A Very Serious Post, Not for the Feint Hearted

I've been debating whether to write this post, and decided for it for a few reasons:

1. So that you know why the sadness sometimes lurks in my eyes.

2. Because I need to talk about it, but I don't want to talk about it.

3. So that you who have not experienced it can hear one person's story. Not that I claim my feelings and reactions are universal by any means, but for those who care for others, maybe my story can help.

Last week Dave and I were happily expecting our second child. Today we are not.

I tuned out when the doctor mentioned the possibility of miscarriage. Hadn't I just seen the baby's little heart beating? No danger could touch its little life in my strong, healthy body, a body which was designed to bring forth life.

Which is why I feel so betrayed by my body.

For days I ignored the mounting evidence, searching internet sites for every other possible explanation. It was only the wise council of my husband a good friend from church that kept me from preaching this weekend, and the end finally came at the exact time that I would have been in the pulpit Saturday night. Thank God for clearer minds than mine.

As soon as I could steal away to a private room, the wrenching sobs which I had repressed for hours poured out. They surprised me. It's not that I don't cry- I cry quite easily over movies, Hallmark commercials, good books, a well-told story, a sermon (even my own), weddings and funerals. I just don't often cry over my own life or situation. But I cry now.

Initially, I thought I'd throw away the pictures from the sonogram with the little white blob, an arrow, and "baby," but they're still in my purse in the envelope. I can't look at them, but I can't throw them away. They're all I have left of baby.

I feel like I have a tomb inside of me. A cold, dark, lifeless tomb.

And every minute of every day, my body reminds me of what has been lost.

The other stories have surprised me. They shouldn't. It only makes sense when you look at the statistics: around 25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, so of course women all around me have suffered through this. But I just never thought of how many there were. It's like I've discovered a huge underground sisterhood which I didn't want to join, but for which I am incredibly grateful. They share their stories with me, and I can believe in hope, in the return of real laughter, in a body that will bear life again.

Tomorrow I will look again for the sunshine. Maybe the next day I will even dance just a little bit. It's just life; we'll win in the end.

But tonight I'm crying again.

God at Oak Park Mall

Yesterday I spent some quality hours at Oak Park Mall (thanks, SPRC!) and a few spiritual experiences caught me by surprise.

The first encounter was at the Seacret kiosk. Elad, a salesman at the kiosk stopped me to demonstrate their nail care kit. While he was beautifying one of my nails (it really did work well, so I bought the whole kit) we chatted. He's lives in Israel, and is here just to help promote the company's products in the United States. He lives just 30 minutes from the Dead Sea, his favorite place back home. He asked me about myself, and when I told him I was a pastor, he was more than a little surprised. He said, "you don't look like a pastor." He expected a pastor to be dressed in a dark suit and tie. Back home, he told me, religious leaders always dress differently from other people, so he really was taken aback by a pastor who looks, "normal." We laughed about this, and he shared with me what he loves and misses about home.

Not long after this fun encouter, I ran across Jesus. He was hanging out at the top of the escaltor, just watching people over the railing. He was in full regalia- white robe, crown of thorns, full beard and long flowing hair. We didn't talk, but I couldn't help but think about Elad, wondering what his reaction would be. What is his overall impression of Christians, or at least Christians in the United States?

My final encounter was at the check out counter of a department store. I bought a couple of items that finished out my gift card, and it rang up $0.98 over what was left on the card. I very rarely carry cash (yes, I know what Dave Ramsey would say), and so asked if I could put the $0.98 on my credit card. The woman checking out next to me laughed and handed the cashier a dollar for me. I thanked her and she just smiled and waved me off, then left. It was just a dollar, but she did it so quickly and without a second thought, that it made me think that generosity must just be a way of life for her.

It's been an interesting season.

Merry Christmas.

The Bible sometimes ticks me off

I love the Bible, I really do. I read it everyday, meditate upon it, study it, and treasure it. But just now I'm pretty frustrated with it.

We've been reading Aliyah's children's Bible to her every night as her bedtime story, and last night was the story of Hannah, who prayed to God for a son and whose prayer was answered. I had not yet completed the last sentence, which announced that Hannah had a baby boy, before Aliyah slammed her hands on the book and yelled, "Again?!"

"What do you mean 'again,' honey?"

"It's another baby boy. In the whole Bible, that's all there is- baby boys! Why aren't there any baby girls, mommy?"

I tried telling her that there are some baby girls in the Bible. Unfortunately, they are all such minor characters that none of them made it into her children's Bible. And the truth is, of the few baby girls, none of them is a direct answer to prayer.

How can I look at my beautiful and amazing baby girl, who is an answer to prayer, and tell her that the Bible is the most important book in the world, inspired by God, useful for instruction and edification, when she knows there are no baby girls in it? Either it is not that great of a book, or baby girls are not that important to God. That's not what I believe, but it's the message she's hearing right now.

So I'm really ticked off at the Bible. And maybe just a little bit at God, too.

Dear God, thanks for nothing

That was my sweet, precious daughter's prayer last night. After my heart started beating again, I asked her why she would pray such a thing. "Because God won't talk to me," she said simply.

She's been struggling for some weeks now with the fact that she has not heard God talk. It makes no sense to her that she keeps talking to God, but never hears anything back. I've tried telling her about all the ways God speaks to us- through scripture, nature, other people, that still small voice, but it's no good. She firmly believes that God can, and should, speak to her audibly, and all I can think to say is, "why not?"

And so now she prays, "Thanks for nothing."

I visited my grandmother today, the greatest woman of faith I have ever known. I asked her what to tell Aliyah, my little girl who is angry with a God who isn't talking to her. Her answer, "It's remarkable that a child her age is even asking the question. What do you tell her? I don't know. I still ask the same question myself, and if I haven't figured it out yet, after 91 years, you can't expect a 5-year-old to understand."

She went on to talk about her struggles with her faith, the questions that frustrate her still, and her own fears. She keeps looking, asking, reading, wondering. She's not angry, just still growing and listening. She, too, wants to hear God. "Don't worry," she tells me, "Aliyah will keep praying, and eventually she will hear God's voice."

Why not?

Best Not Buy

We're moving next week to a new house, and I must admit I'm not the most cheerful packer in the world. Where did it all come from? How can one small townhouse contain so much stuff? So, we've been purging diligently, asking tough questions such as, "Do you recognize this? Any idea of its possible function? So why do we have three of them?"

We've also stopped buying things. This isn't easy for either of us. Dave loves to stroll around Target, and is especially weak in the girls' clothing area, where he always finds something Aliyah "absolutely needs." My downfall is a particular second hand store in Leawood, where I feel obligated to drop in at least once a month, and where I always find a great buy that I just can't pass up.

But we've restrained ourselves for the past few weeks. I'd like to say it's because our packing chore has enlightened us to our bloated lifestyle, that we've pledged to commit to the discipline of simplicity. Really, though, we just can't bear the though of packing another item. Yes, our newfound frugality is motivated by laziness.

A few life lessons, though, are boldly asserting themselves, and just won't be ignored, despite our best efforts. Forced creativity is one. Since my shopping moratorium includes the grocery store, I had to figure out just what to do with that half bag of black beans that's been squatting in my pantry lo these 5 months.

Another is that, when I resist the shopping impulse, it eventually cools somewhat. Don't get me wrong. I'll still present myself to Prior Attire shortly after we move. But I won't go every time the urge strikes, because now I know that the urge is not stronger than me.

Life is also easier when I don't spend my precious time with my daughter at the store. We play more, color more, laugh more, relax more. Life is good.

So I'm going to try to continue the discipline even after we move. Right after I buy a new pair of black boots that I just absolutely need.

Undignified and beautiful

Ok, this is one where I really wish I had taken a picture. This weekend we had a guest musician in worship, Ken Medema, who then gave a concert last night. The whole weekend was amazing; he wrote music during the worship based on the prayers, baptism, themes. It was incredible.

The best was the concert last night, though. A few songs into the concert, he started talking about dancing. But talk wasn't enough. He said, "The world doesn't give us the space to dance. Let's make this place our sacred dance space." He then invited everyone to stand up and dance, encouraging them to utilize the whole room, even the whole building if necessary. I wasn't sure what would happen. I mean, we just don't dance in worship very often.

The response was almost immediate. It started in the aisles. People joined hands and danced up and down the aisles. The space was too confining, though, so before long they took to the chancel (our fancy word for the stage), and within a few minutes, what looked like 100 people were dancing all over it, circling Ken and the piano, waving their arms, jumping up and down, acting completely undignified. It was out of control, and it was beautiful.

There was no going back after that. As the concert continued, I saw hand raising, heard personal testimonies, even from children, and felt the Spirit of God sweep over us.

I truly believe John Wesley would be proud.

Safety First...or not

I've been inundated with safety messages lately. Or maybe always, and I've just noticed lately. Not that there's anything wrong with taking precautions. I'm all for car seats, helmets, login passwords, and vaccinations, but I wonder whether we've become a little too obsessed with it. Do we spend a little too much time, effort, and money on disinfecting everything we touch (and then ourselves), making our house an impenetrable fortress, researching every possible recall, and cushioning our falls. Every other night, it seems, the special report on the nightly news reveals yet another lurking danger in our lives. "You thought your home was child friendly, but is it really a death trap? Tonight, in a report you can't afford to miss: 100 ways your home is killing your family."

So a few days ago I'm jogging while listening to the music mix my sister made me, and along come Garth Brooks's song, "Standing Outside the Fire." For those of you not from Oklahoma, the lyrics include:

we call them weak
who are unable to resist
the slightest chance love might exist
and for that forsake it all



they're so hell bent on giving, walking a wire
convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire

standing outside the fire
standing outside the fire
life is not tried it is merely survived
if you're standing outside the fire

And it strikes me, I don't want to stand outside the fire. I want to jump into the fire, to look for love in the least likely places.

Our family has discovered our own passion, a place where we're willing to risk some safety and comfort for the possibility of greater community. Our own way of standing within the flames. I was second guessing myself when Garth reminded me that it's worth it.

In fact, if there's not at least one place in your life where you're wading into the fire, what's the point? When I read the stories of the great heroes of the faith, never do I hear God say to them, while calling them to a mission, "Remember, safety first. If it looks dangerous, or uncomfortable, or personally unfulfilling, or if success isn't guaranteed, just come on back and we'll call it quits."

Quite the opposite, actually. Usually, God's knowingly sends them into the fire. When they dare to whine, God replies with something like, "Yeah, I know it's hot. What's your point?"

So, here's to running into the fire, without a helmet or even a safety net. It's so worth it, burns and all.

As the Sun Rises

This morning I rolled out of bed a little earlier than normal for a Sunday morning, as Adam, our senior pastor, was introducing all the pastors to the congregation at every service, including the 7:45 a.m. service. This was my first time to attend the early morning service, and I was surprised at the large attendance. The service was in the chapel, the original sanctuary that seats around 300, and it was close to full. It's a beautiful chapel, designed to be especially conducive for weddings, funerals, and other special services.

"Why?" I asked myself, "Why would so many people wake up this early on a Sunday morning for worship?" It was clearer to me after the service. Here the congregation enjoys all the advantages of a large church with all its resources, but also the intimacy of a smaller church in a space that feels and looks especially sacred. Between the great acoustics of the space and the energy of the people, the congregational singing filled the room. I enjoy worship at all of the services here, but there was something very special about this early morning service.

Plus, who doesn't love to greet the sun as it peeks above the horizon in the morning?

If you've never tried it, come on out and give it a go. And if you don't love it, if you're not glad you woke up earlier than normal for the worship experience, give me a call and I'll take you out to coffee to make up for it.

New Sights, New Sounds, New Office

I'm moved into my new office at Church of the Resurrection. It's a nice sized space, with plenty of bookshelves, a happy desk, and delightful co-workers. I'm missing one important piece, though. Currently, when I look up from my computer, I stare at a big blank wall. So, I could really use something more beautiful for my viewing pleasure. Suggestions? Donations?

Top 10 Things I'll Miss About LUMC

in no particular order...

1. The yellow children's wing: It is physically impossible to walk down this bright (and we're talking stare directly into the sun bright) hallway and not smile. And when it's filled with children and parents laughing, singing, dancing and playing, my heart fills.

2. Miss Margaret: Anyone who's attended LUMC for at least a year has a Miss Margaret story. She's been teaching the pre-school Sunday School I think since the church was founded 50 years ago, and is still beloved by all the children today, especially my child. She's also famous for asking everyone she meets if they have a church home, giving the warmest greeting to newcomers, cheering louder than anyone for the Royals, and probably a million other things I don't know about. I love to look out on Sunday morning and see her great enthusiasm as she sings praise to God.

3. Jeff's Elvis impersonations: Our children's director has so many special gifts and talents, but my favorite one is the way he can make us all laugh any day of the week.

4. First Light: Our young adult group is full of life, energy, humor, a love for Christ and each other, and a desire to change the world. It excites me to see them taking on more responsibility in the church while also reaching out to others. I enjoyed every minute with them, but my favorite were spent in the variety of community service endeavors, like serving lunch at the Ronald McDonald house or working at the Johnson County Christmas Bureau. 

5. Tuesday morning Pastor's Bible Study: This group of more experienced adults is full of life, energy, humor, a love for Christ and each other, and a desire to change the world. Every week which I had the privilege of leading their Bible study, they challenged me spiritually and intellectually. Plus, Bob always brought Girl Scout cookies.

6. The entire staff: No one could ask to serve with a better team. They brim with passion, creativity, compassion, perseverance, good humor, and godliness. They also treat each other with the upmost kindness and respect. I will truly miss each and every one of them.

7. Our musicians: From Garrett's guitar and Brandon's drums to Yun Hee's organ, the choir that sounds like 100 voices and the beautiful bells ( and I know there are so many more), the music at LUMC lifted me almost to heaven.

8. Church clean-up days: Yes, sometimes poison ivy got the best of some of us, but the hours we spent sweating together were pure joy. People of all ages showed up for work days, and I could see their love for the church in their dirty hands and aching muscles.

9. Gavin: Ok, I had to put this one in for Aliyah. Her first question every time we drove to the church building was, "Will Gavin be there?" (Her second question always revolved around cookies). Really, I will miss everyone and everything that made my daughter feel so welcomed and loved. She felt right at home from the very first day we came.

10. The whole congregation: I truly love this congregation. When I pray through the picture directory, I smile the whole time, because each face carries with it special memories. I will continue to pray for LUMC, that they may live into their calling from God and always remain faithful to Christ. 

It's hard to stop at just 10. I will miss Leawood United Methodist Church tremendously, but I know it is in good hands. God bless.

What if they find out?

I have this secret, long-standing fear of being found out. What if everyone knew?

What if my daughter found out that I don't know everything. I don't know how God made bears, and I don't really understand why strawberries are good for her.

What if my congregation finds out that every Sunday as I stand before them, I am trembling inside? My heart races when I preach, and the Bible confuses me, too.

What if my friends find out that I never fully recovered from my middle school fear of rejection? Always in the back of my mind, I'm wondering, "do they like me?"

What if my staff find out that I'm not nearly as calm and confident as I appear? What if I don't really appear calm and confident, and I'm just fooling myself?

What if I'm the only one in the world in hiding?

Truth and eggs

To keep my daughter occupied during a meeting yesterday, I let her create a Word document on my laptop. That kept her happy for a full 5 minutes, which is an eternity in 4-year-old time. When she was done, she showed me the ten lines that she had typed and asked me to read back what she had written.

I will freely admit that my daughter is not a prodigy, so this was not Shakespeare. Actually, it was ten lines of gibberish with no spaces or punctuation. I diligently searched for any small words I could find (like Boggle, but without the diagonal) and found two: "eggs" and "truth."

Yes, that's right, even in the midst of random, mindless clatter was a small measure of truth. If I had not searched, I never would have found it. But from now on, I'll look twice even in the most unexpected places.

God's Throwdown

I sat in on the youth Sunday School this past week, and had a great time hearing a fresh perspective on the Bible. They were studying the book of Judges, which was new territory for several. They quickly discovered that it's the same story over and over again: the Israelites do evil in the sight of God; they are overtaken by another king; they cry out to God; God delivers them through the leadership of a judge; all is well; the judge dies; they do evil in the sight of God...
It gets incredibly annoying, as one astute student pointed out.

The question posed in class was how they thought it would all turn out. Would God just keep forgiving and delivering over and over endlessly? Or would He grow tired of it all? My favorite answer, from a very sharp young woman, was," I think God's going to run out of patience, and there's going to be a big throwdown."

She was right, of course. God eventually stops giving them judges and kings, and allows them to be captured and carried off into exile. Although they eventually return to their homeland, the nation of Israel is never the same again.

But God's forgiveness never runs out. The prophets, along with words of frustration, carry God's passionate words of love for God's people. Israel would never again enjoy a human king, but were challenged to return to their one true king, the one who promised to always love them and never die.

So what was Jesus thinking when he accepted the title of, "King of the Jews?"

And what kind of a deliverer dies before the delivering?

Could Jesus have been God's final, final throwdown, in a completely unexpected way?

I Need a Hero

Last week, Aliyah and I watched Nim's Island, a movie about a girl, Nim, who lives on a remote island in the South Pacific with her father and animal friends. Though the only humans on the island, Nim and her father are in communication with the rest of the world through satellite internet.

One day the father, a marine biologist, sails off for a specimen gathering trip, but a storm prevents his return. After a couple of days Nim, frightened and lonely, e-mails her favorite adventure writer, Alex Rover, to come to the island to help her. Little does she know (fans of Stranger Than Fiction should appreciate that phrase) that Alex is actually a fiction writer suffering from agoraphobia, too scared to ever leave her house.

Anyway, Alex finally convinces herself to go to the girl's aid. As she faces one fear after another, she says to herself, "I can't be the hero of my own life story."  Nim, about the same, says the same thing, "I can't be the hero of my own life story."

***warning: spoilers ahead***

Alex finally reaches the island, still wondering how on earth she can help this girl. What happens next is a radical reversal of expected hero roles. Nim discovers Alex washed up on the beach and rescues her, bitterly disappointed in her hero.

Later, as they sadly watch the empty horizon, Alex feels completely helpless. She can not find Nim's father, nor can she assure her that everything will be ok. So finally she puts her arm around Nim and says, "I promise that, whatever happens, you will not be alone." She is Nim's hero simply through her gift of presence.

What does a hero look like?  Do we need to radically adjust our picture of a hero?

Jesus already did that, of course. What kind of a hero is poor, homeless, peace-loving, and faces suffering and death calmly, with open arms even? What kind of a hero brings new life to others simply through sharing a meal with them?

He is the hero of my life story as well as the model of how I can be a hero.

What is your hero call?

Race Day

Today was my first race of the season. I use the word "race" loosely, of course, as I'm more about completing than competing. I am proud to say that I ran, or jogged, the whole distance, and was beat by only one jog stroller.

Today was also my daughter's first race. She made it about 3/4 of a mile before persuading my mother, who was walking with her, to turn around. As they were the first to arrive at the finish line, she's convinced she won. More importantly, she made it to the donuts in time to find one with chocolate icing and sprinkles.

Today's race benefited Oceans of Mercy, a ministry that provides, "hope , life and love to orphans and vulnerable children affected by HIV/AIDS. The popularity of the 5K walk/run as a fund-raiser never ceases to amaze me. Make a general plea for money to benefit a cause, even a very admirable one, and the response is usually lukewarm. Ask people to give money AND show up early on a cold, windy Saturday morning to run further than half of us do in any given week, and willing participants show up in the thousands. In cases like Race for the Cure (my first 5K), by the tens of thousands.

What does this say about us? Do we just enjoy pain and suffering? Do we have nothing better to do on a Saturday morning? Is it really that hard to find a running buddy? Are the free bananas and oranges that enticing?

Maybe we just need to feel the give. For most of us, honestly, $20 is not that big of a deal. Our budget wouldn't even notice the difference. But we need to notice. So if we give $20 in conjunction with an event that requires preparation and training, pulls us out of bed at an indecent hour, and stretches our abilities, then maybe we'll take it more seriously. And we need to take the suffering of millions of children seriously.

So join me for race day on September 27 at Sacred Steps to provide care for hundreds of women and orphans in Africa affected by HIV/AIDS. If you've never run a race before, you can find a detailed training guide that will prep you in just 6 weeks. That gives you plenty of time to talk yourself into it, then find a few good friends to convince, as well. Because crazy new goals are infinitely more fun with friends.

Meeting Agendas

So, yesterday afternoon a large contingent from our congregation met at Roe Park for an intense game of kickball, youth vs. adults. The scorekeeper claimed it was a tie game, but I'm sure I counted at least one more run for the adults... ah, if only I hadn't dropped that fly ball (and Karsen, don't ask which drop I'm talking about).

The best part of the game, and the whole afternoon, was how much we laughed, cheered, and sweat together. We learned things about each other (who knew Shannon was competitive enough to risk his own life?) and we easily forgave each other (ok, back to my dropped fly balls).

I'm struck by how much playing together can create, enhance, and restore relationships. So, I propose that every meeting from now on begin and end in play. It doesn't have to be kickball, though that's hard to beat, but it does need to be fun, lighthearted, and give Shannon an opportunity slide in the dirt.

when it's easy to be a pastor

Tonight was one of those easy to be a pastor times. Our church is going through the Alpha program for the second time, and the leaders invited me to attend tonight, the night where they focus on healing. After the teaching, everyone took a few minutes to listen for God's voice, especially paying attention to any words, images, or impressions that came to mind. Several people in the group then shared what they heard, and we spent time praying for each other in small groups. It was exciting and thrilling to hear and see the Holy Spirit at work in very real ways, using people as instruments of healing and love.

These experiences help sustain me. Though I have seen God's healing touch at work many times in my life, each new instance amazes me. Thank you God, for allowing me to see your power, beauty and love tonight.

Cell phone spirituality

This past Sunday morning, I groggily woke up without the aid of sunshine and reset all my clocks to an hour later. Bedside alarm, microwave oven, living room clock, watch- they all needed to be fixed. When I looked at my cell phone, though, I happily noticed that its time was already correct. Somewhere in the middle of the night it had silently communicated with the closest cell tower, received pertinent information about the time change and adjusted itself. I smiled at my smart little phone and a strange warmth crept through my heart.

Ok, so maybe I'm just slightly too fascinated by technology's little magic tricks. It just got me to thinking. Do we check in often enough?

God gave me a specific direction ten years ago. It was a powerful message, but not the last. If I had just followed that call and never checked back in for redirection, I would be way off course by now. I need to be in constant communication with God: checking for updates, submitting to maintenance, receiving new directions.

So does our church. What God called us to do 20 years ago may not be what God is calling us to do today. In fact, it most likely isn't. Just like a clock that is an hour off is useless, and maybe even detrimental, so is a person or a church that is not constantly listening for God's new direction.

So, let's spring ahead.

P.S. My apologies to those of you whose cell phones didn't work properly this past Sunday, especially Jason and Rob. In no way is this blog meant to discriminate or ridicule. It's not your fault that my stuff is better than yours.

Story Time

So, we just returned from Disneyworld yesterday, where all our dreams came true (at least temporarily, as someone pointed out). Of course we had the time of our life, and our little girl was almost overcome with excitement meeting all her favorite characters, especially the princesses.

I myself can't get enough of the rides. They thrill, entertain, and delight me. What's so amazing about Disney rides is how they pull you into a story, even while you're still in line. In Pirates of the Caribbean, you walk through a dark, cool cave to get to the boats; the Dinosaur ride debriefs you on your mission to travel back into time to retrieve a live specimen for research; and Stitch's Great Adventure is a training operation for new guards in its alien incarceration facility.

The best rides are those that not only tell a story from beginning to end, but incorporate the guests into the story. We believe, just for a moment, that we really are pirates, princesses, scientists, space rangers, even bugs, and that maybe, just maybe, we really can fly.

Stories are powerful; this is ancient knowledge. What excites me, though, is finding new ways to tell the stories, exciting ways to include more and more people into the stories. If Disney can convince little girls that they are princesses, and moms and dads that they are heroes, there must be a way that we can tell the story in a way that everyone can truly believe, know, and experience, that we are all precious, powerful, beautiful creations of an amazing God.

And this ride never ends.

Let Them See You Sweat

Every couple of months, I curl up with my Women's Health magazine to learn about all the latest advice for a healthy lifestyle. In every issue are at least a couple of perfect workout routines designed to tone and shape. Last fall, I ripped out the few pages with a special winter workout, an intense, but relatively short workout that included both resistance and cardio training, intended to keep the metabolism revved and ready for spring in just two sessions per week. This sounded great, since my winter workout schedule is usually very pathetic; I spend the first couple months of spring just trying to catch up to where I was in the fall.

So over the next month or so, I faithfully visited the gym twice a week and executed the workout precisely. Yes, I was the only person there carrying around magazine pages, but I was feeling stronger and leaner after just a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, the motivation slowly waned, and after a couple of months, I just couldn't force myself to the gym anymore. The mornings were too dark to venture out of bed, and the evenings too cold to go back out again. Besides, after a few weeks, the workout routine was boring and tiresome.

One evening, when I somehow managed to drag my body to the gym but still couldn't muster the will to hop on the treadmill, I walked over to the fitness classroom to check out the evening's schedule. That's where I met Steve's Total Body Conditioning Class. With no real idea what it was, I shuffled into the classroom, mainly because I couldn't think of anything else to do. An hour and a half later, every muscle in my body ached, all my energy was spent, and I was in love.

The simple truth is, I just can't workout alone. Not for any extended period.

I need the discipline of a scheduled meeting time.

I need people who will ask me where I was when I miss a class.

I need Steve's killer body in front of me to remind me of my goal.

When my muscles are whining, I need the woman beside me who hasn't stopped her push-ups, shaming me into continuing mine.

I need someone expecting more of me than I expect of myself.

I need to be in a group that shouts, "Yeah!" at the top of their lungs when Steve asks, "Feeling good?" even if we all feel like collapsing.

I need the high five and the "Great job!" at the end of class.

I'm ready now to admit that the task of maintaining physical health is too difficult to do on my own. It just won't happen. Judging by the size of Steve's class, this is true for many people.

The same goes for spiritual health. Actually, most people (including me) find this one even more difficult. We need a total body conditioning class for our souls.

Some people call it church.

So, I'll see you there. And if it helps, I'll give you a high five and a "Great job!" after worship.

But I'll also expect you to push yourself even harder next time.

Me and Mickey

We're heading out to Disney World in a few weeks. I've always wanted to go, and now my child gives me the perfect excuse. Honestly, though, I'm even more excited than her.

Every other day she and I pull up Disney's web site and explore the virtual Magic Kingdom. We study the park map, review the videos and pictures of all the rides, and envision the spectacular night parade. The vacation fun grows in our minds each and every time.

Some might say that building up this much anticipation ensures disappointment, but Aliyah and I heartily disagree. We believe the anticipation increases the pleasure of the trip and broadens the enjoyment time. It's like we're enjoying our vacation little by little even weeks before the official start time. When we actually arrive and see in person all that we've dreamed, it can not disappoint, because we are determined to love every minute.

Heaven, too, will surely inspire excitement for all present, but those who have anticipated its pleasure longest will find special satisfaction. And as long as we're planning on spending eternity in this place of infinite beauty, wonder, and joy, in the presence of pure and perfect love, why not start enjoying it now?

At least, that's why I worship.

Let's Give it Up for Jesus

This morning I had the privilege of preaching at a small church just a few miles from my house. The congregation was warm, responsive, and joyful, and we had a great time worshiping together.

The highlight of the service came after the closing hymn. I have to admit, my mind wasn't very focused on singing, since I was thinking ahead to my closing words.

As the music faded though, one little boy toward the back broke into applause. It caught me off guard, and I stumbled on my words. How could I have missed this beautiful moment that the boy experienced and was applauding? I stopped, smiled at him, and said, "yes, praise God!" Others echoed me and joined the clapping.

One gentleman said afterward, "sometimes the children lead the worship." Yes they do. This one also saved me from the rigidity that I abhor and yet which stubbornly sneaks up on me. Thank you God, for impetuous children whose affection for you is so unbounded.

Something must be done about the Christian Calendar

What were they thinking? I'm sure there are lots of very good reasons for the timing of Lent, but honestly, why now?

Most of us are still recovering from Christmas. One woman I talked to today still hasn't taken down her decorations. It's the coldest, darkest time of year. Many of us are tired and depressed as it is, and in a couple of weeks we get to start the season of Lent, a time of self-denial, reflection, confession, and the constant reminder that following Christ means, "taking up the cross." Seriously, do we really need it?

Fat Tuesday is looking better and better all the time. Maybe it's not a bad idea to remember, before the season of fasting, that much of Jesus' ministry on earth revolved around feasting and abundance. How can you not love a man who said at the wedding reception, "What? We're out of wine?! No problem, I'll just make more." When people flocked to hear him preach, he took a special interest in the catering. And he was always getting into trouble for partying with the wrong crowd.

Yes, his followers faced some challenges, but there must have been some really fun times, too. The movies usually depict the life of Christ and his apostles as one intense moment after another, but when I read the gospels I hear laughter, see long nights with good, plentiful food and drink, and feel some exciting adventures.

God created fun and laughter, after all, so the life of His son must have been full of these. So, at least for the next two weeks, let's laugh as much as possible. Let's feast on the good stuff. Let's stay up late with good friends dreaming big dreams.

And maybe Lent can be full of joy and smiles, too. After all, it's our time to prepare for Easter, the greatest celebration of all time, and party preparation is almost as much fun as the party itself.

A shirt full of sticky rice

Some people make my job so very easy. I know ministry is supposed to be about loving the unlovable and extending grace to those who need it most, but is it ok sometimes to just dwell on those who are a pure joy?

I spent this evening with 11 of those people. We ate dinner at a Japanese steakhouse, laughing hysterically as the cook flung sticky rice at each person until a mouthful was caught, and generally taking life not too seriously.

Each of them is a beautiful person from my congregation, and they all love to serve Christ. I'm going to spend more time thinking about them, along with the other scores of people in my congregation who are not only fun, but who take their faith walk so seriously that their joy is overflowing. I won't stop loving the unlovable, especially since we are all unlovable at times, and it is love that transforms us. I will also thank God, though, for those who bring laughter and smiles.

You're Beautiful

Thanks to DVR, I've been on a "What Not to Wear" marathon for a few months now. It's a show on TLC where friends and family nominate loved ones with no fashion sense for a style makeover. Stacey and Clinton, the hosts, fly the nominee out to NYC, giver her (or him, though usually her) $5,000 and lessons on how to shop for clothes, then finally an expert hair and make-up treatment.

What I love about the show, besides the fashion tips, is to see the transformation. The nominees always look better by the end, but quite often their attitude changes, too. They act more confidently, smile more, and even seem happier. The new wardrobe and makeover help, yes, but after watching a few times I noticed something.

Stacey and Clinton gush. They always find at least one attribute about a person's body and face and go on and on about it. "Look at those long legs!" "You have such a tiny waist!" "Your curves are gorgeous!" We're talking about average people here, not cover models. They have flawed skin, imperfect body shapes, tummy rolls, and cellulite. The idea is not to change people's bodies, but to help them embrace and celebrate the natural beauty that is already theirs.

So, why don't we gush over people at church more often? Not just about inner beauty and virtues and all that, but about outward beauty, too? Usually the message I hear at church is that it's what's inside that counts, that we shouldn't even look at someone's outside. Of course the inside is important, and an outer sheen can't cover up a lack of virtue. But the outside is important, too. It is, after all, part of God's creation which He declared, "good."

When the church denies or ignores the importance of outer beauty, we lose our credibility as well as our power to influence society. Girls go to church and hear that outer beauty isn't important, which they know isn't true, so they take their cues on how to enhance their beauty and sexuality from the latest scantily clad pop star. What if we told them, no, gushed over how gorgeous they are, then taught them that the best way to enhance and respect that beauty is in subtle, understated fashion.

The first time I read Song of Solomon I was a young teenage girl who knew she was ugly and undesirable. Then I read, "Ah, you are beautiful, my love; ah, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves. Ah, you are beautiful, my beloved, truly lovely." (1:15-16) Because I hadn't learned proper exegesis and so didn't know any better, I thought the words were directly from God to me. It changed my life.

So if you're reading this, take time to gush over someone today about how incredibly beautiful they are, inside and out.

Pastors are useless

Sometimes I feel useless, especially in a family full of useful people.

My grandmother recently had hip replacement surgery, and struggled through recovery. What a blessing for her that both a daughter-in-law and a granddaughter are nurses. Her daughter who is a social worker at the hospital was also a great help. In fact, most of our family members served her in significant ways. Honestly, though, sometimes I feel like the unique gifts of a pastor are impractical at best.

When I called my mom to ask when would be the best time to visit grandma, I offered to bring communion. Though I bring communion to church members in the hospital, I was half in jest this time. I'm her granddaughter, not her pastor, and how insignificant were some juice and bread compared with the real care everyone else offered.

It's shameful evidence of my lack of faith. I proclaim that communion is a mysterious means of God's powerful grace. I treat the elements with the deep respect that I believe is appropriate. I've even taught that communion can act as a converting sacrament. So why did I think it was a silly gift to bring my beloved grandmother?

But my mom said that yes, grandma would like for me to bring her communion. So I did. I visited with her for a couple of hours first, putting it off to the end, feeling a little silly when I pulled out my communion-to-go kit. Feeling like a little girl playing dress-up.

But I did it, anyway. I talked a little about the message from Sunday morning, read from Matthew, blessed the elements, and served my grandma communion, still not fulling believing in its effect.

I'm eternally thankful that God's work does not depend upon my weak, pathetic faith.

In the midst of my doubts and insecurities, God answered my prayer and was present in the bread and wine. They were for us the body and blood of Jesus Christ.

Communion is a means of grace, after all. And no person's gift from God is useless, not even a preacher's.

An Extra Place for Dinner

As my husband and daughter were setting the table for dinner tonight, my daughter said, "We need to set a place for Jesus." I had no idea Jesus was planning on coming to dinner, but how could we say, "no?"So, my husband set out an extra plate and setting of silverware, and my daughter filled the plate with bread.

A sense of expectation danced over us at dinner and, although Jesus' bread went untouched, we were ready for him.

This goes beyond my normal hospitality. It's more than just a willingness to make room for unexpected guests after they arrive, it's expecting the guests and preparing their place long before they come; it's anticipating their needs and desires, so that when they walk in the door they know that they are home at last.

Maybe Jesus will be more likely to join us if we're already prepared.