There are some authors whose books I’ve loved so much, I would never need to read reviews if any new works of theirs were published. I would just automatically buy the new book and read it, and know it would be something I would go back to time and again.

Joni Eareckson Tada is one of those authors for me. Not only is her life story compelling, but she’s an extremely gifted writer. When she talks about God being faithful and sufficient for any trial in life, I believe her. I think she’s authentic and mightily used of God to speak to our generation and the next.

Joni became a quadriplegic as a teenager when she broke her neck in a tragic diving accident over forty years ago. She thought a meaningful life or any hope of one was completely over, and in her despair she tried to enlist people to help her commit suicide, since she didn’t have the use of her hands and couldn’t take her life on her own.

Forty-three years after losing the use of her hands and legs, Joni has written thirty-five books, runs a ministry that ministers to the forgotten people of the world, and speaks to anyone who will listen about the beauty of knowing Jesus.

Here are a few of my favorites from her books:

I remember reading A Step Further and having many of my questions answered on the subject of suffering and God’s will.

Diamonds in the Dust – Joni’s devotionals are always rich and beautifully written. Never fluffy, but weighty and profound.

Heaven – Your Real Home was the first book I ever read that made me see heaven in a different way. For anyone who has ever thought heaven would be boring or ethereal or like the stereotypical scenes we see in movies, this book will help.

I have a vivid memory of reading When God Weeps and sobbing in gratitude and relief as I worked my way slowly through the book. Anyone who suffers or knows of people going through intense suffering will find amazing comfort in this book.

The God I Love is Joni’s memoir and I was so uplifted from reading it. She has learned of God’s help and faithfulness one moment at a time and her words are like water in a desert, for dry and thirsty souls.

When I heard recently that Joni had been diagnosed with breast cancer I was stunned and sad. We receive her monthly newsletter and here’s some of what she wrote about her illness:

“By now you’ve heard that a month ago I underwent surgery for breast cancer. Yes, it’s a shock, and some wondered, quadriplegia…chronic pain…now cancer? Isn’t that a bit much? Yes, it’s a lot…

…something else inspires me. Ephesians 3:10: ‘It’s now God’s purpose that, through the church, His manifold wisdom should be made known to the powers and principalities in the heavenly realms.’ Translation? With this cancer, my life is on display; yes, before family, friends, and disabled people around the world.

But mostly, my life is on display before millions of unseen beings who are intensely interested in my response to cancer. It’s why you’ll often find me quoting The Apostles Creed out loud these days, or reciting verses long-memorized, or singing (or speaking) as many stanzas of hymns that I can remember. I have to do this – it’s the only way (the best way) to keep this cancer in perspective.

My husband, Ken, and I are in a cosmic battle and we are heaven-bent on making certain the unseen world (in front of which we are all on display) learns a thing or two about our great and wonderful God.”

Wow. Joni can’t even scratch her own itches or care for her most pressing and personal needs by herself. And she still wants to make sure the unseen beings see that she thinks her God is great and wonderful.

Have we all forgotten that we, too, are being watched? Of course as believers we know that God watches over us and that nothing is hidden from Him. But I wonder how I might behave if I actually remembered that there are beings (angelic and demonic) who are either watching and cheering for me, or watching and mocking, as I live out my life in Christ. What do my words and veiled looks and exasperated sighs and any of my actions say about God to them?

If I roll my eyes and sigh because I’m weary of not being able to understand my husband’s words due to his Parkinson’s, who in the unseen realms is gleeful over that? If I say, “Oh what’s the use?” and walk away from prayer because the obstacles seem so huge, which invisible beings would be clapping their hands and redoubling their efforts against me? If I am tempted to be abrupt and mean and stingy, do I even remember that not only does God see, but His enemies see me misrepresent His love and goodness to the world? Do the demons rejoice over my ingratitude and pride?

On the other hand, when we get down on our knees for the umpteenth time to ask in (even feeble) faith for something we haven’t seen come to pass yet, we are being cheered on by great clouds of witnesses we cannot see (Hebrews 12:1-2). When we respond in patience and kindness instead of the sharpness and sarcasm someone might deserve, we really are thwarting the enemy’s work in our lives. When we humble ourselves and ask for forgiveness when we know we’ve hurt someone, something happens in our souls and in the heavenly realms that truly is cosmic and important…perhaps something we’ll only understand on the other side of eternity.

Do we not think that praising God, being as faithful as we know how, walking in humility toward our family and friends, calling Him good even when He allows difficult trials in our lives, and loving others even when they’re hard to love, is of monumental, eternal consequence?

Joni Eareckson Tada reminded me that those in the unseen realms are watching to see if we really believe our amazing God is good, and worth serving and trusting. They already know He is (although the demons hate His love and goodness), but we have a chance to show we think so too.

We are being watched. What are those who are watching (whether seen or unseen) surmising about God when they hear our words and see our choices?

If there’s one thing I don’t want to be caught doing, it’s causing others to conclude by watching my life that I don’t love and trust my God. 

Lord, please help me.

We live in a place with an average summer temperature of 75 degrees. I have always loved this about northern Minnesota. I think I must have reached my hot-weather-quota early on, growing up in the San Gabriel Valley of southern California, where it’s over 90 degrees for months on end. I’m not sure what has happened lately (I’ve got a call in to Al Gore) but our area has turned into a sauna and I’m getting a little irritated. It has been well over 90 degrees with oppressive humidity far too many days this summer. And we’ve had lots of torrential downpours rain. I can’t remember the last 75 degree day we had. And at night it doesn’t cool down much and the windows are all steamed up when we get up in the morning. We have been keeping our downstairs air conditioner on day after day, and have been sleeping to the grinding hum of a window a/c unit in our bedroom at night.

We talk about the heat and humidity several times per day, we check the forecasts for signs of hope, and we yearn for fall. No living in the blessed present here — we just want the blessed present to pass quickly and to turn into the cool fall weather we know and love.

But…I know I should be thankful we have air conditioners. And electricity. And that it’s not 106 degrees like it was a few days ago in Kentucky where my niece Savannah is attending college. Imagine going out on your porch at midnight and seeing that the thermometer still reads 100 degrees. When Savannah texted me about the 106 degrees I texted back to her, “Doom and despair!” because that is precisely what heat and humidity bring to my mind. I think if I have any major fear issues as I approach the ripe old age of 53, I am afraid of heat. I have thermophobia.

Speaking of fears, Clara went to church with us on Sunday and she loves the kids’ program called Cross Kids. Their lesson was on loyalty, and what it means to be loyal to Jesus (unlike Judas), and how to be loyal to friends and family. As we drove home Clara told us all about what she had learned and it was so sweet to listen to her. She also learned in Cross Kids what some different phobias are. I have no idea what loyalty and phobias have in common, but since Clara is taking after a few other people in our family and becoming a collector and dispenser of facts, she latched onto the phobia definitions and quizzed Grandpa and me on the way home.

“What do you think musophobia is, Grandma? Is it the fear of people, the fear of music, or the fear of mice?” We learned that the answer is C) the fear of mice.  A river of mice could crawl across my bare toes as I sit and type this and I would not be as afraid as I would be if our local meteorologist said tonight, “Well folks, it looks like we’re going to be in for another few days of sauna-like weather.” That would put me over the edge.

So you will be relieved to know that right before I started this historic post, I checked the forecast and learned that by this coming Sunday we might be skipping giddily around outside in 68-70 degree temps. I might be able to feel human again, or open some windows, or turn on my oven, or stop playing my thermophobia card to anyone who will listen.

On a much more interesting note, I’ve been playing a fun game with Clara and Elijah lately — it’s called Farkle. Have any of you heard of it? I was quite surprised at how taken they both were with it, and how giggly and animated they were while we played.

The object of the game is to be the first one to get 10,000 points. You roll six dice, and the main way of scoring is by rolling ones (100 points each) or fives (50 points each), or triplets of other numbers. If you roll three times and end up with no ones, no fives and no triplets of other numbers, you get a Farkle. That means no score for that turn, you’re done, and the next person gets to roll. Both Clara and Elijah thought it was hysterically funny when I said in my deepest voice possible with bulging eyes, “Faarkkllle!” You probably would not like Farkle if you have dice-o-phobia.

Last night Elijah spent the night and I enjoyed being with him so much. Even with a bad case of thermophobia, being with grandchildren always makes me happy. He’s getting his front permanent teeth in, and at times when he smiled I could almost get a glimpse of the handsome young man he’s going to be. He and I read, he played with Legos and built a ship he called the Merchant Royal, we played I Spy With My Little Eyes, talked about school and life, and played Farkle.

Today when Michael and I drove Elijah home, we stopped at Dunn Brothers to get smoothies for everyone first. Five strawberry smoothies, one wildberry smoothie, and one mango smoothie, to go. All with a little dollop of whipped cream on the top. We dropped Elijah off at his house and he was glad to give everyone their smoothies, and then Michael and I went for a drive in our air conditioned car before going back to our air conditioned house. My parents used to go for drives when I was a little girl and I always had to go along. I never understood why it was so enjoyable for them to drive by houses or the ocean going fifteen miles an hour while licking ice cream cones. Now I sort of get that. Which brings me to my possible developing case of gerontophobia. Just kidding.

We drove up the shore of Lake Superior a little ways, we drove by some new housing developments in some very wooded areas nearby, and we drove by our old house, which I still miss, but not quite as much as I did a year ago.

This coming Tuesday will be our last day of summer Bible study, and the women who have graced my home each week will be staying for lunch after our last session together. Last year I made Lemon Fusilli with Arugula for lunch and it was a keeper recipe. This year I’m thinking of Spicy Grape Pasta with Basil and Ginger.

Lastly, in this very random post, I just finished reading this book, thoughtfully sent to me by my dear niece Lauren in California. It was written in the 19th century and spoke straight to my heart in 2010. I plan to start reading it all over again very soon — there were just too many wonderful parts of this book to absorb in one reading. It’s the kind of book I’ll keep on my nightstand to pick up again and again.

Next to read on the floor near my side of the bed are: Coop: A Family, a Farm, and the Pursuit of One Good Egg by Michael Perry, Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese, and The Book of the Dun Cow by Walter Wangerin.

What books are waiting near your chair or bed these days?

What phobias are you plagued with?

I know two people who are truly afraid of feet. Another who is terrified of earthworms. I know someone else who gets a visceral reaction to the word “moist,” and who freaks out if her potatoes have sprouted. I know several folks who are afraid of flying, and one who fears not always having something to do.

I’ll bet you all have some stories. Most of us do.

Someday I’ll write a post about the clowns.

A few weeks ago a thoughtful reader wrote to me and sent a link to a song and music video. I had never heard of the artist, Andrew Peterson, but I was immediately struck by the truth and power of the lyrics. I can’t think of a more apt way to describe marriage then “dancing in the minefields.” Maybe it’s even a more appropriate title for a Christian marriage, because I really believe that a Christian marriage is targeted by the enemy of our souls from the moment the two believers say “I do” in the name of Jesus.

Here is what the artist says about how and why he wrote this song:

“In December of 2009 my wife and I celebrated fifteen years of marriage. A few days later, we got in a silly argument and I wrote this song after she went to bed. Marriage, see, was God’s idea. It’s one of the most potent metaphors in all of Scripture for the way God loves us and the way we’re to let ourselves be loved by him. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. To the contrary, it’s fraught with peril. Any good marriage involves a thousand deaths to self—the good news is, in Christ that marriage involves at least as many resurrections. We lay our lives down and enter this perilous dance with another human being who has done the same. Why should we expect to emerge unscathed?”

I’ve put the lyrics to the song below so you can follow along if you like. I also love how in the background the words “don’t give up on me” are softly sung.

Well I was 19 you were 21
The year we got engaged
Everyone said we were much too young
But we did it anyway
We got the rings for 40 each from a pawnshop down the road
We said our vows and took the leap now 15 years ago

Chorus:
And we went dancing in the minefields
We went sailing in the storm
And it was harder than we dreamed

But I believe that’s what the promise is for

Well “I do” are the two most famous last words
The beginning of the end
But to lose your life for another I’ve heard is a good place to begin
Cause the only way to find your life is to lay your own life down
And I believe it’s an easy price for the life that we have found

Chorus:
And we’re dancing in the minefields
We’re sailing in the storm
And this is harder than we dreamed
But I believe that’s what the promise is for
That’s what the promise is for

Bridge:
So when I lose my way, find me
When I lose love’s chains, bind me
At the end of all my faith
to the end of all my days
when I forget my name, remind me

Cause we bear the light of the Son of man
So there’s nothing left to fear
So I’ll walk with you in the shadow lands
Till the shadows disappear
Cause He promised not to leave us
And His promises are true
So in the face of all this chaos baby
I can dance with you

Chorus:
So let’s go dancing in the minefields
Let’s go sailing in the storms
Oh let’s go dancing in the minefields
And kicking down the doors
Oh let’s go dancing in the minefields
And sailing in the storms
Oh this is harder than we dreamed
But I believe that’s what the promise is for
That’s what the promise is for

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

I hope if you know anyone who might be blessed by hearing this song, you’ll refer them here. And may God strengthen us all as we dance in our own minefields.

Or shuffle, or plod in the minefields…whatever.

(Matthew 19:6)

Last week about this time we were enjoying the company of my dear sister-in-law Christy and niece Savannah. They flew from Tennessee to visit us and the time went much too quickly. You’ve heard the old saying “You can pick your friends but you can’t pick your relatives”? Well, they’re the kind of relatives that you would actually pick as friends and relatives if that were the way things worked. They are definitely kindred spirits, as Anne of Green Gables loved to say.

In honor of Savannah, who is the listmaker of all listmakers, I’m going to memorialize their visit to Minnesota with a list of things some of us did for the four days they were here.

Talked. Ate Zuppa Toscana and Chicken Gnocchi Soup at The Olive Garden. Reveled in weather that was not 102 degrees and humid. Sat on the back deck and looked at mountain ash berries. Missed seeing Dorothy. Wished I could have seen my brother Larry too. Read Arabella and Mr. Crack in order to understand Edith and Mildred’s last names. Ate chocolate cake with Virginia Sooter’s Peanut Butter and Chocolate Frosting. Drove up the north shore of Lake Superior. Walked on the sand at Park Point. Went to church where Savannah happened to meet our local Chi Alpha pastor. Ate Green Macaroni and Cheese. Toured Sharon’s yarn studio. Laughed. Ate mouthwatering Japanese food at Hanabi. Yelled at the dogs to stop barking. Tried to make the third floor guest suite as pitch dark as possible. Begged for several retellings of how Christy told Savannah when she was little that her name was Savannah Gate and not Savannah Kate. Shared three flavors of Creme Brulee (one being Rosemary Chai) at the Splashing Rock restaurant. Chuckled. Drove close enough to see the masts of the tall ships. Stayed away from the tall ships because of 200,000 tourists (sorry Christy). Watched Edith try to access Piggeth through the oven door. Tried to ride The Timber Twister. Did not ride the Timber Twister. Played an animal naming game around the dinner table. Tried to find a comfortable bed. Hid the walnuts. Yelled at the dogs to stop barking. Had heart to hearts. Spent part of the day doing floral design with Sara at Bella Flora. Paid a lot of money late at night for a company to tell us we had too many baby wipes in our sewer line. Ate Panzanella, a salad I could live on. Visited with seven precious grandbabies. Did not serve Hazelnut creamer. Watched the Next Food Network Star and added our vital commentary. Watched the next HGTV Design Star and added our expert opinions. Made Cappuccino Coolers. Talked. Watched Edith watch television. Considered videotaping Edith for America’s Funniest Home Videos. Listened to the story of Family Snake Fighting and laughed until it hurt. Witnessed the Fastest Texter East of the Mississippi. Received neck massages that induced coma-like symptoms. Drove through UMD three times. Ate homemade pizza. Toted home a new stash of yarn. Giggled with Fosters. Thanked God for family. Thanked God for being the God of our family. Cried when we had to drop Christy and Savannah off at the airport. Grinned when I found these notecards made by Christy, left behind as a gift:

Aren’t these some of the most adorable notecards you’ve ever seen? I almost don’t want to write on them.

Maybe if Christy and Savannah read this post they can add some of their own memories to the list.

We are sorely missing them this week.

I’m always looking for interesting toys to have around for my grandchildren. I’ve learned to not choose puzzles with many pieces, and so far dolls haven’t been their favorites. Legos and Magformers are the ones most of them gravitate toward, and I really like the Magformers myself. They’re colorful magnetic geometric shapes that can be used to build simple things like castles and balls and towers and bridges. During a recent visit to our house, I took some photos to document how much three year-old Little Gleegirl likes to play with them.

In the first shot below, she’s building Big Ben.

Now she’s working on the cube that will make Big Ben’s clock face.

She knows it takes six squares to make a cube.

Now she’s looking for the triangles to make the peak.

Almost done….

She likes to run around the house to show anyone who’ll look that she made Big Ben with the Magformers. She has no idea what or where Big Ben is, but she gets pretty happy when she’s finished with it.

Next project: a Magformer ball.

I think she’s pretty thrilled with her creation.

If you have little ones in your life and need an idea for a new toy gift, you might want to get a Magformer set. All seven of my little sweethearts love them.

Once you become aware that the main business that you are here for is to know God, most of life’s problems fall into place of their own accord.

(J. I. Packer)

Our oldest Miniature German Schnauzer Edith is a really nice dog. She loves the company of her humans – during the day as I work in different areas of the house, she follows me and often curls up wherever I am, just to be close. When I’m at the computer, she makes herself a circle dog on the office carpet. When I’m folding laundry, she lays on a chair by me and quietly watches. When I’m cooking, she curls up on a kitchen rug to be near. I love that about Edith.

What I don’t love about Edith is her instinctual hyper-vigilance and her need to bark at almost every moving thing. It is said that Schnauzers were specifically bred to be ratters. We have a lot of moving things in northern Minnesota in the summertime. In the space of one hour we might have right outside our house three deer, two chipmunks, four squirrels, one rabbit, one cardinal, ten chickadees, twenty sparrows, one indigo bunting, two blue jays, five children on bicycles, four neighbors walking various dogs, and one postal carrier. We often have to pull our shades just to keep Edith from seeing outside so she can keep quiet for a little while.

When we scold and shush her she acts very contrite and ashamed of herself but can’t seem to control her spontaneous outbursts – her need to bark seems almost involuntary. I am sure The Dog Whisperer could come along and help us in less than one hour but for now we are inept dog owners who can’t keep our pooches from being shrieking sentries.

Mildred (Millie) is our younger Schnauzer and she has a host of other issues I’ll tell about someday. You won’t want to miss that post. Very electrifying stuff here on the blog, folks. Millie behaves like a spoiled princess, even though we don’t spoil her. In spite of her barking, Edith is the more sedate and controlled dog – she is Queen Edith.

This photo of Edith sort of epitomizes what she thinks she was put on earth to do. She’s looking alertly out the front living room windows to make sure nothing moves without her immediately notifying us about it.

Notice the one upright ear? It won’t bend. Schnauzers have floppy ears that bend forward, but Edith’s one ear is always standing up. We say she has more cartilage than the average dog, somehow an admirable distinction we want Edith to feel good about. When she comes back from the groomer and isn’t as furry as she is in this photo, her stand-up ear looks pointed and sharp, like the dorsal fin of a killer whale. Then we call her Orca.

Once in a great while, Edith also smiles. When she is very relaxed (which is rare) and is being gently petted and crooned to, she raises her bearded chin and gazes into the eyes of the crooner and slowly draws her little black lips back to show her Schnauzer teeth. We especially like when she does this, and will even call others into the room to see it. “Look! Edith is smiling again!” we say.

I’m not sure why or how it started, but for as long as I can remember we’ve given our dogs quirky little nicknames. Sara has been especially talented at this. She used to call our long departed little Schnauzer Winnie “Beauteous Montoya” and “Niffery Yoder.” Years ago Carolyn started calling Edith “Schmeedith,” and from then on we commented that a very unique business to own would be a needle making company called Schmeedith Needle. We laughed about how the customer service calls would be smoothly answered: “Good afternoon, Schmeedith Needle, how may I direct your call?” Now that Sharon owns a yarn dyeing business, maybe Schmeedith Needle could manufacture knitting needles.

Have any of you imagined manufacturing companies built around a nickname you’ve given your pet?

No?

None of you?

Oh.

Well, have any of you given silly little nicknames to your pets? What are they? Tell us the kind of pet you have (or have had), the actual name of your pet, and some of the goofy things you and your family have called him/her!

Every summer for the past nine years I’ve had the privilege of hosting a beloved group of friends for a Bible study in my home. All of us comment each year that there’s no better way to mark our summers than to study together, to pray and encourage one another, and to hopefully grow in grace and truth. We have done several of Beth Moore’s eleven week studies, a seven week study called Conversation Peace by Mary Kassian, and this year we’re doing the updated Breaking Free by Beth.

We meet on Tuesday mornings, June through August, and share our hearts, go through the week’s study questions and discuss what we’ve learned, watch a teaching DVD by Beth, pass the Kleenex, and close by praying together.

Breaking Free is based on Isaiah chapter 61:1-4, and has been written to help people break free from any bondage that keeps them from being who they were meant to be in Christ. Some people need to break free from some pretty huge chains and some people have smaller chains that don’t seem to be of as much consequence, but whether it’s drug addiction or despair, food issues or fear, abuse or apathy, narcissism or nail-biting, most of us have something we struggle with. Most of us have some issue in our lives we’ve just learned to live with. Last week’s study called it “making peace with our captor.” I know that story.

Here is the passage from Isaiah 61 on which our study is based:

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,

and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor.

They will rebuild the ancient ruins
and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
that have been devastated for generations.

Six hundred years after God inspired Isaiah to write his prophecy, Jesus came to earth to fulfill it.

This is from Luke, chapter four:

Jesus returned to Galilee in the power of the Spirit, and news about him spread through the whole countryside. He taught in their synagogues, and everyone praised him. He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom. And he stood up to read. The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to release the oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

(painting by Greg Olson)

“Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him, and he began by saying to them, ‘Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.'”

Was Jesus speaking only to the Jews in that synagogue? Or was He saying that He had come to bind up the broken hearts of others too?

Did Jesus mean only that He would give sight to physically blind eyes then, or did He intend to open eyes in 2010?

Did Jesus come to set captive people free only in His own country during his earthly lifetime, or does He intend to do it now, in our countries and in your home and mine?

When He unrolled that scroll and said that He would release the oppressed from their chains, did He mean only the demonized man of the tombs and Mary Magdalene with seven demons, or did He look down the centuries and see you and me sitting at our computers reading these words, and have us in His mind?

Can the ancient ruins of our families really be rebuilt? Can He really restore the places that have been long devastated? Even the ones that have been devastated for generations?

Did He mean you and me when He said He would drape us in a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair?

Will He truly pour the oil of gladness on us instead of mourning?

When He stood up in His hometown synagogue after being in the wilderness for forty days, when He asked for the ancient scripture scroll of Isaiah the prophet, when He unrolled it and read aloud His job description, was He talking to you? Was He talking to me?

Jesus, are You talking to me?

My mom was thirty-five years old when she had me. I was a surprise to our family, and the news of my mom’s pregnancy was apparently not especially welcome, as she and my dad did not have a very solid marriage.

When I was in my twenties I was blessed to have a short visit with the older woman who had been my parents’ next door neighbor when I was born. Her name was Ruby Greener, and she was also the first Sunday School teacher I ever had at the First Baptist Church of Covina. I vividly remember Mrs. Greener teaching a roomful of three and four year-olds how to sing “This Little Light of Mine” and how demonstrative she was when she whisked her cupped hand (bushel) away from her pointed index finger (her little light) and sang, “Hide it under a bushel? NO! I’m gonna let it shine!…”

Anyway, decades later an elderly Mrs. Greener told me that my mother had confided in her over the fence that separated their houses, and cried when she shared that she was pregnant. Mrs. Greener remembered my mother hanging laundry out to dry, and visiting with her on a sunny southern California winter day, and Mom weeping at the sorrows in her life. My brothers were fifteen and ten years old when I was born, and I think Mom thought she was done having children. Mrs. Greener told me that my mother looked at her desperately and cried, “If I only knew I was having a little girl I think I could bear this better!”

It made me sad to know that things were bad with my parents so early on. From my lofty perch now (the ripe old age of fifty-two) I can say without hesitation that I know what was at the bottom of my parents’ woes: selfishness. I am not trying to disparage them — they loved me and showed me over and over that they did. And I love and miss my mom and dad. But even though their troubles might have had other names to them (maybe workaholism, depression, anger, poor communication, mishandling of finances, pride, whatever) there had to be one bedrock problem contributing to all of it – selfishness. On both sides.

If ever there is tension in my own marriage I can trace it to selfishness in some way. If I love my husband unselfishly and he loves me unselfishly, things go well. When I start thinking it’s time for me to have my say or get my way, things deteriorate. I’m a very selfish person and being unselfish does not come easy for me, yet it makes me happier when I am. But I digress.

When I was little and asked my mom how I came to be, she smiled and said, “I prayed and asked God to give us a little girl.” I don’t doubt the truth of her answer. She may not have prayed for a third pregnancy, but I’m certain that once she realized a third child was coming, she did pray and ask God to give her a girl. And anyone who knew my mom would remember that she doted on me, dressed me fine, encouraged me, sacrificed for me and showed me in a zillion ways that she was glad I was her little girl.

I had Easter hats and ruffled socks and new patent leather shoes every year. I had ribbons in my hair (but no bangs, if she had anything to say about it, which she did) and ruffles on my blouses. I had pleated skirts and fur collars on my coats. My mother starched and ironed my dresses and put curlers in my hair for special occasions. I was tomboyish too, but my scrapbooks are filled with photos of me mostly all dressed up and smiling for the camera.

This photo was taken when I was nearly five years old, and it sat with two others in a trio of frames on my parents’ dresser in their bedroom. My mom took me to her hairdresser, Mabel, to have my hair done specifically for the photography session. The dress I wore was white and was topped with a lavender colored little cape with a fake carnation on it. The photographer tossed a ball at me and I caught it, and the twinkle in my eye from that shot made my mom choose that photo for one of the three that was in their room. Another photo was of me looking pensive, reading a Little Golden Book.

And this one is of me looking like Little Miss Priss.

My hair truly never looked like this again. I came home, threw off my dress and flowered cape, put on some shorts and a tee-shirt, and went off riding my two-wheeler with training wheels down our quiet neighborhood street. I had people to see, dogs to pet, books to read, and dirt to play in.

Now, every time I look at old photos (and I’m going through them slowly these days) I remember my mama, and how she prayed so earnestly that she would have a girl. And how once she saw that prayer was answered, she did everything in her power to make sure I was dressed and treated like one.

Did your mom ever take you to the beauty parlor or make you wear a purple cape?

A few years ago I drove with a group of friends to attend a Living Proof Live conference in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. It was such a wonderful weekend, and it was a privilege to be there with thousands of others who were gathered for essentially the same reason: to experience Jesus Christ. Some may have found Him in the worship, some came to hear His voice spoken over their circumstances in the Word, others may have come to see if He could really be who He claimed to be. That weekend in April the SAGs began memorizing scripture together, as we reminded ourselves that God is able to make all grace abound to us, so that in all things at all times, having all that we need, we would abound in every good work. (2 Corinthians 9:8)

One of the songs the worship team played deeply impacted each of the SAGs. I had heard it before, but never sung by Travis Cottrell and the LPL team, and never coupled with the hymn “The Solid Rock.” Each time “In Christ Alone” was sung that weekend, it was as if we all stood there riveted by the profound lyrics that encapsulate what it means to be a Christian…to be in Christ, to belong to Him, to rest in His love and power, to trust Him with this life and the next, to love Him. I realize that there are many people who only see of Christianity what imperfect Christians display. And I know I’m one of the Christians who has not adequately represented Christ to the world. My life may not have drawn many to Jesus.

But if you can take a few minutes to listen to this song and see the lyrics, you might sense what is so magnetic, so lovely, so amazing and magnificent about Him. I cannot get over the fact that somehow Jesus loves me and has taken me as His own. And He loves you too, and wants to be the Friend, the Father, the Comforter, the Deliverer, the One you have perhaps intensely needed in your life.

As we drove home from that weekend away, we listened to this song over and over in the car, letting its truth wash over us and into us. It became an anthem of sorts for The SAGs.

It never fails to make me stop whatever I’m doing and listen carefully to the words, letting them interrupt the idiot thoughts and frenetic activity of my little life; it usually makes me cry.

If the lyrics of this song are lies, then I’m receiving false comfort here on earth, and when I die, the worms will make dust of my body and that will be the end of me.

If what this song says is true, then every moment of every day means something, and when I die I will cease leaving here and cross over into living somewhere else.

I hope on that day that somehow my grandchildren will understand that I have not ceased to exist, but that I have just moved. And that I’ll be waiting for them, watching for them, cheering for them, to make their own individual and momentous decisions to be In Christ Alone.