So You Don't Have it All Together

Are you one of those who doesn't have it all together?

And do you have people in your life who seem to accentuate the fact when they come around? They don't have to say a word; you can see it in their eyes. You can feel the thoughts emanate from their skin like a stinky sweat: You're a loser. 

What Do You Do with Fifteen "Free Minutes?"

Image from Musicradar.com

The other night I was waiting for dinner to finish cooking and realized I had fifteen unspoken-for minutes to do with as I chose.

How Do I "Do it All?"

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I've spent a lot of time pondering why many of us are too busy. I devoted two chapters in my book listing the reasons we do so much. But lately I've come to realize some of my assessment of people's hyperactivity has been uninformed and unfair; there's another, more noble reason some of us over-commit and over-do: there is simply no one else willing to do what needs to be done. At least, not in plain view.

Even though I'm presently trying to juggle being a wife, mother, homeschooler, housekeeper, minister, speaker and writer, I am also extremely tempted to take someone into our home for the simple reason that she has no place to go. Even though my husband and children are 100% on board with it, I know for a fact this would raise some eyebrows, shake some heads and wag some tongues. I can hardly blame anyone for feeling I need to have my brain extracted and rewired.

The Eggnog Disaster and How it Saved My Daughter's Life

Recently a friend was describing to me one of her saddest childhood memories. Every day she’d come home from school to an empty house and relax on the couch in front of the TV for a while. Inevitably she’d hear the unmistakable sound of her dad’s footsteps approaching the front door. She’d jump up, turn off the TV, and try to look busy as he greeted her with the same three questions every day:

When (God's) People Disappoint

Some time ago a woman told me she’d decided to leave her church (for what seemed to me a silly reason). “Only three people had the gumption to call and say they’d miss me,” she lamented over the phone. “I’m so disappointed!”

Meditations from Adopted Ducklings

One of our hens, Gloria, took it upon herself to sit on four fertilized duck eggs until they hatched. They are now more than twice the size they are in this photo, and she still thinks they’re hers. Gloria is so fiercely protective of her adopted “chicks” that she sustained an eye injury and has bald spots on her head from fighting off other hens who get too close.

My Visit to the 'Burbs and the Scoop on the Celebs Who Live There

This past week I had the privilege of speaking to the MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group in the Bedford Hills area outside of New York City. A well-known TV personality lives three miles down the road from my wonderful and gracious hostess and MOPS hospitality queen, Julie. "She gives out king-sized Snickers on Halloween," Julie said of the celebrity. But Julie would just as soon buy her own candy bar at the grocery store, where she runs into the famous "entertainment queen" on a semi-regular basis.

The Green-Eyed Monster and Why I Want Your Half of the Cookie

I love discovering talented bloggers on the internet. That is, unless they have more talent than me. It happened recently; I stumbled upon yet another brilliant and hilarious writer with enough profundities to elicit hundreds of comments from hundreds of followers. I read several posts before going to bed and then, do you know what I did? I'll tell you what I did. No I won't. Yes I will.

My Sermon on the Mount: A Paraphrase

Feel free to sit here and listen while I preach to myself.

Matthew 5:1-16 (This is not meant to be an exhaustive commentary, just some scribblings and ponderings.):

Blessed are those who know they have much more to learn than they have to teach, and who are more eager to listen than to speak. The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to the humble and the hungry.

The Meaning of Life

The meaning, or essence, of life is relationship. Everything is in relationship—from subatomic particles to parts of a cell to numbers to stars and galaxies. It takes things being in proper relationship to create and maintain harmony—on a micro and macro level.

On Bladder Health and Unsolicited Advice

The other day I looked at a woman and thought, If she could listen to what I have to say, she’d be better off. If the opportunity availed itself, she’d hear in my instructive words that I just want her to be happy. My wisdom would change her life overnight. (I see you rolling your eyes. Don't tell me you never have those thoughts, unless you're the Sleeping Beauty.)

Lean in and Listen: A Tribute to Aunt Joy

On July 12, 2011, my mother called with tragic news: my dad’s younger sister, Joy, passed away suddenly and unexpectedly on a flight to the Philippines, the beloved other homeland where orphans awaited her happy return. For days, a single thought went through my mind like a shockwave: Anyone but Aunt Joy. In the online obituary I wrote: “Never was there anyone more Christlike in character, in conduct, and in spirit.” All who knew her would agree.

The Church is Full of Hypocrites (Part 2)--Drinkin', Cussin' and Detrimental Fussin'

I imagine there may have been two types of reactions to my last post: resounding “Amens,” or the conclusion that I am a self-righteous, religious prude after all.

Truth be told, I am not as hung up on things like cussin’ and drinkin’ as when I see professing Christians (especially if they are in the ministry) flaunt those things, perhaps carelessly,  in the public arena (cyber and otherwise). For the sake of love, I’d rather err on the side of caution than risk offending someone in that way.

"The Church is Full of Hypocrites"

Recently a friend who had just been introduced to a fellow Christian at a church service said this to me: "I worked with her for years and never knew she was a Christian. She’s the biggest gossip I’ve ever seen.”

Ouch.

The Hole in Adam's Donut

When my kids were little they used to watch videos of Rob Evans “The Donut Man” singing “Life without Jesus is like a donut, ‘cause there’s a hole in the middle of your heart.”  You may have heard or perhaps even recited the God-shaped-hole cliché: In every human heart there is a God-shaped hole…

It’s true.  That “something missing” is a friendship with our Creator.

But Frank Ferrari, who spoke at Ephrata Community Church last Sunday, had further insight into the fact that we are created for relationship. Consider pre-fallen Adam. He enjoyed a level of intimacy with God that we can only dream of—completely transparent, guiltless, fearless, open and audible communication, twenty-four hours a day.

There was no hole in Adam’s donut.

Hello Halloween (Part Two)

Thanks for showing up at my door for another Halloween post.  You’ll have to decide, by the end, whether this was a trick or a treat.

Jesus, the Smelly Room, and Why I am a PIG

Picture this. You’re driving through town on a Sunday morning and the marquee outside a church reads, One Time Guest Appearance Today—Jesus Christ.  Overcome with curiosity, you go in. If He is really here, you expect to see Him in the pulpit. Even the most egocentric pastor would defer to a visiting preacher of this caliber. But Jesus isn’t there. You look around. Perhaps He’s in the audience, content to  enjoy others’ gifts and talents. But there’s no Jesus in the pews.

Never Hula Hoop with Barbie

Yesterday our church ladies put on a Hawaiian themed pool party at the YMCA. Women were expected to swim for a while, then enjoy each other’s company looking like drowned rats. The idea was to create an atmosphere that would make unchurched women feel "comfortable" among us religious folks.

Huh?

I secretly thought it was the most hairbrained idea I’d ever heard of. I mean, what woman over a size (fill in the blank) wants to socialize in a bathing suit? And that among strangers? I ached for us women expected to strip ourselves down to such vulnerability. Then I stopped aching, thinking no one would show up.

I had to show up, as I was asked to provide the entertainment for the after-pool party. I brought my girls, figuring at least they would have a good time. (Little girls are typically more comfortable in exposed skin than we grown-ups are.) I dumped my happy kids in the water and sat on the bench, still in my church clothes (I turn purple and shake uncontrollably in water less than 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Leave me alone about it; I might die and you’d be sorry.).

I sat there, warm and dry, watching thirty women (a third of which were visitors) splash around, enjoying their bathing bash. They played ball and giggled with my girls (insert tinge of guilt here), and walked around the pool as uninhibited as naked toddlers. No one seemed to mind exposing blinding-white skin, spider veins, and thighs that look like the surface of a lake on a windy day. No one that is, except me.

But there was something so beautiful, so precious, about every wrinkle, dimple and sag exposed in that room. Those imperfections comprised one big gift exchange among my sisters. They were the language of unleashed love: "I love you enough to trust you to love me in return, just the way I am." Part of me—the part that doesn’t mind being cold—wanted to strip my rippled self and jump in with them.

After the pool party the drowned rats entered the community room for fun and games. Uh-oh. Could I compete with the fun they’d had in the Arctic? Well, I certainly tried. I taught them how to Hula dance, seeing as I just returned from a trip to You-Tube. (My daughters later told me I looked like a crippled chicken, trying to swing my booty like that.) Then I taught Darcie-the-Barbie how to hula-hoop. “Just watch me,” I told her. I hurled my hula-hoop directly to the floor three times. She got hers going instantly, and stood there modeling her spinning waist ring, saying she’d never tried it before. I think she was lying (wink wink).

Enjoy the following video: Wrinkled Ladies

Humility and How I Obtained It*

     I once attended a leadership training seminar in which a teacher opened her session with the question, "How humble are you?" I couldn't resist shouting out, "Very!"
     That's the treacherous nature of humility. It is the strange virtue that disallows one to be conscious  of  it. My husband possesses such a virtue. But just to make sure, I once looked at him and pointedly asked: "David Bogdan, are you humble?" I smirked, curiously awaiting his reply. Both "yes" and "no" would have been "wrong" answers. Without too much delay, he said, "It's all relative."
     But there's more to humility than merely not being puffed up. Jesus talked of being "poor in spirit" (Matthew 5:1), i.e. teachable, "needy" in the healthy sense of knowing you have a lot to learn. I thought about this recently while listening in on a discussion about what it looks like to be humble. A man said he cannot receive from teachers or preachers that are a little too pious or self-confident. As he repeated for the third time that he chooses what internet preacher to listen to based on his or her humility quota, the irony of his words struck me: How humble is he? Isn't humility having the ability to hear from anyone, leaving it up to God to handle that person's pride?
    Furthermore, the apostle Peter admonished Christian slaves to honor and respect masters that were harsh and unreasonable (proud), as well as those who were kind and gentle (I Peter 2:18). If God expected that much from first century slaves, should He not expect a humble attitude from me toward a minister who's lacking in humility?
    Some say that you can't be humble and at the same time know that you are. Let me take it one step further: Those that are truly humble are aware that they have an incurable, deep-rooted pride of the most sinister sort.
    So...how humble are you?    

*Humility and How I Obtained It is a fictitious book title, a joke told by the beloved (and very humble) Bible teacher Bob Mumford.

  
     
   

Love is Not for Fraidy Cats

John thinks the opposite of love is fear. At least that's what he told me in his first letter. I had always believed--no doubt along with most people--that love's opposite is hate. I'm sure that's also true, but consider what the apostle wrote in his epistle (are you tongue-tied yet?):

"There is no fear in love" (I John 4:18). John went on to say that "he who fears has not been perfected in love." That got me to thinking.

Fears what? What do I fear more than anything else? What do you fear the most? Maybe for you it's death, or the loss of a loved one, but if we were to be honest, I wonder how many would agree that we mostly fear something so silly it's embarrassing to admit: We fear the same people who fear us. We worry about what others think while they worry about what we think. We are afraid of fraidy cats--people who blush and  sweat and tremble and get blotchy red necks and butterflies in the pit of their stomach just like we do. No matter how long a string of letters trail behind their name.

What if there were such a thing as "fearless love?" What if we could find ourselves at a place of perfection, completion, in this kind of love? How would it change our lives if we loved without a trace of fear? I've been thinking about this for a while, and I've concluded that with "fearless love" for people I would...

never be intimidated

express myself without inhibition

walk in transparency

not fear being judged

freely admit to my stupid mistakes and laugh at myself

risk reaching out to those who might wound me again

request that interview

ask for that endorsement

apply for that position

start that business

preach that sermon

befriend that neighbor

forgive my husband

engage the cashier

schedule dinner guests (This is huge for me; I have an irrational mental block about hospitality and cooking. Which is indeed silly; I make a mean lasagna. Besides that, I know that people don't come primarily for the food; they come for friendship.)

dance like nobody's looking

avoid the use of clichés

What would you add to this list? What would it look like if you could love without a trace of fear?

Too bad it can't happen. Too bad we have to settle for very human-like human love--love that loves with reservation. Love that loves while carefully protecting "self." Love that is afraid to let go. Love that's chained by fear--fear of rolling eyes, fear of being spent, or "dissed," or under appreciated....

If only there were someone that had this "fearless love" and could somehow work it into our DNA so that we grew in it, became perfected in it. If only we could inherit this kind of love, as a father passes certain genes onto his children. What if there were some type of, say, heavenly Dad who recognized our fearful, less-than-perfectly-loving condition and offered to do something about it.  And we took Him up on it. Of course it would involve quite the transformation. A spiritual heart transplant of some sort. A mystical transfusion of blood. A receiving of that heavenly love in ourselves first. But oh, what we could do with this new and fearless love!

"And we have known and believed the love that God has for us. God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God in him." I John 4:18