pride, the squash of confidence, the blackberry of self-pity? Please?" And He does root out those infestations, but then I get right back in the garden like a giddy three year old, throwing seeds willy-nilly and growing only those same pests again.

So I resign. I am no longer the supervisor of sowing, the president of pest-protection, or the manager of manuring. From now on I am the humble worker under the Head Gardener. I will weed and manure-spread and water only as the Master Gardener gives direction. He will weed out those poison cucumbers, I will tote them away in the wheelbarrow He gives me, and He will plant lilies. He knows exactly how much sunlight of His face to give those lilies, how much living water, how many droughts of difficulty they need. Because He is the Master Gardener and lilies of humility are His speciality.

God, the Great Musician

2011-10-25T08:04:00.000-07:00

At the beach this weekend with some girlfriends, we were studying Psalms 23 together one morning, and pondering on all the details David included which only a shepherd would know. David related God to something he knew best--shepherding--and the result has touched billions. So Sarah wondered--what if we wrote a Psalm to God based on what we know best or do most often? I challenged my friends to do just that, and here is my attempt at the project.

Photo Credit

The Lord is my composer;

He wrote my life's song outside of time.

He brought me to earth
with His song on my heart.

His song I rejected,

and His music I did not follow,

until He opened my ears.

And now, Oh Lord,

I will play Your music

with every breath I have.

I will watch for Your direction

and play to my utmost.

But help me, dear Father!

For I am weak, and an unskilled musician.

I cannot see the next measure,

nor hear the themes as I play;

I do not appreciate the dissonances

in my haste to get to the consonances.

I balk at playing the harmony

when the melody is lauded and appreciated.

God, I look at the four beats

Your Word has illuminated to me,

And I know--I cannot play even those notes.

So God, here: take my instrument, my life.

Play me for Your glory.

You Who know the exposition,

development, and recapitulation;

You, Who do all things beautifully;

You Who are perfect and omniscient;
You Who hear with perfect pitch;
You Whose fingers never miss;
You Who are my composer;

Play me, Father, for the rest of my life.

Photo Credit: HeedinttheMuses. Used by permission.

Lilla Rose Giveaway!

2011-10-21T06:44:00.000-07:00

Ever since I had any hair to speak of, I have loved my hair “pretties,” as the girls in my family have always called them. Flowered headbands, bejeweled bobby pins, cute barrettes…they all catch my eye. As I’ve grown older, however, my hair pretty box has shrunk, primarily because I have grown more particular in my tastes—construction-vest orange scrunchies on symmetrical sides of one’s head do not a hairstyle make. Other doodads are eliminated because they hurt my head, or because they can’t handle my mid-back length yet fine and stick-straight hair.

Several weeks ago, Mrs. Bambi Moore contacted me about the possibility of holding a giveaway for the Lilla Rose flexi-clip. She is a consultant for Lilla Rose and offered to send Mikaela and I each a clip to test and review, and then she would do a giveaway for you all. Having a hunch that you guys just might enjoy hair pretties as much as I do, I agreed!

I had heard of flexi clips before, but had never tried anything like them. When I received the clips in the mail, I first noticed how elegant and lovely they are—they definitely meet my criteria for beauty in a hair accessory!

I got the clip in extra small for a half-up style, and Mikaela chose medium for a french twist-type style. I was worried about choosing the correct size, but I measured my ponytail, followed the helpful styling video and instructions on the Lilla Rose site, and both sizes ended up being perfect!

The clips are easy to put in as well. For the half-up style, the clip stays put in my fine, slick hair quite nicely. I do like a lot of “pouf” and shape in the front for this style, and the flexi clip wouldn’t hold that pouf in place. One bobby pin was all it took to give me the desired look, and then the flexi clip worked beautifully. I will definitely be wearing this style in the future.

I loved the look of the half-up style with the flexi clip, but the medium size clip with a french twist is even more stunning! Again, for my hair I “pouf” it with a few bobby pins, then twist the rest of the hair up and secure with the clip. The style Lilla Rose calls “tails up” is one I’ve rarely been able to master with a hair claw, but I love how it looks with the flexi clip. I know I will be turning to this style a lot in the future!

Now on to the exciting part…the giveaway!

Rules for the Giveaway:

-You must be a follower of One Bright Corner

-You must live in the US or Canada

-You must enter first with one mandatory entry, and then leave any extra entries in separate comments.

-Mandatory entry: Visit Lilla Rose and pick your favorite flexi-clip style, then come back and leave a comment saying which one was your favorite.

-Extra entry: follow Nursery of the Nation (Mrs. Moore's blog and the place to find out about the latest Lilla Rose sales!) and leave a separate comment stating that you did so.

-Extra entry: Blog about this giveaway and leave a separate comment with a link to your post.

-Extra entry: Put the One Bright Corner blog button on your sidebar and leave a separate comment stating that you did so.

The giveaway will run through November 4^th, 11:59 PM, Pacific time. The winner will be chosen at random and announced within the next few days on this blog. The winner then has 48 hours to comment with his or her email address or a new winner will be chosen. When the winner comments with the email address, the address will not be published, but it will be emailed to Bambi Moore who will get in contact with you and mail you the voucher for a flexi-clip valued at $15 or less.

Elements of Stylish Blogging

2011-10-18T07:33:00.000-07:00

Both Lauren and I have loved writing since we were five or six, when we penned “books” and peddled them to our customers (read: parents). Since then, we have continued to work on books, together and separately, have written a great deal for high school and college, and have participated in a myriad of writing contests. And of course, there has been One Bright Corner which has allowed us to hone our writing every single week for the past 2 ½ years. We are certainly not the most experienced, successful, or excellent writers you will find, but if passion compensates for other areas of weakness, then we are good to go!

Photo Credit

During our blogoversary, Ruthie had this question for Lauren and me: "I would love to someday read your tips and ideas for writing a good blog post. It is obvious you have penned some good posts, considering your large following and being named 'Blog of Note.'" Ruthie herself is an excellent writer, so I'm somewhat baffled as to why she would ask us for writing tips, but I will do my best. There are certainly some principles we have kept in mind all this time, and they seem to have worked well, so I’ll share them now in hopes that they might help you!

Watch Your Length

The internet is synonymous with “short attention span,” and even I am guilty of SAS when combing through blogs. As I start to read and scroll and read and scroll, the likelihood of making it to the end becomes less and less. We always aim for one Microsoft Word page (500-600 words); if your post is longer, consider breaking it up into a series or editing for clarity and precision.

Mind Your Linguistics

Always take the time to spell check your blog post, but even that isn’t enough. Comb the post carefully for typos, rambling, punctuation errors, and such. Go easy on the emoticons, and avoid them whenever possible—challenge yourself to express your meaning using a thesaurus rather than a colon and parenthesis!

I usually know what I’m blogging on three to four days in advance, and I spend those days mulling over my chosen topic and planning my approach. I aspire to write engaging, interesting posts that inspire and convict, and are easy to grasp, yet do not sink to sloppiness. These are tough goals that I do not always attain, or even usually attain, but taking the time to plan and even outline my blog post helps immensely.

Obtain Help

Without fail, Lauren and I proofread each other’s articles, and this has proved invaluable. Many are the times the other person will catch an error or point out a misunderstood statement. In the blogging world, where so much is instant and so little can be taken back, it is always wonderful to have another person with whom to cogitate. Even more importantly, however, is God's feedback. Do not neglect to seek guidance and help from God and His Word; ascertain that every point you make is Biblically based, or leave it out.

Of course, there are other things we work on too, like eye-pleasing formatting; eye-catching pictures; consistency in posting; citing all pictures, quotes, and information sources used; and enjoying further conversation with our readers in the comment section. These and all the other principles I shared are certainly not rules, and they are not boxes that we manage to check confidently with every single blog post. You will find typos, lengthy and uninteresting posts, and statements that can be misunderstood if you look for them! Neveretheless, these are the goals Lauren and I work towards every single week, and I hope you have found them helpful yourself!

Photo Credit: Bob Aubuchon

10,000 Polaks at a Festival

2011-10-14T09:17:00.000-07:00

If you know me personally or have been following my blog for a time, then you know that Mikaela and I are Polish and proud of it. I have blogged about my adventures in pierogi making, shared with you my tribute to my German-born, Polish-married great-grandmother when she died last year, and Mikaela posted a video of our family going all out in a skit on Polish reformer Jan Laski.

But several weeks ago on a blustery Sunday afternoon, my family's reveling in our Polish heritage found a new outlet: a nearby Polish festival. I had heard rumors of such a thing back in the spring, and have been inwardly dancing the polka ever since. We entered a little Poland, filled with the Polish language, Polish costumes, very Polish-looking people (apparently 10,000 of them attend the festival over the weekend!), and, of course, Polish music! The first thing to draw our ears was the luminous sound of Chopin wafting through the kielbasa-scented air. We crept up to the stage where an interpretive ballet set to a Chopin piece was underway.

Soon, however, the trickle of rain turned into a torrent that began to drench us.

We ducked into the nearest shelter: the pastry building! We quickly found that to be a delightfully good choice, and salivated over the Polish pastries the Polish grandmas were cutting.

"My kids are Polish," Mama explained to the pastry lady behind the table. She sized us up with one swift glance, then said knowingly in her lovely Polish accent, "Oh, but they were not born in Poland, right? They are like my kids, then." We all immediately wished we had been born in Poland.

The monsoon soon evaporated into a drizzle, and people shook off their collars, emerged from their hiding places, and chatter and music and food lines commenced as before. By this time, we only had so much self-restraint left in reserve after smelling and seeing Polish food but not tasting it. It was all we could do to withold ourselves from swiping a pierogi off of a complete stranger's plate. In order to preclude such an event, we quickly voted to sweep the food tents for the best possible goodies.

Clockwise from left: Delicious kielbasa, a dinner roll sitting on top of bigos, Polish hunter's stew consisting predominantly of sauerkraut, a pierogi ruskie, Polish dumpling stuffed with a mix of potatoes, onions, and farmer's cheese, a pierogi z kapusta, Polish dumpling with aa mix of sauerkraut and mushrooms, golabki, cabbage rolls with a mix of meat and rice, topped with a tomato sauce, and sour cream for topping. Not shown are the potato pancakes, placki ziemniaczane, which were delicious and came with sour cream, ketchup, or applesauce for topping. Once we had stuffed ourselves to our fullest capacity with these delicacies, we wandered back to the stage area.

A polka contest was just beginning, commencing with the children.

Who could possibly not smile while observing that little blondie's delight? Or what about the woman with the blue headwrap in the background, blissfully clapping along with the fabulous polka music? Our family wasn't completely clear on just what dancing the polka looked like, and we still weren't clear by the time the kid's competition was over, but at least all the kids had fun!

Next began the adult competition. The accordian player began pointing people out in the crowd and forcing them to come compete. If they dared refuse, he would "bawk" with his loudest chicken imitation into the microphone until they had to give in!

This adorable couple captured our hearts from the beginning! Doesn't the man look like a Polish gentleman from the 19th century? I was standing behind a group of Polish grandpas who were rooting vociferously for this couple as well, so much so that one of the judges had to announce, laughingly, that "This is not Polish Idol!" However, when this rosy-cheeked couple was announced as the first place winner in the polka competition, one of the grandpas in front of me let out a huzzah and exclaimed, "I knew they would win!"

Later on, we danced to some lively waltzes, making up our own steps as we went along. Susanna and Mikaela enjoyed themselves!

My cousin Aimee joined us for the afternoon. Don't you think she makes a convincing Polish lady?

Is that Jonah masquerading there?

After touring the vendors and investing in some Polish candy, the pastry building was calling our names once more. Mama tried this delicious poppyseed cake.

Aimee chose the Polish cheesecake which, while different from American cheesecake, was still tasty!

Papa and I got the paczki, a traditional Polish doughnut with what we decided was a plum filling. This homemade doughnut definitely ranks in the top five tastiest doughnuts I have ever had!

With those sweet treats, our time at the Polish Festival came to a close. The food was gone On the way home, we chattered about the dances we had danced, the food we had tasted, and the sights we had seen. It was a wonderfully rich, fun-filled afternoon!

Last but not least for your viewing pleasure, here is a 25 second video of my sweet grandma demonstrating "This Little Piggy Went to Market" in Polish on Susanna's foot. The end is guaranteed to make you smile--I know I grin every time I watch it!

Do widzenia! Good bye!

The Legacy of Bonhoeffer

2011-10-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Part Three

Photo Credit

When I read World Magazine’s July 2010 article on their runner-up Book of the Year, I was immediately intrigued. So I asked for Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Prophet, Martyr, Spy for my birthday and was ecstatic to receive it, but also surprised to unwrap a hefty, nearly 600 page book. Could there really be so much to say about a man whose name I couldn’t even pronounce?

This book, which has since reached #1 on the New York Times Bestseller List, is one of those great tomes that is not content to describe only the main subject, but must sprawl into dozens of other foundational subjects as well. Without ever straying from his main purpose, Eric Metaxas manages to cover German history, the Reformation, theology, doctrine, racial tensions in America, culture, the Church in Germany, the financial crisis of the thirties, the rise and fall of the Third Reich, and so much more. Bonhoeffer’s life intersects with all of these details, and so with a greater understanding of these subjects comes a greater understanding of Bonhoeffer himself.

While Dietrich Bonhoeffer can be a most controversial subject, and many liberals have contorted his “religionless Christianity” into a call to postmodern humanism and the “Death of God” movement, Bonhoeffer makes the convincing case that this man was a serious-minded, Biblically-based Christian. Bonhoeffer lived a life centered around Christ: "There arises a more determined quest for him who is the sole object of it all, for Jesus Christ himself. What did Jesus mean to say to us? . . . What we want to know is not, what would this or that man, or this or that Church, have of us, but what Jesus Christ himself wants of us[1].”

On the website of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, they have this to say about Dietrich Bonhoeffer: “Over the past 50 years, many Christians have been engaged in the process of reexamining the role of the Church in Germany during the Nazi era. What has become evident in this undertaking is the depth of the chasm between the ideals the Church had always set for itself and the way it responded to the brutalization of the German government under Adolf Hitler. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was one of the few church leaders who stood in courageous opposition to the Fuehrer and his policies[2].”

Bonhoeffer redefined the Church with his part in the Barmen Declaration, which affirmed Christ to be the head and center of the church. This, during a time when the State was exerting itself to control and censure the church, Scripture, and Christians. Bonhoeffer asserted the inerrance and infallibility of the Word of God amongst academia who studied Scripture for its historical value only. Most importantly, however, Dietrich Bonhoeffer resolutely pursued a life centered on, based on, and led by Jesus Christ:

“We have been silent witnesses of evil deeds: we have been drenched by many storms; we have learnt the arts of equivocation and pretence; experience has made us suspicious of others and kept us from being truthful and open; intolerable conflicts have worn us down and even made us cynical. Are we still of any use?...Who stands firm?...Only the one for whom the final standard is not his reason, his principles, his conscience, his freedom, his virtue, but who is ready to sacrifice all these, when in faith and sole allegiance to God he is called to obedient and responsible action: the responsible person, whose life will be nothing but an answer to God’s question and call[3].”

This is the legacy of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Not a perfect legacy, by any means, but a legacy that brings one irresistably and constantly back to Christ Jesus our Lord. And this is the legacy that Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Prophet, Martyr, Spy so honestly portrays.

[1] Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. Discipleship, John D. Godsey (editor); Geffrey B. Kelly (editor). Fortress Press, 2000.

[2] http://www.ushmm.org/museum/exhibit/online/bonhoeffer/

[3] Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. “After Ten Years,” in Letters and Papers from Prison. Enlarged Edition, Eberhard Bethge, ed. (New York: The Macmillan Company), 1971, 5, 16-17.

Photo Credit: Bob AuBuchon

Courageous: The Movie

2011-10-07T10:38:00.000-07:00

Photo Credit

Going to see Courageous in the theater last week made several records for me. It was the first movie I had ever attended in a theater which drew spontaneous applause when the end credits rolled. Also, never before had I laughed so ridiculously hard or sobbed so much (yes, our whole row was a sniffling, nose-blowing mess!) in a movie. I have been telling people that I cried through the whole thing: sometimes because I was laughing so hard, and other times because of the heartstrings-tugging storyline. Then, at the end of the movie, my last record came when I said, “I think this is the best movie I have ever seen!”

Never fear, I am not going to give away any spoilers for those of you have yet to see the movie, but I am going to urge you to go to the theater to see this movie! Courageous is made by Sherwood Pictures who have also made Flywheel, Facing the Giants, and Fireproof. In my opinion, this is the best movie they have made yet, while others hold that it really is difficult to compare Courageous with Fireproof. Be that as it may, the videography, storylines, and acting are only improved in this latest movie. And as a side note, if you are a Sherwood Pictures afficionado, then you will appreciate the subtle references throughout the movie to their past movies; references that only fans would recognize and grasp the humor of.

The poignancy of Courageous lies in its message. Indeed, it delivers a powerful, significant message to our culture: fathers are the defining influence in a child’s life. If a father is absent, statistics show that that child will be more likely to take the wrong path towards drugs and jail. Courageous is not “preachy,” nor does it look at the world through rose-colored glasses. For some of the families the movie follows, everything is at stake, and some of the fathers are leaders of broken homes, coming face to face with the reality of their past bad decisions. Courageous decisions have to be made now, however, and a line is drawn in the sand between the courageous and the cowardly.

I am not a father, but going to see this movie gave me a renewed desire to love, support, and appreciate my father in his leadership of our home. It brought conviction to my heart to follow after his example more closely, and to be willing to make courageous decisions myself.

There was nothing offensive in the movie—no inappropriate language or clothing. What gave it the PG-13 rating was the violence, since the main characters are policemen. Because of that, it is probably not appropriate for young children. With that said, however, it is not gory or bloody, but it does contain violence and negative depictions of drug dealing.

Joshua 23:6 says,

“Therefore be very courageous to keep and to do all that is written in the Book of the Law of Moses, lest you turn aside from it to the right hand or to the left.”

That verse wholly sums up the message of this God-honoring, life-changing, norm-shattering, thought-provoking, paradigm-shifting, heart-convicting movie. In 2011, we have all too many people turning aside to the right, and all too many people turning aside to the left. Courageous lays down the truth: there is only one way to honor God and lead your families in righteousness, and although it will look different in every situation, it will require you to be very courageous. This is a much-needed message.

Go see it.

Trailer for Courageous