I was reading a chapter from “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” to the kids a few days ago when it occurred to me that my kids are quite lucky to have a seriously dramatic lady for a Mom.  They have never heard a story read to them without an over the top, probably oscar worthy (just sayin’) performance to go along with the reading.

I continued reading the chapter to them, keenly aware that my Faun voice and accent was not anything at all like my Edmund voice.  Not being smug or anything, but I pretty much rock at creating distinct voices and postures for each character.  Seriously, though, no smug.  I’ve gotten great feedback from my Mom.

By the end of the chapter, I was happy with the character work I had done with the White Witch and certain that the kids were going to plead desperately with me to continue with another chapter.  I closed the book and my eyelids, inhaled deeply and waited for the wailing to begin.

“Mom?”

“Yes?” deep sigh so they see their court actor is fatigued from the exhausting work of such grand display.

“Can I have an apple?”

“An apple?” my eyes pop open and my face is one big question mark.

“I wanted one while you were reading, but I didn’t want to interrupt your talking, so I waited and waited, and I almost forgot that I wanted an apple, but then I remembered, and then I forgot, but then, right when you finished reading, I thought, ‘What was it that I wanted?  Oh, yeah.  An apple.’  So, can I have an apple?”

“Did you maybe want me to read another chapter while you eat your apple?”

“Uh, no.  It’s okay.  I mean, I like it, but I think I just want to go ahead and get started on math.  With an apple.”

I bet Doris Day never had to overcome this kind of dismissal.

I was reading an article this morning about the proposed federally imposed state laws on phone use while driving.  This is something I don’t do, but it is a choice made because I know my cognitive limits, it is not because I am a virtuous person in the phone regard.    The article intended to make me pick a side, but my brain first started to think about what to make for lunch, followed right away by thoughts about “Where did I put my phone?”  Seriously.  Somebody call me.  I can’t find it.

So, I go to make lunch.  Found my phone and immediately checked it for missed calls and text messages.  I did not miss anything.  Even though I had just seconds before been sitting at a laptop, I go ahead and check my e-mail on my cell phone.  What if somebody e-mailed me in the thirty seconds since I shut the laptop?

The question about lunch settled, I start to feel rather proud of my super healthful choice and decide that it must be announced on Facebook.  Witty anecdote regarding my unusually healthful choice decided upon, I post the update using my phone.   Feeling certain that this update will strike a chord, I keep my phone in my hand to wait for the notifications to roll in.

I call the kids in for lunch.  Where have they been?  What have they been doing this whole Saturday morning? are the questions I should be asking them, but I am on the phone with a friendly acquaintance.  She’s not a dear friend who means more to me than my own children, but evidently she’s more interesting.

Lunch is over and I shoo the kids outside to return to whatever activity they were engaged in before.  What was that?  I wash the dishes and return to my laptop where the news article about phone use while driving is still up.

It occurs to me that I do not have a problem with using the phone while driving.  I am a much worse case.  I have a problem with using the phone while LIVING.

Hello, 2012.  I think we hit on a resolution.

Can we talk about sin for a minute?  Easy.  Wipe that spewed coffee off your screen.  I don’t want to haul your sin out in the spotlight.  I want to haul mine out, not all of them – just the one big one.  Don’t we all have one or two “big ones?”

Let’s pretend like my sin is a boulder sized something covered in a tarp and sitting in the center of a boxing ring with a spotlight that illuminates nothing in the room but my boulder sized sin.  Can you see it?  I hope you’ve made it huge, cause it is.  Now, I have others, but they are nicely stored away in my “over that” history file.  But this one… this one I have to revisit from time to time.  Not to re-commit it, mind you, but to remember the grief and celebrate the mercy extended to me by God through Christ.

If I were to make a detailed public confession and rip off that tarp, I suspect I would receive one of three responses: 1) That’s not so bad.  2) That’s the worst thing ever! 3) Me too.    It is easy to suspect I would get such responses because I have gotten these three responses over the years whenever I let someone have a peek.

I do not carry this single episode of sin with me as a heavy burden, because I do fully believe that God has forgiven me.  However, there is no unringing a bell and the damage caused by sin has to be managed on some level.

The reason I want to keep it covered in this public arena, and for this conversation, is because I want to be able to speak to each of those three opinions of my big, awful, wicked and deliberate sin without making it about the act of sin itself.  My hope is that, by addressing these three responses, we can have an honest discussion of how we respond to our own sin and that of others.

1) That’s not so bad.   The fact is that ALL sin is that bad.  One big lesson I have learned by having to bear the heart scar of a single episode of boulder sized sin, is that my condemnation is not based on the fact that I have a boulder.  My condemnation is based on the fact that I was born with a quarry for a nature.  All sin is a departure from God.  There is no middle road.  We are born with an immediate need to have the punishment of  sin removed.

2) That’s the worst thing ever!  This is my own personal response.  This is not a notion far removed from #1, because it is still assuming that sin has degrees.  I cannot pretend that I am a good person with just the one big boulder, because then that would make light of the condition that caused me to collect the boulder in the first place.  I was not rescued from the boulder.  I was rescued from the condition.  So, go ahead and imagine the worst possible thing that could be under that tarp  and nothing you can picture is so big as to cast a shadow on the enormity of the sin condition I was in before Christ.  Making big of single episodes of sin makes light of the sin condition.

3)  Me too.  I want you to go ahead and think of your own personal boulder.  Whatever it is, whatever its size, however ugly it may be, I want you to know that “me too.”  Whatever you did, I did too.  I can say this because there is no sin greater or lesser than another.  Nothing you can ever do will make your burden of sin greater than mine.

I suppose if there was one big thought I would like to see evolve from this exercise, I would like for it to be that we should stop making a big deal about single episodes of sin and start making a big deal about the sin condition that leads to those episodes.   It is not really the single episodes of sin that we want to protect our kids from, it is the heart condition that leads to those episodes that we want to guard against.

If you have an undealt with boulder, go tell someone and put a light on it, but remember that it is not the boulder that condemns you and it never was.

(I was reading 1 John 1 this morning and that is what led me to this line of thinking.  Follow the link and read it yourself.  Good news!)

So, in a fantastic twist of God sized proportions, I am tasked with co- “teaching” at a ladies retreat for High Point Fellowship (September 23-25, slots still available.).  I appropriately put quotation marks on teaching because I really think we are less “teaching” and more “facilitating action with lots of words to start the action”.  It’s going to be pretty awesome.

Our topic for the weekend is Testimony: finding yours and telling it.  I know what you’re thinking, because that is exactly what I was thinking, “This sounds complicated, Amy.  Testimony is a big fancy churchy word and one short weekend isn’t enough time for me to tell you about that one time when I was eight and how meeting that penguin led to me Christ.”

Hold on, a penguin led you to Christ?  That sounds fascinating!  Could you find a way to make that story less than two minutes long and ready to go at the drop of a hat should you encounter someone who needs to hear it on, say, a train or an elevator?  Because that’s what this retreat is all about: getting to the heart of your story and the Truth that set you free.

This idea came to us months ago and it really didn’t make a whole lot of sense, frankly.  Doesn’t everybody know their own testimony(ies)?  As we mucked our way through it, Kathy Tope (my co-”teacher”) and I prayed for real life opportunities to share our testimonies so that we could actually teach with a touch of authority on the subject.

Here is what we learned, and the whole reason for this post (There’s a reason for this post!? I’m just as shocked as you are.): If you ask God to send people to you, they will come.

I was shocked at the opportunities I had and saddened that I hadn’t asked for any such opportunities before.  How it all went down is a whole other post that I will probably never write, but you should know that there are people all around you who are walking around with no Bible, no God, no hope and a huge smile to keep you from suspecting any of that.  Pray that God shows them to you and then tell them all about that one time when you met that penguin.  It just might (probably will) change their whole life.

I am sitting in the middle of a great heartache.  It’s not one that makes for good blogging, but for the sake of sharing these thoughts, you must know that my heart is in a very sad, dark and lonely place.

So, me and my pathetic self decided to take a stroll to the far end of my parents’ property in central Texas to sit awhile and enjoy the sounds of God’s great land.

God’s great land has been tortured by this long drought.

My feet crunched on the dry grass which has withered to patches of yellow fire hazards as I walked.  A smattering of deer watched me with wary eyes, concerned that I may stop them from feasting on one odd piece of bush that maintained a smidge of green.  The earth in front of me was naked – stripped of its grass cloaks and laid bare to expose deep cracks where the parched land burst for want of water.

I sat down in a spot with a lacey veil of shade and looked up at the two hundred year old oak tree, trying to recall some passage of hope, some promise, some anything from my Father that would make my ache an easier burden to bear.

I saw a small bird some twenty feet up, pounding his little beak against the old oak tree’s branches to try and startle up a bug.  ”No water means no bugs,” I thought and considered for a moment the futility of the little bird’s plight.

I thought about all the prayer meetings and desperate calls to God for rain.  I thought of my own heartache and my deep longing to have it repaired.  My lips parted to join the chorus of millions and ask for rain, but then I was stilled.  I watched my little bird friend and knew in that instant that God was fully aware that this bird was hunting for bugs that weren’t there.  I knew in that instant that God knew my deep grief.

Somehow, just knowing that He knows, made all the difference.  He is aware.  He is not elsewhere – too busy to attend.  He knows.  He is sad for our condition and He knows better than we do just how low a state we are in.  He knows.

I stood up from my seat, still burdened, yet forever changed.  I will see an end to this grief.  My beautiful Texas will see rain.  God has a plan.  He knows what He is doing and He is always right.  I can trust Him in all things.

What follows is a post I wrote about the most profound gift I received from God in that first dark February in 2004.  I was born going to church and faith was always around me, but it was that February that I finally shut up long enough to listen.  I am reposting this because so much of this February seems to be hearkening back to that first one seven years ago.

Reality Check

After my younger brother died suddenly in 2003, I spent about two months in a cocoon like seclusion. Eric kept the coffee pot going and took care of the kids while I huddled over a space heater in our garage and watched religious television on a tiny black and white set. I spent hours hollowly watching preacher after preacher, and I realize now that I was searching and waiting for someone to make sense of why I had been so gutted.

Why was my brother dead while other jerks were walking around with their jerk brothers? At the same time, my body began to slip a little deeper into M.S. deterioration and I was feeling like the chains of this fallen land’s darkness were tightening around my wrists and ankles by the second. I was completely bound by the reality of living here and the depression of that fact was more than I could withstand.

It was during this time of desperate searching for relief that I read John’s account of Jesus’ return from the dead.
¹⁹On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.

Did you see what I saw? The door was locked and suddenly Jesus was among them. He was real flesh – they touched him – and yet he was able to appear through the wall. Why would he do that? Why appear through the wall? Why not knock on the door? Why be so deliberate about suddenly appearing among them? As I read those words way back in my cocoon, I heard Jesus tell me, “The wall is not real. I am real.”

“Your brother’s death is not reality. I am reality.”

“Your failing health is not reality. I am reality.”

THIS WALL IS NOT REAL.

It was almost deafening; this voice telling me what reality is. It was a notion that gave me such peace that I stood from my spot, and slowly began to live and breathe again. I was firmly rooted in reality for the first time in my nearly 27 years of life.

3:00am, February 1, 2011.  A wicked winter storm is brewing and it startles me awake.  I lay there, excited to see how February is going to roll in.  I listen to the wind howl and think about the plans I have for the month.

Suddenly, I hear the crash of something hitting the roof just above my head.  I spring out of bed and quickly throw on Eric’s jacket and my boots before trudging outside to investigate.  The night is quite cold and the wind is fierce.  I see a harmless branch is the culprit and take a quick walk around the property to see if all is buttoned up for the storm.

As I walk, I marvel at the bright pink glow of the night sky.  I can see every step clearly ahead of me and I have no fears or concerns about what I may encounter.

I return to my warm bed and thank God for getting me up for this quiet moment in the midst of a storm that would begin our month.  Welcome February!  I look forward to this month with such eagerness that Christmas morning pales in comparison.

Coming soon: Fasting, feasting, and being still.

I was baptized into Christ on February 17, 1988.  My first thought on coming up out of that water was something along the lines of, “Now all I have to do is avoid all sin for the rest of my life and I will be set.”  My second thought was, “I bet Grandpa buys me a nice lunch after this.”  I was wrong on the first thought, but right about the second.

Flash forward to early February 2004 and that date in 1988 is but a hazy childhood memory.  That February I was completely broken.  My much loved baby brother had just been killed in a car accident, my husband lost his job, multiple sclerosis was slapping me around, and I had two toddlers who thought I had my act together.  I was drowning and it occurred to me that maybe I should get re-baptized because perhaps the first one didn’t take.  I became consumed with that idea and started shopping it around to friends and family to get their thoughts.  Most were very supportive, but I suspect it was because they were scared of my obviously fragile state and didn’t want to poke the crazy.  I told my dear Grandmother and she said something that stopped me dead in my tracks, “You know, Amy, I got baptized when I was ten years old and I never looked back.”

I marveled at the notion of “never looking back.”  I started to really consider what a re-baptism meant for me and knew that it was not the answer.  I called the church in Odessa,TX where I was baptized and asked them for for my baptism records.  The man who answered the phone actually remembered me and happily found the date for me.  I wrote it down in a notebook and vowed to spend some time looking back so I could move forward.

I wrote out a prayer in which I compared my baptism to a hasty wedding.  It was poorly planned, not well thought out and there was very little pre-marital counseling (not my parents fault as there is not much that can be said to a ten year old).  In spite of the details, it was a wedding all the same.  Vows were made and a marriage was to follow.  I could go back and renew my vows with all the planning I wanted to, but that wouldn’t make those first vows any less real and standing.  My wedding to Christ may not have been TLC worthy, but it was still precious and binding.

I got the info about my baptism date a few weeks before the 16th anniversary.  I marked that February with a fast from Dr Pepper and the goal of memorizing a chapter of scripture.  The Dr Pepper fast held, but I did not succeed in my memorization goals.

Since then, I have planned something for every February.  It seems as though every year since that first dark February in 2004 I have been drawn into deeper and more challenging water with each anniversary.  This year is no exception.  I may blog about what I feel called to do for this anniversary, but I won’t know for certain until I am on the other side.  I am feeling nervous and excited as I stand on the shore of this great swim because this will be a big challenge beyond anything I’ve ever done willingly.

To make this month quieter, I will be shutting down Facebook.  I don’t watch television, I don’t play computer games, I don’t Farmville.  I Facebook.  That is my vice and my go to when I don’t want to do the hard things.  With no Facebook, I will have no choice but to tuck my hair neatly under my swim cap and dive in.  If I learn anything of great value along the way, I’ll gladly share it with you here.  If you only follow me on Facebook, I’ll see you in March!

On Christmas Eve I sat on the sofa and watched Ian play an airplane game on the Wii and his effort was cracking me up.  He was flying that plane like he was three sheets to the wind and missing limbs.  He rolled, he dove, he crashed many times and he laughed like a maniac the whole time.  While he played, Mackenzie sat beside me and kept saying, “Just wait until you see me do it, Mom.  I am soooo much better at flying than Ian is.”

Ian finished his game with a score of 10 points, which is great because you get one point for every target you reach.  10 is pretty good.  Kenzie played next, and true to her word, she was a masterful pilot.  She soared with ease between buildings, she skimmed the waters, and she peacefully ignored reaching any target point because, “it was just too dangerous.”  She ended her run with a serene face and 0 points.

This little demonstration in the living room got me to thinking about the spiritual walks I see all around me.  I LOVE the people who walk with God the way Ian flew that plane: crazy, laughing, seemingly without goals, and still meeting most every target set before him.  Those people take the most heat and criticism for their walk because their crashes and mistakes seem bigger and easier to critique from the sofa.  The people who never crash and have safe, serene walks that seem uninterrupted by dirty hands and big crazy leaps of faith may end their lives with serene face and clean fingernails, but that’s not how I want to end my run.

Risking hurt feelings with Truth is messy work.  It is much easier to soar peacefully around the Truth and stay clean.  I’ve had some nasty crashes on this course, but I’ve also hit a lot of targets for my effort.  Seeing this analogy has gotten me to think even more clearly about the “poor pilots” around me who are actually flying aces and the “quality pilots” around me who are pointless.

Don’t end your run clean and pointless.  Be an ace pilot and get some dirt under your nails.

Let’s talk about camping, shall we?  Eric and I have been talking about going camping ever since we got married.  Well, Eric talked about camping and I always nodded and said, “Yeah huh.”

I got dangerously close to being made to go camping in 2007, but saved my neck by having a painfully dramatic wisdom tooth extraction the day we were set to leave and the trip had to be postponed.   Thank the merciful heavens for wicked bad wisdom teeth, huh?

In November of 2010, Eric announced that we were going to bite the bullet and go camping at the very next opportunity.  And so, on a random Thursday morning, we packed up and went to our local lake, paid the entrance fee, set up two little tents, and started a lovely fire.

Within two hours of our arrival, the wind picked up a bit and the nice weather we had enjoyed shifted to much colder weather.  Undeterred and determined to stay the course, we ate our smores warmed our backsides on the fire, sent the kids to bed (with most of the blankets) and then went to bed ourselves (with significantly fewer blankets).  Sleeping that night was pure misery.  I woke up every thirty minutes and checked the time to see if it was over.

When I looked and saw that it was 5:45 am, I sprang up and announced to Eric, “We made it!”.  He mostly sprang up and started the fire.  We got the coffee percolating and had bacon sizzling by the time the sun came up.

The kids slept in, nice and cozy as they were, and we enjoyed a nice breakfast with them when they got up.  Afterwards, Mackenzie took me to a spot on the trail where the light hit the trees in just such a way that you would miss it if you saw it at any other time of day.  We stood and gazed for some time at that light.

My phone rang mid morning and it was my friend Kathy Tope.  She wanted to know how we had fared through the coldest night on record for the year. I told her that sleeping was miserable, but camping was great.  I’m totally prepared to do it again.  In May.