So... WE'RE MOVING TO MONTANA?

The CliffNotes version is this: We've been asked to be one of five staff couples involved in a start-up men's ministry in Montana called Mentoring Timothy. The hopeful, tentative goal is to move in about a year.

It will be a 10-month program in the mountains, with the primary purpose of giving young men a season of life after high school and before college in which they can unplug from the distractions of today, learn skills and live life in a challenging environment, be mentored by older men while observing marriage and family life, experience short-term international missions trips, and most of all, have the time to cease looking at the Bible as a textbook and learn to really develop a close and personal relationship with Jesus. It's life-on-life discipleship, plain and simple.

How and when and why did all of this transpire?  Read on!  :)

The last post I published on this blog was on November 9th.  I was milling over the fact that we hadn't really had a home since being married, and sharing thoughts as we were preparing to move from the RV to the basement of the yurt while finishing construction.  Mostly, I was thinking about how temporary even a "home" really is in light of eternity, and wrapped up with this:

Yes, I am cherishing this unsettled feeling and the reminder that it brings.  I am cherishing the sehnsucht... cherishing the longing. 

And when we have our own "home," it still will not be home.  Our brand new abode, in all spiritual reality, will not be home any more than the moldy house or the RV could be considered "home" right now. 

Always, always, always, I want to remember that.

There's no doubt in my mind that God had those thoughts swirling in my head during the entire building process for a good and specific reason.  How could we have possibly known how timely they would be?

The week we moved from the RV into the basement, we had begun praying seriously that the Lord would show us the next step for our lives. And it was that same week that we got a call from Dave Schroeder.

Dave was the Dean of Men when Joey and I attended NTBI,  and at our request, he and his wife Missy had been our premarital counselors in the months leading up to our wedding.  Shortly after we graduated, the Schroeders had left New Tribes in order to establish a new ministry God had planted firmly in their hearts; we've been aware of it for a few years. Now, Dave was calling to have us answer some preliminary questions and consider entering full-time ministry as staff with them.

Forms, references, a few hours of FaceTime, and many calls later, our little family packed into the car and drove out to Nebraska this past January for an interview with the board of Mentoring Timothy.  We were unanimously accepted.

Checking out Mt. Rushmore on the way back from Nebraska.

So many things happened all at once.  Very shortly after our return from Nebraska, we finished the house enough to be able to move up out of the basement.  After two years of waiting and RV living, it was surreal, hard to believe, and a bit of a fairytale.  It felt like too much luxury in so many ways (though you all know that our secondhand-materials-abode is far from opulent... haha).

We publicized our move into the house, and so many dear people rejoiced with us; all the while, we and family were the only ones who knew our future plans, and our hearts were already bracing to break away from this place.  We moved up with the bittersweet knowledge that we'll soon be moving on.

...I'd thought on many occasions, as I cooked on the campstove in the RV while wrangling a one-year-old and a newborn, that in so many ways it would be a loss to move into a house and get comfortable.  I asked Jesus, over and over again, not to let us lose that feeling of being unsettled, because it was such a great reminder that we're not to settle into this life... this world that's not our home.  Well, He answered those prayers with a YES.

Both of our immediate families are here in Wisconsin, and it's sad to think about taking our grandbabies away from their new grandparents.  Not to mention our church family, and my midwife... I know everyone does it.  It's common, and in a lot of ways, it's not a big deal.  But that doesn't make it easy.

From a young age, Joey and I have both known what it is to move over and over again.  I know what it's like to fix up a place that was dead, make it your own, scratch out a living there, and then leave.  But somehow, there's something different and more difficult about this.  We staked out an area that was just a patch of grass, dug a hole in the ground, and built a round house atop it for our family.  It does hurt to leave the home we've poured literal blood, sweat, tears, and so much more into for the last two years. Joey's fingerprints are on everything... We'd envisioned being able to rent it out and come back to it while visiting home, even if we ended up overseas as missionaries.  

A day or two after moving up, we just sat together by the fireplace one night as it all sank in, and cried.

It is strange to have these conflicting emotions-- to be weepy at the same time that we're genuinely over-the-moon thrilled for something that's so wonderful it seems like a dream come true.

I don't share all of this to seem pitiful or to convey that we're somehow suffering through this decision.  The purpose of sharing the inner sadness is only to to let you into our hearts a bit and to emphasize THIS: that as hard as it is to leave the house we haven't even finished yet, that feeling pales in comparison to the passion we have for this ministry, the excitement we have for the next step, and the utter sureness we have that this is where God is leading us.  It's only a house.  It's going to burn in the end.  All we're doing is giving up something that we can't keep anyway, that was never ours to hold onto.

There has been such a void in our society and churches of the strong, intentional mentoring of men.  Marriages are falling apart, pornography addiction is commonplace, and families are shattering.  Paul says in Thessalonians 3, speaking of believers, "...When I could bear it no longer, I sent to learn about your faith, for fear that somehow the tempter had tempted you and our labor would be in vain." As much as we have a heart to see the Gospel go where it has never been taken before, we also recognize the need for believers to be rooted, grounded, established, and thriving in Jesus, living out what they believe: discipled.  

Discipleship is something we have both been involved in and felt called to for years now, even when we were considering missions.  Thinking about our personal strengths and passions, it's mind-boggling how God has brought us to this place that in so many ways seems like our dream.  It is certainly something we never could have even imagined.  We pray that God will use this raw environment and the day-to-day of simple life for His glory, to raise up men of courage who love Him, love their churches, love their wives,  love their children, and are not afraid to lead boldly and love sacrificially.

"God said to Abram: Leave your country, your family, and your relatives and go to the land that I will show you."  

We'd both happened to read through or be reminded of Genesis 12 right around the time that all of this was first happening.  How amazing that we serve a God who brings encouragement at just the right time through words that were written centuries ago!

There is no way to know what the future holds.  For that matter, there's no way to know much about even the near future of this ministry and our involvement.  The goal is to move in about a year, and for so many reasons, it would be best to get out there as soon as possible; but we have no way of knowing how long it will take to raise support. We're trusting God to make that happen.  No idea when we'll be able to sell or rent our house.  The unknowns are countless.  Our confidence is not in anything except the firm belief that God is clearly leading us here right now, and we want to be faithful and obedient to His leading.  I don't have time to share all the unbelievable ways God is opening doors to make this ministry happen, beyond reason, and the things that have confirmed it for us personally along the way.  We have no idea what's in store, but we trust Him fully and are utterly thrilled to be on this adventure with Him!!

Designing and building our own home, only to leave it behind so quickly and start from the ground up all over again?  No, it doesn't make sense from a logical perspective.  But God's timing is perfect.  I believe that with all of my heart-- more than I believe that it will be hard to leave, more than I believe that the future is uncertain, and more than I believe that there are physically and spiritually difficult days ahead. His timing is perfect and He is a GOOD Father.  These are things I know beyond knowledge.  We are leaving our achey hearts in His ever-capable hands, knowing that we can trust Him implicitly.

We need so much prayer and would be immensely thankful if you'd partner with us in that way! Pray that we keep our eyes on Him daily, looking to Him for each step rather than taking grasp of this and just trying to run with it ourselves. The whole process will undoubtedly be incredibly humbling as well, so pray also that we respond well to God's sanctifying process in our lives.

We realize that a blog post doesn't answer all the questions, so please feel free to ask! You can call us, text us, email us, Facebook message us, or come on over and hang out. :)

If you'd like to receive our news and updates in the future, please note that they won't be here on the blog. Please send us your email address by any of the above avenues, or even just as a comment here.

Thank you for sharing in this journey with us, heart and soul! We deeply love you all.

View from the Lord-willing location of Mentoring Timothy.

An RV, a yurt, a moldy house, a tree house... and our eternal home.

(May 2015 excerpts from my journal, with some additional thoughts.)

My husband and I have been married for two years.  In those two years of marriage, we and our little family have moved six times.  (Depending on your definition of a "move...")

This "always in limbo, never settled" living situation has so many Heavenly parallels for the believer.  It feels familiar to me, because it is... As Christians we are, as the Bible has put it, sojourners; strangers in a strange land;  aliens.  Joey and I have not really had a place to call our own, yet.

And that's good.  I so love this very tangible, present reminder that these are the true circumstances of every believer:  Not home yet.  Not settled yet.  Not fully at peace or at home.  Only on the journey.

Our little family doesn't have "a place" for our belongings, really.  They're strewn, hither and yon, between different locations.  One place is the small house originally on our property... the one we intended to fix up before discovering that its foundation was completely shot, among other  issues that would have made it a financial black hole to invest in.  It was foreclosed due to severe mold issues (so we call it our "moldy house" to differentiate it from our tree house, our RV, "our" Neenah winter residence, and our future abode).

People involved in a realty scam broke into it twice after we bought the property but before we moved onto it.

All of that strikes a chord, as I am reminded of Matthew 6:19:
"Do not collect for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and thieves break in and steal."

Sometimes we chuckle to ourselves, amused that the majority of our belongings actually consist of the building materials collected for our eventual home.  And I'm reminded of another parallel.
"Collect for yourselves treasures in Heaven..."

What treasures do we have?  We have lots of convenient things.  A few sentimental things.  But if we lost everything in one big fire, I can't say I would be particularly sad to see most of it go.  I am glad for that.  That's not to say I don't truly appreciate our material belongings, but I like to think my heart isn't tied to them.  I think it's healthy to feel that way.  God's gracious hand has seen to it that the things I treasure most, in which I have thus far invested the greatest percentage of my life, are all things I get to "take with me" when I die.

Not having grown up with "treasures," at least not the way this world defines them (materialistically), I didn't develop a taste for them.  It can make me feel awkward and out of sync with humanity at times.  Sometimes I feel as if I have nothing to contribute to certain conversations.  (I've actually caught myself chiming in to complain about things I really don't mind at all, just for the sake of solidarity or fitting in, probably. I know: it's easy to recognize as completely stupid when I say it out loud.)  But, really, when I think about it, I should be alright with not caring about "things" or not always being able to engage in lively conversation about them very well.
"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

I want my Savior Himself to always, always be my treasure and my heart.  Not just mostly.  Not just a little more than the other things in my life, like my husband and my children.  I want Him to be very clearly the greatest and highest of anything I value.

A pastor once told me directly that it is foolish to talk about aching for Heaven or about just wanting to be with Jesus.  His reasoning?  Because Jesus gave us this world to enjoy, after all.

I can see the train of thought there.  But I also read my Bible.  And up against the perspective it offers, I see how teeny tiny, short, and insignificant all of human history will be in comparison to forever.  How much tinier, then, is my one life on the grand scale of eternity?!

Tell me something:  Why should I spend all of my time, energy, emotions, and resources garnering the applause of this world-- making myself successful or liked in the eyes of people, whose days are numbered, rather than making myself successful and faithful in the eyes of Jesus?  He's the One I will stand before one day, yearning to hear the words, "Well done......"

You might be proud of yourself for your credentials, your career, your life experiences, your "been theres..."  And I fully understand that temptation myself.  Right there with you.  Maybe you're a "do-gooder."  Maybe your life is wrapped up in public "ministry."  Maybe you consider yourself an intellectual.  Maybe you know everything there is to know about anything.  Maybe you're frankly just the most epic person in your circle of friends.  :P  Let's say you're a brain surgeon, a celebrity, a professional athlete, a United States ambassador, a military academy graduate, or an FBI agent.  [*insert your most-admired profession here*]

Cool.  But this earth and the entire system that gave you those experiences is going to burn.

What really matters?

You and I would be fools and borderline mental to treat this life like it's the one that matters most.  The only actions that matter in this life are the ones which have ramifications in eternity.

(And, no: In eternity, it's not going to matter that your husband made you late for church or that the kids spilled milk on the couch.  But how your heart responded in those circumstances will matter.)

It can be tempting to look back on one's life and think of how much more successful you could have been, or how much more "fulfilling" your life would be, had you made different decisions.  Certainly I was no exception.  Years back, when most of my friends were either in the military or well on their way to a four-year degree, I frequently thought of the opportunity I had to attend the Air Force Academy. I second-guessed the decisions I made regarding many other prestigious doors that had swung wide open to me.  Then Jesus altered my perspective.

And that's what makes all the difference in life.  He always does that when He touches a person's heart.  That's the turning point in so many events recorded all over the Bible, isn't it?  "...But God....."  Suddenly, a non-accredited Bible college with an emphasis on world missions and classes solely on the Word of God looked to me like one of the smartest investments possible.

Let me put it another way: I've heard people regret having married so young-- that they could have pursued their talents, had they put off starting a family.  Wives are bitter about their husbands "holding them back" from developing a career of their own, or parents lament their child having a medical condition that prevents them from ever following their dreams.  I've had my own relatives downplay to my face God's emphasis on taking the Gospel to other countries, because it simply didn't hold the same value as the comforts of home that they chose to pursue in life.

If you believe this life is all there is and all that matters, it makes sense to think that way.  If you genuinely believe God and what He says about eternity, it absolutely does not.

Are we living in light of eternity, today?  Do we do the simple, daily things for the glory of God?  Or have we "settled" into the short ride of this life, Church?

I am cherishing this "unsettled" feeling.  All my life, and especially as of late, I am constantly reminding myself, "This is just a small taste of how it feels to live free.  Live with a focus on Jesus and Heaven.  This is good.  Stay unattached to the things of this world, my soul.  Be forever clinging tightly to those things which will last: Jesus, His Word, and the eternal state of people's hearts."

I love traveling and living out of a suitcase... always have.  What we have now, however, is neither settled nor travel.  Isn't that what the Christian life looks like, too, though?  Sinking very shallow roots, living only temporarily, in circumstances that we know are not as ideal as they will be one day?

When the early church was persecuted and scattered, Peter addressed his letter to them this way:  "To the temporary residents of the Dispersion."  I love that.

Later, he essentially says, "If you call yourself a Christian, act like one."  But he puts it this way:  "If you address as Father the One who judges impartially based on each one's work, you are to conduct yourselves in reverence during this time of temporary residence." 

Isn't that exactly what a Christian is... a temporary resident?  Temporariness is all over the Bible.

Oh, this bittersweet tension between the already and the not yet!  Yes, we do have a house.  No, we cannot live there right now.  But we sure spend a lot of time and energy preparing to live there, and thinking about what life there will look like.

To be clear, I have absolutely loved living in this RV over the past couple of years.  In many ways, I will will miss it dearly.  But on "rougher" days when it's raining and my toddler has a 2-foot by 8-foot space to run around in, or I could really use a washing machine here, or I run out of gas for our camp stove in the middle of cooking (when we're having other people over for dinner), or I'm making instant rice in a coffee pot (hey, it works!), or a shower seems like paradise itself-- I remember many things.

One thing I think about is that we truly live in luxury compared to a huge part of the world.  Another is that I grew up under much more simple conditions, and it was good.  Yet another is this: the reality of what will be.  There will be a crib in that new house, for sleeping babies.  There will be the fire, and a couch, where Joey and I can curl up together at the end of a long day and be us.

Do we all do that, Heavenly-speaking?  When this life becomes difficult, do we always derive endurance and joy from looking to and really thinking about Jesus coming back and our forever-future?  Do we remind ourselves that we truly have a hope that most in this world do not have?  Do we remember that this is not nearly "as bad as it gets?"  Do we dwell on how unfathomingly beautiful eternity with Jesus will be?

Just ask my husband, who has had to expend a mind-numbing amount of thought and an exhausting amount of work on this project, and he'll tell you that this whole yurt-house-building saga has been proof that it is possible for your mind, energy, and focus to be wrapped up in someplace you don't even live.  (It's a fact that we've lamented because we want to be so much more eternally-minded, but it's a fact nonetheless.)  So let's do that with our someday-home, people.

That's how Paul says to weather this life.  In 1 Thessalonians 4 he describes Jesus' second-coming and how we will all be together with the Lord, and he concludes this way: "Therefore encourage one another with these words."  These words... Not words about how we should actually really be loving this life; not words which give a false hope that things here will get better.  This beautiful picture of what is coming... That is where we are to find encouragement.

People who consistently live with Heaven in view do not get bent out of shape by the little, circumstantial things.  They do not freak out when plans change and things go wrong.  People who take hard times in stride because they know hard times do not damage the sureness of their future... those people exude hope.  And hope is something for which this world is desperately searching.

Yes, I am cherishing this unsettled feeling and the reminder that it brings.  I am cherishing the sehnsucht... cherishing the longing.

But when we have our own "home," it still will not be home.  Our brand new abode, in all spiritual reality, will not be home any more than the moldy house or the RV could be considered "home" right now.

Always, always, always, I want to remember that.

"All I know is, I'm not home yet.
This is not where I belong."

Ode to Winter

The Wisconsin Winter will always be an arch-nemesis in my eyes.


Oh, I know it's an overstatement to most. Winter is thought of as a season-- difficult and cold at times, but wonderful all the same. The thing is, people usually say that from an insulated house with forced-air heating. They probably get all their groceries from a store. Which is perfectly fine and great. But if they'd ever stared it full in the face and wrangled with it for their very survival, they'd come away with a different perspective.


Winter can never be just a season, a temperature or a period of time, for me. It is a villainous character. I will never be able to see it as anything but a foe to be fought every, single, year... Fought with the knowledge that, time after time, we will stoically suffer defeat.


A big defeat, by our miserable enemy that is foul and intimidating and especially crushing, mostly because it always wins. You can survive Winter. You can't beat it.


Scenes from my farm-life childhood still affect how I view the seasons now. Autumn would come-- yes, that season all the hipster girls, and actually probably just the majority of females, fawn over and celebrate with  burnt-orange outfits, pumpkin spice lattes and cozy scarf hashtags-- and a sickening feeling would hit my stomach.

It was this prickly, panicky sensation of the urgent. Adrenaline and a little fearful motivation, mixed with the feeling you get when you begin to lag behind in a race. Because Fall was a nasty little messenger that liked to announce and then rub in our faces the impending coming of Winter.


In the face of its trash-talking, I missed the beauty of falling leaves. The crisp, chilly air everyone else seems to enjoy was like a knife in the back of everyone living off the land, twisting its way more uncomfortably into our brains, reminding us of all we did not have ready before The Great Oppression would hit. The gales that sung melodies to others were haunting and terrifying to us. "Before the snow flies" may have been my dad's most commonly-used phrase around those times.

"Gotta get a lot more firewood before the snow flies." 
"Gotta train that horse before before the snow flies."
"Gotta get the siding on the barn before the snow flies."

And then, it flew. Beautiful and new and refreshing, at the very first... only to quickly over-stay its welcome. Over the numbingly dreadful course of monotonous months, it became an unwanted tyrant with an agenda to kill life, destroy dreams and mutilate every last little shred of hope or happiness we might cling to. The initially-pretty white became a blinding, hypnotizing, overbearing, depressing white.


We shoveled its endless snow.
We were up in the middle of the night, trying to build a windbreak, to keep it from killing our cattle.
We trekked through its depths, day in and day out, and somehow it always crept into our boots and wet our socks.
We suffered near-frostbite at its unmerciful hands.
We crossed our fingers that there was enough food in the cellar to get us through its pervasive, unrelenting lifelessness.


There's a deficit of LIFE in Winter. We all know the kinds of things that tend to typify something that's alive; something that has lifeblood of some sort coursing through its veins: Color. Growth. Vibrancy. Some degree of warmth.


None of that in Winter. In Winter, you feel like the only cell of life on a frozen, dead planet. In fact, you feel like the entire frozen planet wants to make you frozen and dead, too. Like everything is working against you. And you start to resent this entity that you can't grab, can't strangle, can't sock in the face-- but it can sure do a number on every tangible and intangible part of you.


You step onto the mat with the opponent you can't see. He clocks you upside the chin, bashes your face in, picks you up, bodyslams you, and proceeds to beat you to a bloody pulp on the floor. Every little defeat for you is not enough for him. There must be more...


You're not supposed to "kick a man when he's down," right? But Winter doesn't play by the rules. He's never satisfied with momentary torture. He taunts, "Yeah, you survived that round. Guess what!? It's not a matter of 'rounds.' We're gonna be in here for MONTHS."


Death, death, death. There's a lot of deadness about Winter. And it always feels like it won't be happy til you're dead, too. Maybe a little part of you starts to succumb when it injects this creepy, insane feeling into you: "What's the point?" ...Of anything. It doesn't have to make sense.


What's the point of making dinner? It's Winter.
What's the point of doing laundry? It's Winter.
What's the point of trying to go anywhere? It's Winter.
What's the point of getting up this morning? For what? IT'S WINTER.


And everybody thinks "cabin fever" is kind of a joke...


But something happens between you and Winter.


While you will forever hate it, there is a sick part of you that starts to love it. You've been in and out of the ring with it so many times that it has seen every one of your small victories and big losses. And that makes it a part of your life and experiences. It kind of shares in something a lot of other people and things don't share in.


You love it for who it makes you. You love it for how it sharpens you and makes you iron-will-strong; knocks the feebleness out of you and replaces it with backbone... genuine, bona fide muster, solid with experience... chutzpah. You embrace how it has made you less dependent on anything and anyone but God. You really develop this addictive, masochistic need to emerge every Spring with that triumphant attitude, a huge grin smattered across your pasty-white, illness-ridden face with hollow eyes, that says:


"You never stopped howling, but you never made me go away. So really, I have won. Take. THAT."


Then the sun comes out. And the snow-- the visible manifestation of that invisible, hateful foe-- begins to melt into water. It trickles into the ground and the brown, matted grass gasps breath into its suffocated lungs and drinks it in. It turns a rich, bright shade of green you seriously can't find anywhere else in the entire earth. Tiny, pale green buds form on the trees that once looked like eternally dead carcasses. The crocus flowers peek out bravely and your soul exults at the color and the LIFE. The horses that did no more than hobble for the last seven months get spunky and silly and frolic with energy in the pasture.


You know there is a Summer of backbreaking work ahead of you, but it will be laced with beauty and adorned by breathtaking sunsets, swims in the creek, watermelon in the backyard, and the satisfaction of a hard day's accomplishments.


To breathe in the Spring air is to breathe in the most healing fragrance; it is balm for your body and soul; it is life-water... such that you cannot remember if Winter was ever real or just a long-forgotten nightmare.


You would do anything to see this again.


And so you stay. Winter will be waiting. And you will take him on.

"Your Mom!"

This post may call for buckling up and strapping down. I may not sugarcoat this topic very well, but I don’t think it needs it. Straight shooting is sometimes the best way to get the point across...

I realize that some moms out there are just awful mothers. Let’s be honest. I’ve been a close witness of and close friends to people whose moms are abusive, promiscuous, alcoholics, absentee, drug users, or behind bars. Also, other moms who are self-righteous, demeaning of their husbands, extremely hypocritical, self-obsessed and have full-fledged stubbornness or rage issues bordering on the demonic. Some mothers, for one reason or another, are just expert homewreckers… whether they intend to be or not.

I recognize that forgiving a mother like that takes nothing less than all the grace of God. [But it is possible. It is not only possible; it is 100% necessary if we claim ourselves to be one of the hopeless, undeserving souls whose debt Jesus paid completely.]

However, most mothers do not fit the above descriptions. Let’s talk about the mom who probably more closely resembles ours.

The average mom makes mistakes. Big ones.
The average mom tends to talk too much, or not enough.
She’s probably either too much of a clean freak or too much of a hippie;
too much of a spender or more stingy and therefore “isn’t as fun as dad.”
The average mom has no idea what she’s doing.
If she loves Jesus deeply and has a relationship with Him, she’s leaning on Him with everything she has to figure out how to deal with every single next step… or even just the next day.

The average mom also loves her children more than they will ever know until they have children.
The average mom has more on her mind, in her schedule and on her worry radar than anyone usually understands or appreciates.
She is scared stiff of failing as a mom, whether she's the type to show it or not.
She probably tries to be perfect, or close to it, and not just for her reputation or your dad but for you.
But the average mom is messy and imperfect and seemingly short-tempered at times (often driven there by her offspring!), and unashamed of expressing the amount of love and concern she has for her kids.
Her blind, self-centered children most likely cause her, at one point or another, more pain and tears than they ever realize at the time. Or perhaps ever.

Moms want their children to be healthy and happy and have a good life. So their actions usually reflect whatever they think will bring that about. Whether those actions are right or wrong, the motive is usually a loving one.

And this brings me to my whole point.

I am at retching-level sick and tired of watching the way so many grown people treat their mothers. [Their fathers, too, but that’s a different topic for a different day.]

Hopefully you realize that just being a teenager gives no one the reason nor right to be sassy, rebellious, snotty or cold with their mother. But if you never did get that memo, and you’re an adult now—What the heck are you still doing??

Maybe you've had vicious arguments (in which you probably just assumed you were right when you were actually too big for your britches). Yes, she’s hurt you. You’ve hurt her too. (My mom and I are no exception.) Maybe she's caused you legitimate damage and heartache. Please understand that I am in no way dismissing it. But isn’t it time to let go of that and start afresh? Of course she’s wronged you. Who are you? Jesus?

Of course our parents were faulty. We will be, too. We are human beings with a flesh that wars against the spirit. We look to God to be made holy, but in this life we still sin.

So, what if your mom always reminds you to wear your seatbelt even though you always do? Is it going to hurt you to say, “Okay, mom”?
So what if she expresses something for the hundredth time?
So what if she enjoys bragging about you to her friends, or scrapbooking your life?
So what if she does or says things that actually do sort of embarrass you? What's that to you?
You're an adult; she's not going to actually prevent you from your adrenaline-fix activities. So let her show her concern anyway. Listen to and respect her, even when you disagree with her.

Let’s be real: She carried you around inside of her for the better part of a year and then shoved you out of a space that wasn’t exactly your size. And then, to keep you alive, she probably literally fed you with, well, herself. And she changed your stinkin’ diapers several times a day. For a LONG. TIME. You kept her awake for countless nights with your screaming, but she dealt with it. And that’s not even getting started on just the practical things, in just the first week of your life. And, wonder of wonders, she actually loved you through all of it and enjoyed you. I mean, SERIOUSLY………

Let her in on your life. The coy, immature “It’s MY business and I don't have to keep you in the loop” information-deprivation-tactic – really? Still?? That’s so 9th grade. (And it shouldn’t have been okay even then. Especially then.) Let her be protective and give you stuff and be excited for you. Let her say what she feels and repeat her stories. Spend time with her. Let her kiss you on the cheek. Hug her when she cries because you’re leaving. Because, as hard as you try, you probably have no idea what she feels for you. And she’s not going to be around forever.

I'm guessing your friends would never get away with stuff like that. But she’s not exactly just a friend. She’s like no one else in the world. She’s your MOTHER, and all that stuff she does that is unique to her is called MOTHERING, for crying out loud. She’s earned it.

I get that moms can be “annoying” sometimes (I guess—I’ve never really experienced it). They don’t always make perfect sense to those of us who are not mothers. I know mine doesn't always. But isn't that beside the point? What if yours is downright “annoying?” Can't you display some grace and maturity, laugh it off, not make it about you in the first place, and go along with her for once, out of respect and because you love her?

We have but one life during which we have the opportunity to love sacrificially.

Being “too good for” or “embarrassed by” one's mom is for stuck-up, arrogant, ungrateful jerks and prisswads. As which none of us would probably like to categorize ourselves.

Not that I feel strongly about this or anything.

- - -

PS: God puts a high value on this stuff. Old Testament Mosaic Law or not, these are a peek into how He feels about it...

"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." 

"...For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins."
(Matthew 6) 

"'Honor your father and mother' (this is the first commandment with a promise), 'that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.'"
(Ephesians 6) 

"Listen to your father who gave you life, and do not despise your mother when she is old."
(Proverbs 23) 

"The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and eaten by the vultures."
(Proverbs 30) 

“If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother, and, though they discipline him, will not listen to them, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city at the gate of the place where he lives, and they shall say to the elders of his city, ‘This our son is stubborn and rebellious; he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all the men of the city shall stone him to death with stones. So you shall purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel shall hear, and fear."
(Deuteronomy 21)

Is Life So Bland?

I've been coming to grips with a very raw, brutal, hard truth lately. (Hard for me, anyway.) It's this: Life isn't always a crisis. But it is. My definition may just be wrong. And yours might be, too.

...Completely confusing, I know... I'll get there. Here's my heart.

First of all, let's talk about "crisis."

Paramedics know what crisis is. So do firefighters, combat soldiers, law enforcement, and doctors in the ER. If you've ever been to basic training, or first on the scene of a car wreck, or found yourself in a hostile country, or some other "I'm gonna die" emergency situation (possibly even, "The house looks like World War III and mom will be home in five minutes"), you probably know what it means to find that elusive third gear.

It's "do or die trying." Everything else slows down (yes, like the movies) and you find your adrenaline-infused self operating at a speed, dexterity, brilliance and competence you never thought possible.

Well the thing is, I kind of live for those times. I live for stuff that is difficult and challenging and painful and, well, miserable (and not only for the heck of it, but especially for the greater good or when no one else wants to do it--my idea of "helping people"). So much so that sometimes, despite my attempts to adjust, "normal life" feels unbearably dull and painfully purposeless by comparison.

I'm sure part of it is my personality. But recently I'm also realizing that, until now, I have never really had to live outside of crisis mode very much.

All my growing up years were straight-up survival on our primitive family farm. It may as well have been Mars. (When your reason for getting out of bed in the morning has always been, "To live," other average reasons are just not quite as motivating.)

From there I joined the Air Force auxiliary and lived off of emergency services/search and rescue training and military discipline.

Then I helped start and then run a military youth academy, working with youth who had been into everything you could name, of which I was made the Cadet Commander (which brought new stresses and challenges, to put it mildly).

From there was living in Egypt (enough said?). Middle Eastern drama, persecution, a new and difficult language to learn. Awesome third-world-country life that I never tired of.

Three jobs, a marathon, CNA.

Next, New Tribes Bible Institute. Which was not crisis mode per se; but still rather new, exciting, lots of vision and inspiration and deadlines, and I got the occasional, brief adrenaline fix by working as a Driver's Ed teacher. (My foot still unconsciously hovers the imaginary emergency brake, so you may not want to ask me to sit in the front passenger's seat...)

My genuine ache and struggle to find significance and meaning in normalcy, my addiction to crisis mode, my stressing over lack of stress, may be hard for most people to understand. But the resulting symptom mimics something our Hollywood-saturated culture and everyone else struggles with, too: Discontentment. And unrealistic expectations.

Let's put it this way...

Maybe, you want to marry a country boy. Because you think they're all as great as Phil Robertson. And so you marry a country boy, but he's nothing like what you thought a country boy should be, definitely not romantic or as understanding as you expected, or even a gentleman... and you're crushed. Maybe, by crazy chance, he's everything you thought he would be. But you find other things about him that you don't like, and you pick on them. And you're crushed. Disappointed.

Maybe you've always wanted to be a nurse. You just want to help people, you say, but of course you want to enjoy yourself and look great doing it. And at some enlightened point in your stressful, black coffee-drugged four years of classes and clinicals that are harder than you ever thought possible, you wake up. And you realize: It's not going to be like Grey's Anatomy. And it's certainly, definitely not like Scrubs. At all.

Perhaps you've always wanted a small, primitive family farm. Want to live off the land. So you start the slow, difficult journey toward what you're sure will, someday, be romantic and picturesque--it must!--but something just seems "off." You find yourself aching from entire days of unglamorous, monotonous weed-pulling in a field that goes on and on for acres; stitching up a calf with a quilting needle in your living room; twice-a-day milkings with no respite; scampering to can and preserve a winter's worth of food for a whole family; slaughtering animals by hand in the freezing cold; working all night by the headlights of a truck to pick up all the potatoes before morning's delivery; wondering when in the world, oh dear God, there will ever be time to do laundry or cook or wash the dishes or rest your back. And there's nobody there to capture the essence of what looks a lot.. better.. than it feels.. sometimes.

Or what about this: You really, really want to be a missionary. Missionary biographies captivate you. You're "on fire" for God. And all you can think about is missions (and deep down, somewhere you won't admit, you might feel you'd be viewed as a "better Christian"). You're very compassionate and empathize with the plight of the people in, say, Somalia, and -- excitement!! -- you end up there. It's amazing and wonderful and different at first. But soon you notice things you didn't before. Like how the different food and the habits of the people are extremely annoying now, and it's a lot of work to fit in and you just want things to be how they were; and you find your compassion is dwindling because the people don't even want you there and nobody's getting saved. And you can't figure out why it's nothing like that two-month or maybe even just one-week missions trip you took, once upon a time.

Could go on and on with other situations: Marriage. The dream career. Parenthood. Retirement. The cake you baked or the picture you drew or the house you built. Disappointment. Not how it was supposed to go. Nothing ever going how it was supposed to. (Side note here being that disappointment happens and is neither rare nor wrong. Sadly, our default setting is to turn it into bitterness and cynicism, which certainly is wrong.)

The Dean of Students while I was a student at NTBI spoke in chapel one day, and said something like this about living for your personal dream, no matter how good: "If you don't achieve it, you will be depressed because you didn't; if you do achieve it, you will be depressed because you have nothing left to live for." (Queue King Solomon and the book of Ecclesiastes.) Point being, Jesus Himself is the only thing worth living for. Not even dreams that involve Jesus. Because who knows what may happen to them.

Here's something my Heaven-sent husband reminded me of the other day (paraphrased):

Part of what I'm feeling is not wrong. We are to live in crisis mode, we need to live in crisis mode, because we are living a crisis. There are people's souls, and the state of the Church, and our stance before Jesus one day, at stake. It's just hard to see from our current vantage point. And Satan, the world and our flesh use that blurriness against us.

I'm not saying we should have no expectations at all. In fact, I'm not entirely sure what I'm saying about a conclusion regarding degree of expectations. But here's what I am saying:

Thankfully-- probably because of the way I was raised-- I've never been disappointed by life in that everything is, frankly, just so much more awesome than I ever would have planned or imagined (from ice cream to my husband to my in-laws). I still get excited and giddy inside about watching a movie or getting new toothpaste or the fact that the inside of my house is warm in the winter!!!

However... most of my expectations still tend to be unrealistic because they envision a life that by necessity is much more difficult (or challenging or characterized by crisis), whereas a lot of other people's expectations are unrealistic because they envision a life that is much easier (or more comfortable or picturesque or like the movies). But neither of them are much like "normal" life. So both produce discontentment if we focus on them too strongly.

Now, God may not end up calling Joey and I to something "normal" (or even to another day of life on this earth). But He might. Because He calls the shots. We could live out our lives in Aleppo, Syria or the mountains of Tibet or in a town of 300 people in rural Wisconsin. The point is that it should not matter. The heart that is God's says, "I am Yours. You bought me. It is my joy to live for You, wherever, doing whatever!" Like Paul:

"I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through Him who gives me strength." [Philippians 4:11-13]

Obviously, this is easier said than done, and requires daily renewal by the Spirit of God. It is so much harder to learn to live content with the idea of either, or oscillate between the two, than to stick with one.

I would like to implore us all toward this:

Relish true love stories, but not chick flicks. Don't feed on things that you find produce discontentment, which are all different things for each of us. Live in the real world. I encourage you, with every breath I have... Live here, in this real, imperfect world, with real, imperfect people, acknowledging your very imperfect self, before our loving and perfect God.

Because the real world (even in all its fallen nature), when it's not being compared to grand delusions (lies), is still pretty dang beautiful.

10 Things My Dad Taught Us

I'm one of eleven crazy children raised by my parents. The indisputably most important thing they have imparted to us has been a knowledge of God and His Word. And from that knowledge of God were derived other principles, these primarily from my dad. Most of these he taught explicitly; others, in not remotely so many words, but by his own actions. I share them as a tribute to him. While admittedly far from exemplifying many of these currently, I definitely find that I nonetheless still tend to see them as what ought to be the norm for myself.



1.)     Do the hard thing…

…On purpose. Be uncomfortable. Do not even have a comfort zone – if you do, go outside of it, obliterate it, and then never go back. Do the awkward thing, the difficult thing, the sweaty thing, the distasteful thing, the miserable thing. Soon, one finds there are few actually disliked things left. “To built character,” he would say, “a person needs to do two things, at the very least, that they strongly dislike… each day.” Oh, we regularly surpassed that number... [Is it any wonder that the majority of marriages fail, in a time when difficulty is reason enough to quit?]

He summed it up something like this: “Comforts and luxury are to be enjoyed and appreciated when you have them. But don’t go looking for them.”

Perk: Everything seems relatively easy when you regularly seek out the difficult stuff.

2.)       Pain is your friend.

When you embrace pain, it doesn’t hurt as much, if at all. Make friends with it, and you won’t be fighting it anymore. The resulting relief and the freedom is almost palpable.

I first began to understand this in reality while marathon training. Running mile after mile can be both painful and boring. Originally, my approach was to grit my teeth and “gut it out.” That, however, produced a vicious inward battle: me fighting against the misery. I found that when I surrendered and accepted it—“This is going to hurt for the next three hours, and that’s okay”—that suddenly all was well. It wasn’t so hard. Nothing had changed except my attitude.

3.)       Overcome your fears.

No one should live with debilitating fear. I did not know until later how rare it is to grow up sans ordinary phobias. Spiders, heights, snakes, small spaces, germs, lightning, flying, the dark, shots? Noooope. [There is one, but it doesn’t stop me... if you know me, you know what it is! Haha.]

When I was 9 years old and we were farming with horses, I fell and my little frame ended up underneath an implement. (This particular farm accident was no one’s fault.) A metal disc sliced deep into my tiny leg, taking it and me out of action for quite awhile.

The very next morning, early, my dad carried me lovingly out to where the horses were hitched, set me up on the seat, and had me take them for a few more passes on the field I had been working the day before. I didn’t understand why at the time, nor did I ask; I assumed he knew what he was doing, and he did. My dad didn’t want his daughter to grow up with a fear of horses or a fear of disking a field.

He took the principle of “Get back up” or “Get back on” to a whole new level, and his children were the undoubted beneficiaries in every other area of life. Love isn't always accommodating.

4.)       Target your own weaknesses.

Personal growth and self-discipline are not too popular today. The message of the time is, “BE YOU.” Period. If it’s not comfortable, don’t force yourself. 

My dad, on the other hand, saw it as normal and necessary to address areas of inability or lack of natural talent. He recognized that everyone has their own God-given gifts, areas of expertise and personal strengths, but that “I’m just not good at that” or “That’s not my thing” should never be an excuse. I never remember us once calling a mechanic, a plumber, an electrician, construction workers, even a vet. He, my sister and I built our barn, for goodness’ sake. His method was simple: If he didn’t know how to do something, he whipped out a manual and studied it. He talked to people and asked questions. He made observations.

No wonder it seemed like my dad could do absolutely everything—he basically could. He is a true James Bond-esque jack-of-all-trades. Not by birth, but through sheer hard work and intentional character development.

5.)       American culture is not your authority.

In fact, it’s a crock of junk. (To love America and her freedom is not the same as being characterized by her lazy, immoral, entertainment-centric lifestyle.) “My children will not be Americanized,” my father was fond of saying, frequently.

Years later, it was strange and gratifying to hear that line of his quoted with a gleeful chuckle, and a thick Arabic accent, by an old Egyptian doctor I worked with in the Middle East. Doctor “E” LOVED it. He had seen the proof of that principle as it played out in life there.

It was not difficult for me to live completely removed from American culture. American culture, after all, was not my home. 

6.)       Check how you react to “No.”

“We don’t always get what we want.” He said it so many times that I can hear it almost audibly in my mind now. He and Mama drummed into us the manner of thought that understands two simple things: Often in life, we do not get our way – and that’s okay. Sometimes we do, but not right away – and that’s okay, too.

In a time and culture that probably couldn’t even define the concept of delayed gratification, my dad instituted in our home and on his calendar something he called “’No’ Days.” On those particular days, anything my siblings and I requested was denied. (Within reason… we still had our three square meals and every other facet of a normal day.) Our job was to respond cheerfully. It was not hard. Our parents loved us like crazy; when they said “No,” it was never vindictive and we knew it was for our own good. 

Turns out that we never understood the concept of “begging,” and to see a spoiled child screaming his head off in the grocery store was sheer trauma.

7.)       Give everything you’ve got.

Hold nothing back. “Leave nothing on the table,” as it were. If it’s worth doing, do it all the way; put all of yourself into everything you have weighed and deemed worthy of pursuit. Be all there. Do not get in the habit of being a half-hearted creature.

Because of how we were expected to work this out in other areas of life, we understood the concept of giving all of oneself, unreservedly, to something/someone. It’s pretty darn helpful in jobs, relationships, marriage. It propelled my success in search and rescue. It was the only way I knew when I gave myself to God. And I thank Him eternally for my earthly father’s wisdom.

8.)       You can always “make do” with what you have.

We rarely had the luxury of simply going out and buying the tool or ingredient we needed. It was not even an option, really. For the longest time, we didn't have a wheelbarrow, and God knows we could have used it. Find something, invent something, make it work. That was the idea.

Also, nothing ever has to be “just so.” “Only a poor runner blames his shoes.” If circumstances have to be just right and certain conditions have to be met in order to perform – in whatever area – you are handicapping yourself. Leave yourself no excuses; get in the habit of doing what “cannot” be done.

If you do not have the money, well, you spend nothing (in our earlier days, anyway). The reason so many people’s lifestyles do not match their income is because they are unwilling to live within their means—i.e., “make do.”

9.)       Learn from others’ mistakes.

It was a rare evening indeed, if my dad’s dinnertime spiel did not include an exhortation on why or why not to do as so-and-so did. Sometimes it was a news story he shared with the family. Sometimes, it was an unfortunate incident suffered by the farmer down the road.

As watchman for the family, he took it upon himself to warn us and make us aware of reality for our future survival. The big world out there was not all that up-close and personal in rural Wisconsin. Tales of another abduction of a teenage girl, someone gored by their own bull, a neighbor with health problems, or a friend’s divorce were common such topics. They never drove us to paranoia, but to think, be smart, and try to make wise decisions in life. He taught us to use the brains God gave us. Why repeat a mistake you’ve seen someone else make if you can learn from them instead?

It couldn’t make us immune, but it helped to make us more aware.

10.)   Treat people well: Listen to them, value them, put them first.

I cannot remember hearing him say anything remotely like this, but he screamed it through his actions with others. He gave his full, genuinely interested attention in conversation. He did not demand his own way or squawk for his “rights,” even when he could have. He despised that sort of thing and rose above it.

He always bought the most inexpensive thing possible, but never tried to cheat or even talk his way out of a price unless it was ridiculous. He wanted to be fair. He often gave people things he could have sold them instead. The person was more important than the price. Even with money, he treated others as he wanted to be treated.

This is the distinct notion I got from watching my dad deal with other people, including complete strangers: They, their thoughts, feelings and needs mattered more than his.

11.)   The people you love need to hear it, often.

You need to show them, and you need to verbally tell them. There is no reason to be content with just one or the other. I don’t know that my dad believed in particular love languages so much as all of them. Whether they came naturally or not was a side issue. I really think that sometimes we cripple ourselves by categorizing ourselves.

Looking at this list, one might get the notion that my dad was harsh and unfeeling with his kids. We would laugh at such a preposterous notion. The discipline never felt unfair because he was so obvious in his expressions of love. The love truly felt limitless.

Would you say something at your loved one’s funeral, from the heart, that they were unaware you felt for them while they were here on this earth? Tell them. 

Also, “Love” is spelled T-I-M-E, not M-O-N-E-Y. Especially as a father. We rarely had the one. We always had the other.

"In acceptance lieth peace."

She who laments her singleness or married-ness, 

children or lack of children, 

finances or lack of finances, 

overabundance or absence of work,

busyness or lack of busyness,

happiness or lack of happiness, 

"calling" or lack of "calling,"

"too"-spiritually-focused husband or completely ungodly husband... 

...She has not come to know peace. She has not yet realized that each season of life is a gift of God--always either allowed by God or GIVEN by God, who knows precisely what each of us needs. This is an incredible fact... Why doesn't it inspire gratitude and joy!?

…Maybe because we don’t really believe it. Not of every circumstance, anyway.

Emotions are God-given (some of them), but they are not our god.

Contentment is a priceless thing. To long for what is not, is to miss what is. And that "is" has been allowed or orchestrated BY GOD. For some purpose. Our spiritual act of worship is to offer our bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God. Period. This says nothing about location or circumstances. 

~ thoughts and notes to self today