Paonia, Colorado

I'm going to set aside any attempt to write a clever or well-crafted post (which is probably evidence of my prideful nature anyway) and give you all a quick update on our missions trip.

For the uniformed, I am with our church's youth group on a service project in a small western Colorado town, Paonia. We're leading a Vacation Bible School in the mornings and doing community outreach in the evenings in the park.

A couple quick impressions. The first morning of VBS, Pastor Rob closed in prayer and said, "Thank you for sending your Son to earth." When Rob finished praying, one little boy asked in a loud voice, "God sent His Son to earth?" I realized then and there we had our work cut out for us. Some of the children are from the church, but obviously some have no knowledge of Jesus.

The other thing is, we have a great group of teens. These students genuinely love the Lord. Three of them share their testimony each night at the park and it has been terrific. They each relate their story of how they met Jesus, a bit of the gospel, and how God makes a difference in their lives today. The first night Pastor Rob followed up with some comments and last night J.D., another of our adults, made some closing comments. The Good News is being clearly presented in beautiful Paonia.

I'll try to write more later. Thanks for your support and prayers.

Worth a Thousand Words

The other day I received some terrible news at work. (No, I’m not going to tell you so don’t ask.) My friends could tell something had happened by my conversation—cubicles are unforgivingly public.

One friend called over the cubicle wall, “Everything okay?”

“No,” I replied, “but I don’t want to talk about it.” Nice, huh?

I was so glad he asked, even though I didn’t want to talk about it. Especially to a “guy.” Sorry, Randy.

But then Kris came over and offered a hug. I took it. Didn’t say a word, but boy did that hug help.

Then today, I heard sniffles coming over the painfully public cubicle wall. “Tina” was on the phone, obviously upset about something.

In times past I might have been concerned, but unsure what to do. But today I knew exactly what to do. When Tina got off the phone I walked over and gave her a hug. I knew Tina well enough to do so, of course. I wouldn’t hug just anybody. (She and I had a conversation a while back about being “criers” so I knew it was okay.)

She didn’t speak. She just cried. And I just hugged. And somehow that said everything.

Old Friends

One Wednesday evening not long ago, I was watching television when the doorbell rang. I turned off the TV and made my way to the front door. I opened it, and there stood a middle-aged man with a half grin on his face. He said nothing.

“May I help you?” I asked him, more than a little suspicious.

After a slight pause, he told me his name.

Recognition overtook suspicion. He was an old friend from our days in Illinois—going back to college, in fact—someone I hadn’t talked to in years. He was in town on business and decided to look us up.

“Doug,” I called to my husband. “Look who’s here!

Our friend said, “My wife and I always like it when people drop by, so I figured you’d like it, too.”

To be truthful, I was self-conscious about the papers spread across the coffee table and the blanket thrown a little too casually across the couch. But our friend didn’t care. So I tried very hard not to care with him.

I introduced our children—teenagers now. Then we three middle-aged friends sat and caught up with one another.

We reminisced a bit, us remembering his children as pre-schoolers running through the halls of their old house. But now he was showing us wedding pictures of those same children, cute little girls grown into beautiful brides.

Our friend was open and honest with us, recounting business failures, children who didn’t believe in God anymore . . . We brought him up-to-date on us, too, though we had no real adventures to report.

“This is so great,” he said, “sitting here looking at the two of you.”

When he left to return to his hotel room an hour or so later, I was glad he’d gone to the effort to look us up, drive through an unfamiliar town, and ring our doorbell. I’ll remember his visit next time I consider calling up an old friend. Instead of assuming he or she won’t want to hear from me, I’ll assume my friend will enjoy hearing from me as much as Doug and I enjoyed visiting with our old friend.

A Matter of Life and Death

When my daughter Kate asked about my day at work I told her, “It was pretty good, until the end of the day.”

I explained that I was in a meeting and someone told the story of a young woman in another country who had been killed by her father and brother because she decided to leave the family’s religion and follow Jesus. There are other details to the story that I can’t share publicly, details that brought the story close to home. Some mistakes had been made that compromised this woman’s safety, mistakes that I could have made as easily as anyone.

The thought of this young woman losing her life left me stunned and almost unable to concentrate on the rest of the meeting. I still feel a heaviness as I write this.

“We have it so easy here,” Kate said.

She’s right, of course. Believers in the United States are not usually tortured for following Jesus. Some people are shunned by their family. I was not. Some of us might experience teasing. I have, but just a little. Discrimination on the job? I’ve only worked for Christian organizations so I’ve never been passed over for a promotion because I was a Christian. I’ve had it easy. Maybe too easy.

What have I sacrificed for following Jesus? Virtually nothing. I’m asking myself some hard questions tonight. I don’t want this young woman’s life and death to pass by my consciousness without changing me somehow. If nothing else, I want to live more courageously. I want to be more bold in declaring that I am a follower of Jesus. It is a truth worth dying for. And a truth worth living for.

New Year, Old Ways

For the last few years I’ve used an electronic calendar device (an old Palm Pilot the office had laying around) rather than a printed organizer. It has its advantages. Primarily, I can update it electronically with the push of a button. Meetings that have been added to the calendar on my work computer through e-mail are added to my hand-held device with the touch of a button. It will also buzz to remind me of things. Plus, it doesn’t suffer from my messy handwriting or from things being crossed out. It’s very tidy. And it has fun games.

Even so, I found myself longing for my old notebook. The tabbed dividers, the pen holder with its sleek Parker, the pretty paper. So this year I’m going back to it, back to the old way of doing things.

One advantage of the notebook is that it gives me a place to write notes to myself, to track ideas. Yes, I know, I can do that on the electronic calendar, but I didn’t. Plus I can tuck pieces of paper in this notebook—receipts, announcements, . . . . I also have a few address labels, a gospel tract, a ruler, and other goodies stashed in the back. And I can’t do that with an electronic organizer.

I know some of you live completely in the electronic age, and my hat is off to you. But I guess my love of pens and paper and all office supplies has won out.

How ‘bout you? How do you keep yourself organized? If you have a good idea, I’ll write it down in my notebook.

Following Yonder Star

It must be challenging for a pastor to preach about Christmas. The story is so familiar—what could he say that is new or fresh? How can he make the story compelling to those of us who have heard it all of our lives?

Thankfully, the power of the Christmas story doesn’t lie with the messenger. The news of Jesus’ birth is inspiring without any embellishment.

Our pastor, Pastor Lance, preached a mighty fine Christmas sermon last Sunday focusing on the three wise men. (Though, as he pointed out, we’re not told how many wise men there were. We just assume there were three because three gifts are mentioned.) He described their journey, comparing it to the travels many of us make at Christmas time. I had to smile when he pointed out that the wise men stopped and asked for directions.

But the comment that really hit home with me was when he described the magi’s destination: “Their destination wasn’t a place,” Pastor said, “it was a person.”

What is my "destination" this Christmas, where do I hope to end up? Beside a perfectly decorated tree? At the register with the ideal gift? At the dining room table, serving the quintessential Christmas dinner? If any of these are my destination, then I need to reset my compass. I need to end up at the feet of Jesus on Christmas morning.

I hope you, too, find yourself at the right destination this Christmas Day. Merry Christmas.

Thanksgiving Invitation

Thanksgiving Invitation

Some people bring out the wacky in me. It's always lurking right below the surface, so it isn't very hard to raise.

One of those people is my friend Amy. She and I sit together at choir practice. Usually we keep things under control. But last night, she and our friend Emily and I got a little loopy. Sorry, Pastor Todd. But that one song, with the monotonous alto line, we just had to laugh a little.

Amy is coming over for Thanksgiving, and this morning I wrote her an e-mail with some details about the day. I thought you might enjoy this glimpse into our Thanksgiving celebration.

Dear Amy,

I'm so glad you're coming for Thanksgiving. We pinned down some plans. We'll have "dinner" at 1:00. (My mother always said "Sunday dinner" so to me certain noontime meals are "dinner." But my kids always say, "You mean lunch?" So, yes, I mean lunch.)

Please come as early in the day as you can. Okay, maybe after 9:00 so Kate will be dressed. She'd wear her jammies all day if she could. We'll have parades on the TV, games going in the living room, maybe a puzzle, cooking in the kitchen. a veggie tray for snacking, Chex Mix . . .

Then stay as long as you can. We'll have more of the same, but parades will give way to football. If you need to take off, feel free, but we'd love to have you all day! Besides, we're going to have so much food we'll need you to stay and have some leftovers during a football game.

Wear comfie clothes. Unlike my mother, I do not dress up for Thanksgiving dinner. Unless you consider a hat adorned with a turkey head and feathers dressing up.

Also, I like Thanksgiving Day to be about more than parades, football, and food. So if you have a favorite poem, story, Scripture, or song you'd like to share, please bring it. As in, "bring it along," although if you want to "bring it, sister" go right ahead. If you just want to sit back and listen to Doug read President Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation, that's fine, too.

If you hear of someone who needs a place for Thanksgiving, bring 'em along. (Is your roommate set up? And I don't man to imply she's gelatinous or something.)

That invitation is open to you, too. Just give me a call and I'll set an extra plate at the table. If you can't join us for dinner, then join us in taking some time next Thursday for something other than food and football. Take a minute to look at the person across the table from you and tell her you're thankful she's in your life. Read Psalm 150 before you dive into the cranberry sauce and "praise him for his surpassing greatness." Thank God for his everyday grace that allowed you to survive another year.

It might sound a little wacky, but give it a try.