Bartender

It was just a family trip to New Orleans to celebrate my husband's graduation. He'd been working on this graduate school of banking thing for three years and we felt we deserved the break. Entitlement issues. Even when we think we don't have them, they define us. Humanity breaks that way. The room had been paid for for months and we decided to do free things, since money was tight and the cars were in need of repairs. We headed down.

For two days we walked the city, listening to the indigenous music of the streets and tasting the flavors. The air was thick, like the steam off of the morning's first cup of coffee; the tastes were honeysuckle and Abita Amber. The people were friendly, in the way that only New Orleans folk are. They were hospitable, cooking good food, dancing and singing, and looking for their tips. They were not alone. Our son joined in the chorus and came home with his own stash of tips, a completely unplanned yet hilarious, exhilarating and embarrassing happening. Walking the Quarter, wearing my church's youth group t-shirt that had Ephesians 2:8-9 on the back in Greek, I was asked by three different people what it was all about and had the opportunity to share the Gospel with all of them. They never argued, just listened and dialogued with me, sometimes suspicious, sometimes curious, but eventually they went on their way. I never told them they had to accept Christ right there. I felt that seeds were being planted, that the growth was up to the Holy Spirit.

Saturday night, the kids were fast asleep and the husband was getting ready to turn in. Full of thoughts from the two weeks he'd been gone and awake from the heat, I could not wind down, so I headed down to the tiny hotel bar. It was this cute little nook in the hallway, just big enough to stock the best liquor and beer, with three bar chairs pulled up to it. There were dollar bills and foreign currency with notes written on them papering the walls. I plopped down on a bar stool and ordered a Tom Collins.

It was just the bartender and me. I asked about the dollar bills and he said they came from two men who worked the city post-Katrina for five months. They had the heart to just come down from Chicago to stay and work. John, the bartender, sang their praises and the praises of many others. I told him how much we loved New Orleans, how we were from Mississippi and had been down many times and hated what happened to the Mississippi coast as well as New Orleans from Katrina. He put it best when he said "Mississippi was a natural disaster and New Orleans was a man-made one." We discovered a mutual love of James Taylor, and were laughing and talking about the concerts we'd attended. Over JT's music, we united.

John's eyes darkened as he told me of hotel guests who had told him before that New Orleans got what they deserved because of all of the "faggots and drunkards" down there. People who came in and dropped snippets of Christ before him but came to get drunk in his bar and insult his city. I told him that I was a Christian and quite conservative, but that I disagreed strongly with the stance. I shared that the church and the Gospel are about how all of us are equal at the foot of the cross and how there is none righteous (Romans 3:10). If Katrina was a punishment, then it might as well have been a world-wide hurricane. He paused, not sure what to say, and went on...

For whatever reason, this man felt safe telling me what he could not share with other hotel guests. His grief over not recognizing a friend with full-blown AIDS when the epidemic first broke out, the men ailing in the streets of the Quarter; how he and his family had evacuated for the hurricane and everything they had was untouched but everything around them was devastated and lives were changed forever. His skepticism of the church was apparent. And as I listened, and he unloaded, he stood a bit straighter. He seemed apologetic when he told me he was a liberal and I genuinely reassured him that I was more than fine disagreeing and still being friends. He had a gentle nature, and what I sensed was that he just wanted to be heard. So, I heard him. As recently as last year, I would have probably tried proselytize this man and yet the gentle stirrings of the Holy Spirit convinced me to just quietly listen.

At the end of the night, he looked at me and said, "I hope you come back to stay with us. I've never had a good conversation with a conservative before." I laughed and assured him we would meet again, and walked away dazed by how we had connected and how only through Christ I was able to listen to this sweet and burdened man share with me and know that the Holy Spirit moves as He will and that my job for that time was not to push my cart of goods into this man's life. The next morning, I left him a dollar bill in an envelope at the front desk with a note: This conservative loves NOLA and John! We headed out the door to Redeemer PCA, where we were greeted with warm fellowship and beautiful, unabashed worship. We drove home and I cried part of the way, reluctant to leave a city where there was such great darkness, such great opportunity for light to shine.

I'll be back soon... But in the mean time, the Lord has shown me that the reason I do not have these encounters at home is that I live in a cocoon at home, surrounded by grocery lists and errands, chores and laundry. I do not leave my cocoon to share the gift of the Holy Spirit with the many who are in desperate need. I cannot wait to find out how to use my time as my children both enter full-day school this year.

Lord, thank you so much for ministering to ME through the bartender. I am completely and utterly humbled to be reminded that I am but a vessel and you do not have to use me, but you privilege me with the gift of carrying your Gospel forward. I am so undeserving, so NOT entitled to a thing, and yet you have blessed me beyond measure with your Son and His gift of life and redemption. Please keep me moving toward those who need it and always remind me that I need it continually too. Amen

"So then neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but God who causes the growth." 1 Corinthians 3:7

No Perfect Solution

An education isn't how much you have committed to memory, or even how much you know. It's being able to differentiate between what you know and what you don't. -Anatole France

I told a friend a couple of weeks back that I wasn't sure if I was more thrilled after we had finished our first semester of homeschooling or after we had finished our first semester back in the school building. There were so many things to be thankful for about both. But the one thing I am thankful for in all of it is this:

That I was finally allowed peace and rest, and the knowledge that there is not a perfect way to raise and educate my children.

I am a broken individual with broken children, trying to choose what is best out of three broken systems (private, public and home school). And God allows me the choice.

Deuteronomy 6 applies to all three options in that I am to always take life opportunities to tell my children the Gospel. So, when they leave the house in the morning, I cover them in prayer. When they get in the car, I tell them I love them and then ask two questions: "What was your favorite part of the day?" and "What was the worst part of your day?" By asking those questions, many things are shared, and again, we are talking about the Gospel, and understanding that even negative encounters can be formative experiences. At night, we all eat together and share devotion. We play in the yard with the dog and see God's beauty in creation and in that 16-pound creature. Instead of throwing myself between them and every pain the world has to offer, I am stepping back and trusting God to mold and shape them through what I cannot stave off, even if I keep them locked away forever, because their own hearts (and mine) contain the sin that wounds and scars.

A particular victory came about mid-semester when God allowed me to see that in choosing private school, I do not have to take a stance as "pro-private school". I no longer consider myself pro-anything (other than pro-whatever-is-best-for-the-particular-family), because to stand on that hill is to say that everyone in this world should be choosing my path. In that, I am trying to hold myself up as the example rather than holding up Christ -- that is not the Gospel. I see families around me using private school and public school and home school for wonderful, thoughtful, glorifying-to-God reasons. And I see families around me using those institutions for what seem to be selfish and shallow reasons. And yet our gracious God, in all of it, will be glorified!

Another victory was in realizing that I don't have to be a home school mama to be a mama that wants her children to learn much in all of life. School is a part of it, home and church are parts of it. It's all formative and I can still take the kids on field trips, read good books and do art with them. School is not enough. It wasn't enough when they were home but I was so exhausted from being in school mode that by the time lessons were done, I was drained and they were off to play on their own. Our family has found, for us, the most well-rounded solution we could. That is subject to change, but today, we are so thankful that God has us in this place.

So, we are now into summer and we will read, and play, and swim, and learn together. Next year, Carter starts 4th grade and Addie starts 5K, and I cannot believe it! Life is quite different, but our relationships are really not much different than they used to be, except that we all have the time to develop individually as well as together. I am thankful for that. And through it all, we have grown even closer. Where my fear was that we would fall apart, we seem to love each other more deeply through the struggles that we went through in going back to school.

These things are never easy, but, they are good.

Addie and her precious preschool teacher Mrs. Mary on pajama day.

Carter's class at their end of the year party. Carter is second from the left in the front row. Left of him is Calvin, the precious friend God gave to him this year. He is an answer to prayer!

Couldn't Have Said it Better Myself

I was going to blog about this very thing, but many others have beaten me to the punch and said it far more eloquently and concisely than I ever could have. A friend shared this post on her facebook page. For anyone who doesn't have a fb or can't see it for whatever reason, I have copied and pasted it here. It echoes perfectly what has been roiling within me all week:

Tragedy of Tragedies: Osama Bin Laden and the Christian Response
by Jordan Warner on Monday, May 2, 2011 at 12:25pm.

There is no doubt that Osama Bin Laden’s life was marked by heinous action and unspeakable terror. It is a tragedy that so many innocent lives were lost by the hate in that man’s heart. And it is a tragedy as well that any man had to live his life engulfed in that same hate.

But today I awoke to a new tragedy. As I read the celebratory response to Bin Laden’s death by Christians whom I love and respect, I grew sick to my stomach. Then dismayed. Then angry.

After all, we Christians are the ones who spend our lives purveying the good news that we are graciously spared from being treated as our sins deserve. I find it ironic at best, that we - as recipients of such undeserved grace - are the very ones parading in the streets that this “bastard finally got what he deserved.” If you’re offended by the language, be more offended by the hypocrisy.

If America has suffered any persecution at all in recent memory, we suffered it at the hands of Osama Bin Laden. He hated us for our wealth, our infidelity, and our religious freedom. And today it’s been told without doubt that the proper American response is to hate him in return. “But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven (Matt. 5:43-46).” Do we really find the Bible infallible when it calls us to actions like that?

The terrifying-to-face truth of Scripture is that the very root of sin that drove Osama Bin Laden to kill thousands of people is vying for my heart too. If we lose touch with that - if we somehow think of ourselves as less debased in the height of our own sin - than we’ve lost touch with the Christian story and the very need for a Savior in the first place.

Perhaps even more shocking is the image of our Abba Father lovingly knitting together Osama Bin Laden in his mother’s womb. It is an affront to consider Bin Laden to be made in the imago dei. But then again, the Bible is an affront. To be clear, I am not at all saying Bin Laden’s actions were godly or anything other than evil. I am not saying God approves his terror or hate, or even that Bin Laden shouldn’t have been forcibly stopped from doing what he was doing. And I’m not saying it’s wrong for Americans who have been impacted by Bin Laden’s actions to feel a sense of relief and reprieve from the fear they’ve carried. But none of these things change the fact that a tragic end to a tragic life ought to give us a more reason to weep and mourn than hoot and holler.

Today it was us Christians who led the festive parade through the streets of culture. Yet God calls his people to respond to social wickedness with recognition of our own guilt, and our own need for humility and repentance. Today we acted even more convinced, cocksure and smug, that God is somehow inherently on America’s side. Yet God used Assyria to judge Israel, then turned around and judged Assyria too (*see bottom). Saddest of all, today we took more joy in the presumptuous thought of a man’s eternal separation from God than the hope that our Redeemer God might have somehow redeemed even this situation.

How incredibly revealing that we take more joy in imagining our enemy rotting in hell than encountering redemption?

How hypocritical that we then claim to have a heart to see the lost come to Christ?

How near-sighted to forget that our beloved Apostle Paul was once the mass-murdering terrorist Paul?

And how blind to not recognize that our riotous celebration over lost life through execution isn’t all that different than Bin Laden’s actions on 9/11?

It’s been said that our love will be the one undeniable thing to help this world know that the Christian story is true. If this is the case, then I wonder what the world knows today?

Today I thought of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a great theologian and pastor. Bonhoeffer found himself in a similar situation as us, face to face with an evil man who had killed thousands (Adolf Hitler). Bonhoeffer’s response is instructive to us – he personally took action against the evil and on multiple occasions Bonhoeffer plotted to assassinate Hitler. Yet Bonhoeffer knew that just because he was called to take necessary action against evil did not mean he had to succumb to hating his enemy’s soul or rejoicing in their separation from God. His strikingly relevant words below teach us that we can actively confront our enemies without rejoicing in their destruction.

“Jesus Christ lived in the midst of his enemies. On the Cross he was utterly alone, surrounded by evildoers and mockers. For this cause he had come, to bring peace to the enemies of God. So the Christian, too, belongs not in the seclusion of a cloistered life but in the thick of foes. There is his commission, his work. ‘The kingdom is to be in the midst of your enemies. And he who will not suffer this does not want to be of the Kingdom of Christ; he wants to be among friends, to sit among roses and lilies, not with the bad people but the devout people. O you blasphemers and betrayers of Christ! If Christ had done what you are doing who would ever have been spared.’”

I know 9/11 hurt a lot of people. That pain is very real, very honest, and very human. It’s the kind of pain Jesus cares about and weeps over too. But we cannot allow that human pain to degenerate into hatred of other humans.

Because at the end of the day, if our reaction to world events is more immersed in our identity as Americans than as citizens of another Kingdom, then we’ve lost the plot of the Christian story and the radical call of Jesus’ teaching. We can celebrate a man’s death and potential separation from God all we like. It is, after all, a free country. You can even call it patriotism. But please don’t call it Christianity.

-------------------

*This particular idea admittedly and blatantly stolen from a great blog post by Glenn Packiam at glennpackiam.com.

I Didn't Want a Dog...

I am not a dog person. Dogs, in general, smell, bark, poop everywhere, etc... I grew up with cats but I'm allergic and I have become less of a cat person too. I had reached the point where I thought we would never have a pet, even though my son is dog crazy and has told me that the first thing he will do some day when he moves out is get a dog!



And then...



The day before Easter, I went out for my run. I was about two miles away from the house when this little dog trotted out of the gutter and began to run along beside me. I yelled at her at first, thinking she'd go home, but she didn't. She was perfectly quiet and continued to just trot along, ignoring the big dogs who would run up to their fences and bark at her. I took her picture and sent it to my husband, telling him I was being followed.

She ran right up in our driveway, where the kids had a conniption over her and we gave her some water. Convinced she would go on home, Daniel left for the church egg hunt with the kids and I left to have my hair cut. Two hours later, she was curled up on the porch of my neighbor, who loaned me a scoop of dog food. I gave her a bath and decided to care for her until we found her owners. Interestingly, I am also allergic to dogs (I have the allergy test to prove it), but when I petted and bathed her, I had no symptoms.

As the day wore on, this little girl followed me everywhere. I was baking a cake for Easter at my mom's house and she layed on a towel in the kitchen as I baked. If I left the room, she did too. When I came back, she came with me. If she was alone with my husband, she hid under the bed, but when I was around, she was right on my heels. All this time, she never barked. The kids began to call her Beulah, named after Hank the Cowdog's lady love. Daniel bought a collar and leash and told me to go back to where I found her and walk her door to door. Carter went along and cried the whole way. I harbored deep hopes that no one would claim her. As opposed to dogs as I was, lady Beulah had found a spot deep in my heart.


No one claimed her, so we returned home happily, but I continued to remind the kids that she was not ours, that we would watch for signs to go up. When night came, she curled up under our bed and slept peacaefully. Still no barking.




Easter morning rolled around and we got ready and left for church. While in the backyard, the neighbors dogs were throwing their bodies against the fence and howling (one of the reasons I do not like most dogs, or actually, dog owners who don't take the time for their animals -- these poor pups are attention starved), and Beulah gave one short yip at them. We were amazed -- she had a voice! According to my husband's wishes, we left her in the yard with a water bowl for church and lunch at Mom's and headed out. We have a privacy fence so I assumed all was good. Not so.

I checked on her between church and lunch and she was fine. But when we returned home two hours later, she had dug out and was gone. I entered into mourning. Without this little girl around, I realized that while she was here, I had experienced no anxiety and that the overarching sense of gloom I carry around with me had lifted. I read articles about dogs and depression. They really do help, and I think her sense of calm is a huge part of the reason for me.

Carter and I wept and wept. I posted about it on my facebook. Lo and behold, the next morning, one of my friends had facebooked me, saying Beulah had been found! She had wandered one street over, and a great family that fosters cats for the Animal Rescue Fund of MS had taken her in, taken her picture, ARF had put it on their fb page, and I claimed her!





That very day, we went to the vet, got shots, went to PetSmart and got tags. She has officially been christened Beulah Maxine Elliott and here is what she likes to do:


She drops the kids off at school...






And picks them up...



She is quite literary and loves to be read to...




She prefers females and does pilates alongside Addie and me...





Although she prefers females, she is learning to love the men, and she gives and receives hugs in any and all forms...







And she sleeps hard when the day is done.

So, I didn't want a dog but I have one and she's wonderful. So often, the biggest blessings are ones we didn't ask for, and didn't even want. But God created all creatures and they are good, especially my dog! :)

PS: I'm still allergic to all other dogs, just not this one. Now, did God plan this or WHAT?

"The more people I meet the more I like my dog." - Unknown

It's Been a While...

I haven't posted in so long! There was a time when updating this blog was a very important factor to me. It was my way of keeping up with everything, my way of leaving my imprint somewhere. Lately, there just hasn't been the time. There is carpool to run and lunch to be made, music lessons, homework, snuggles, bath and bed. There are miles to run and pilates to do. There is an English (remedial) course at a local community college to be taught starting next semester. There is still laundry and vacuuming and toilet scrubbing. There are many books to be read. And in the midst of it all, I snap pictures, make a few notes. I get it all imprinted on my brain, on my heart. Really, that's where it matters the most. Because whether I brag here or somewhere else, I can't take it with me when I go.

Bruschetta

'Round here, we like dishes full of flavor. "Bruschetta comes from the Italian word, bruscare which means “roasted over coals”. In Tuscany, thick slices of farmers’ bread were lightly toasted, rubbed with garlic cloves, seasoned with salt and pepper, and then drizzled with the new crop olive oil. It was meant to focus on the flavour of the new oils and only the oil. Sometimes, a tomato salad with chopped fresh tomatoes, basil, garlic, and balsamic vinegar was heaped on top of the warm bread." (Source: islandfoodie.com) Now, bruschetta is meant to be an appetizer, but in our house, we eat it for meals. It is choc-full of tomatoes and other healthy goodies. Go antioxidants! The recipe is below.



2 leaves fresh basil, chopped (I use three or four)
3 medium cloves garlic, chopped finely
1/2 large or 1 whole sweet onion, chopped
6-8 roma tomatoes, chopped
1/3 cup olive oil
1 TBSP lemon juice
1 loaf Italian bread
more olive oil

Mix all ingredients together (except the bread and the "more olive oil").



Slice the bread thinly and brush with olive oil. Toast under broiler until golden brown.



Top bread with bruschetta mixture, salt and pepper to taste, and watch your family enjoy their veggies!

The Apostle Paul and the 5k

I started running this year. It was not a New Year's resolution but a step toward something I've been wanting to do for quite some time -- live a healthier life. I ran track for one year in junior high and used to run a little bit in college just for exercise, but I never was serious about it and never made it a long-term habit. In January, I started a couch potato to 5k training plan because I am not in fabulous shape. Eight and a half years after my first child was born, I am now getting serious about taking care of myself. It's never too late.

I have been having an ongoing e-mail discussion with a college student who I used to have in youth girls' Bible study. She is mature beyond her years and her walk with Christ is an encouragement to me. We stumbled onto the topic of running and the Christian faith and how cheesy the analogy seems in scripture until you run for a little while. And then, you get it.

This morning, I pushed through a segment of my training that I have been having trouble with for a week and a half. I would reach my last interval and just lose my ability to breathe steady and give up. But I made it today. I am halfway to running my first 5k. It felt great. And as I worked through that last interval, here is what occurred to me:

Running is hard (duh) and exhilarating (never thought it could be true). There are days when everything works out just as you want it to and you could run forever. Then, there are days where you just give up and quit earlier than you wanted to because you just can't go any further. On those days, you wish you had never started running and you dread doing it again. But you go again the next day and push through.

An encourager helps. Having someone who cheers you on adds motivation to keep going.

What you fuel up on matters. Too heavy a meal, you will throw up and give up. Too light, you may pass out.

Water is important. You can't function without enough. Your mouth will get dry and again, you may throw up.

Stretching is vital. No stretching, injury risk.

Your shoes are a big deal! Bad support equals injury risk.

It can take years to undo unhealthy living. I want the chocolate cake and to sleep late. I want to stay up late and just drink some extra coffee to get by the next day. But I've done that for too long. If I keep doing it, I can't run because I am not properly rested and I feel sick from what I ate.

It's not always fun. My first week, I could barely run for a full 60 seconds without wanting to just quit. Change is hard. Life change is the hardest kind.

Sometimes even encouraging noise is just a distraction. This morning, I had to just pull my headphones out of my ears for the last few minutes because all I could focus on was my feet and pacing my breathing. The music that usually inspires me was only slowing me down.

You can't carry too much with you. Every extra ounce of clothing and gear weighs you down. I can barely manage to hang onto my cell phone, a house key and the armband Walkman.

Running uphill is tough. It winds you a bit more and takes more energy. You HAVE to pace yourself and only focus on the next step and you will get there.

You can only do what you can do. Meaning, I am no marathoner. I might be some day but I'm not even a 5k-er yet. If I start comparing myself to the marathoners out there, my efforts seem meaningless and useless and I'm going to quit. But if I focus on the race I have been given, then I will steadily run it.

Though I keep myself from comparing myself to those who are much better runners, I can look at them and be inspired and encouraged. They had to start somewhere too. And I should remember to encourage those who are only just starting.

When you finally do finish, it is an incredible feeling. The stretching is great. The shower is even better. The water you get to drink is the best thing you've ever put in your body.

So, why did Paul use the analogy? Because it's perfect, and so far from cheesy. I can relate every bit of the run to walking with Christ. What I nourish myself with, how I rest, pace, perseverance, pain, comparisons, and giving and receiving encouragement are all a part of it. And someday, when I finish, I can only imagine how sweet the reward will be...

"Therefore since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the throne of the right hand of God." Hebrews 12:1-2

"Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win. Everyone who competes in the games exercises self-control in all things. They then do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. Therefore I run in such a way, as not without aim; I box in such a way, as not beating the air; but I discipline my body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified. " 1 Corinthians 9:24-27