Middle School Memories

Sorry for the short hiatus... we are back and ready to roll.

On Thursday, Lydia and I headed to Garden City Chapel, just outside of Myrtle Beach. I had the privilege of speaking at a middle school retreat. 50 middle schoolers, 16 adults, oh, and the ever popular 11 month old. Lydia was passed around like a loaf of bread, kept up until 11:30 each night, flirted with Connor (the 17 year old worship leader) and busted her face. Praying this is my last student retreat with a baby...

What an hilarious weekend. I watched girls manipulate boys to get their hats, then brag to their girlfriends that they were wearing “that boy's” hat. I watched boys load up on Monster (the equivalent of Surge or Jolt in my day) and then run circles... For hours. I watched one girl get ostracized from her group, only to cling to another group, causing an ostracism in that group, etc... I saw boys take down girls in the mud, but NOT because they like them! NO WAY! And then there were the chaperones! The profanity slip on the volleyball court. Hijacked iPhones. Multiple trips to “Kroger,” because “I need a little break.” Crazies! Made me miss student ministry... and grateful to be out of it!

the CUMC middleschoolers!

On my quiet ride home, because Lydia was in a coma, I began my walk down my own church youth group memory lane. I don't know if you had a church youth group experience, but it was my life from 7th-12th grade. Please come along with me on my summer reflection on the FBC youth ministry...

• The Chi-Chi's birthday dinner with Chris Spruill's Sunday School class. Something funny happened, but I don't remember what... this was 7th grade people! 
• Amanda and I being late to the bus at Wet-n-Wild (was that what is was called?). We had to run laps around two trees. One lap for each minute late. Mortifying as an eighth grader to step onto a bus of high schoolers after that! (I remember Cherilyn Carruth sitting next to the window that day. Weird what sticks in your mind!) 
• Speaking of buses: it was not summer without the brown, FBC church van. No a/c, ceiling falling down, vinyl seats... nice. That's when 15 people could ride in a 15 passenger van. 
• There was a trip to Ocean City, MD. Multiple jelly fish stings that day. And a picture, peep hole keychain. Still have it, Mikey! The boys play with them. 
• A bazillion trips to Kings Dominion for Youth Evangelism Conferences, day trips or concerts. And a bazillion check-ins at the tower at 1:00. And more picture, peep hole keychains. (Still have those, too.) 
• The Youth After Church Fellowships (a.k.a. The YACF. Btw, it was previously known as an “afterglow.” Hope I don't offend anyone, but that was a TERRBILE name!) 
• Countless volleyball games. 
• Volunteering to help with VBS 
• Aahhh, centrifuge. Where we met boys Jesus. Remember all those pictures Roger took of “us,” but was really taking a picture of the boy of the week in the background! (I bet if we put our heads together we could remember all their names.) 
• Then the year we changed camps! Horror! (We made it through and loved it. Master's Inn.) 
• Eagle Eyrie. Music Camp. (Pure and lovely, girls. I still remember, Mrs. Kang.) 
• The Mall, the National Zoo, the metro

I really could go on for days. The amazing memories will go with me forever. But this is what else: I met Jesus in youth group. “I tasted and saw that the Lord is good.” I was introduced to a Forever,  Faithful God that has not left me yet. Yes, Jesus was always in my home, but there is something about what I learned from all of these experiences and sooo many more, that has forevers shaped my view and love for Jesus. 

Let's get this out of the way: I know we weren't easy. I know it now and I knew it then. (In fact, I am still sometimes reminded of that.  We got it.  We were mean and ugly and dramatic and people quit because of us.  You don't have to say it again.) That is why I am so grateful. Chris, Rhonda, Sheila, Mrs. Applegarth, Mr. Carruth- just a few of the Sunday School Teachers that “stuck it out.” GA's and Acteens- thank you Mrs. Hayes and Mrs. Carruth and Mrs. Chenoweth. Choir, chaperones, parents... I get it now. I've been on this side. I'm not sure a crown in Heaven is enough. 

And Roger. (The tears are starting.) I do what I do today, because of what you did back then. You were at everything. You planned, prepared, studied, prayed, fought on our behalf. It wasn't about volleyball. It was about Jesus. And a legacy that is now being carried to another generation. Every time I speak at a conference, teach a lesson, lead a mission trip meeting, I think of you. It is memory verses in the car, teachable moments after tears, and the walk to my kids' worship on Sunday mornings. You sewed into that in a way that nobody else did or has. At the risk of getting all Ray Boltz on you, thank you for all you did, sacrificed and prayed for us. It has not been in vain and it has not gone unnoticed.

And to the adults I ministered with this weekend, this may be your story one day. You invested in a life, that invested in a life, that invested in a life. Don't give up on the hard ones! Please! They did not give up on me. (Shut up. No comments.) Tim, you are their Roger. You are not laboring in vain, you are not unnoticed.

To all of you student ministers, winding down your summers... you made it through another one. Lives were changed. Generations formed.

It's not about volleyball.

"With all this going for us, my dear, dear friends, stand your ground. And don't hold back. Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort." 1 Corinthians 15:58

-jill

Centrifuge.  Carson Newman.  Circa 1994.  For Girls Only.

Graduation Sunday.  1995.

My 18th birthday.  Key West, Fl.  Senior Trip.

One of the very few pics of Roger.  He was ALWAYS behind the camera.  I think he was trying to get out of trust falls.

Blue Pigs

When my nephew Joel was four, he was conversing with some dear family friends about a stuffed pig that his mother owned (as in stuffed animal, not taxidermy). Joel was pretty excited about this pig and told all about where it sat in their home, how big it was, where his mom got it etc, etc, etc.

As any adult, wanting to enter into a child’s world in conversation, one of my friends asked a question that he thought was pretty straightforward, “What color is the pig”? Joel stopped dead in his tracks and looked at them both incredulously, as if to say, “Really, you are adults and you don’t know what color a pig is??!! Shouldn’t you know this by now???!!!!” Nevertheless, he condescended to answer them with the obvious. “It’s a pig. It’s blue”.

Needless to say, none of the adults in the room did a good job covering their shock, or laughter, at his reply. Mostly because it was delivered with such disdain for having to say what, to his mind, should have been apparent to any thinking person. I am happy to report that, not long after that episode, Joel came to discover that unless something is horribly wrong, pigs are not, in fact, blue. That has not, however, stopped those friends from gifting him, now in his twenties, a small, yet diverse, collection of blue pigs.

Whereas I love the fact that they give Joel those little reminders, and hope they never stop, I recently felt the Lord start speaking to me about relational “blue pigs” that I sometimes give to people. Let me explain by unfolding some of the thoughts that have been stirring in me.

Being in close relationship with people over an extended period of time can cause an insensitivity and lack of recognition for all the ways that they have changed and grown. Familiarity can promote an environment that makes it easy for us to keep them “in a box” that doesn’t acknowledge that they are being “changed from glory to glory”.

For instance, a situation arises and we anticipate that because we “know someone so well" we can predict exactly how they are going to respond. We present the situation to them and before they utter a word in reply, our thoughts or worse yet our words, have jumped to disappointment, frustration, or anger because we “know” how they are going react. We have just given them a “blue pig”--a reminder of a time (or many times) when they acted out of a place that lacked understanding, knowledge, or maturity in a certain area.

What I am currently thinking is that forecasting hurt or disappointment because we “know someone so well” is potentially a masquerade for lack of forgiveness for previous wrongs suffered. Maybe it is a red flag that there are unresolved issues that need to be worked through in humility, honesty and grace. Or it may be just plain, old, garden variety judgment because we think they should be past believing that pigs are blue. And here is where we really need discernment: sometimes our disappointment has nothing to do with the immaturity of others, but instead with their lack of compliance with our preferences.

Maybe those closest to us would blossom into maturity more rapidly if instead of reminders of past immaturity, our love for them was more often marked by the characteristics outlined in I Cor 13:7. “Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances and it endures everything”.

I am not suggesting being naïve about areas of immaturity that still exist. Pain caused by immaturity is pain nevertheless. (Ever had a small child jump on you?) And perhaps it is time (or past time) to have a loving, yet pointed conversation that pigs are not blue. What I am saying, however, is if we leave room to for God to do His transforming work in the lives of those we love, and live in expectation of His faithfulness in that regard, we may find ourselves exchanging the blue pigs that we used to give, for thoughts and words filled with life and hope.

-brenda

My Thoughts on Aurora

I totally missed Aurora. I'm not sure what happened. Every disaster like this I have been glued to the television. Columbine. September 11th. The Tsunami. Katrina. Va Tech. Watching. Reading. Praying. Hoping. I missed this one. Not literally, but emotionally. I never connected with the tragedy. Maybe it's because I have three little ones this time. Maybe because I can't see the tv from the kitchen table in our new house. Maybe it's because I didn't even know this movie was coming out. (so sad.) Or maybe because the death of 12 people no longer affects me...

Damn.

What?!

How can that be? How can I, a person that claims to love Jesus and all those whom He loves, not even stop to know who they are or hear their story, or at the very least, catch the gossip? I mean, even Eva Longoria has a minute to stop by Good Afternoon America, talk about naming a potato chip and pay tribute.... I took a nap.

Even as I write this tears sting my eyes, because this is where I am... where we are as a culture. A facebook post of prayer is great, but do we really feel it? Can we feel it? Do you get it unless you were there or it was your kid or husband or friend?

How could your God let this happen? Where was your God when this was happening? How can one person be so evil? What is next? What will my kids see in their lifetime? I don't have any answers. To these questions or any others. I mean, I know what I think the answers are and I know what is true about God...

But this is what I know about me. My prayers will start now. For all of the families, for the 58 people injured, for those who have to reconcile what they experienced that night. And for me. For us. That this crap will never be “no big deal.” That I will always make time to “connect” with victims and their stories. That I will never be desensitized to the things the break the heart of God.

I got to meet those that lost their lives. I read the story of one injured and the story of one who was there. Is that good enough? I don't know, but I hope it honors them and their families.

I pray I don't miss another one- another anything- again.

- jill

Hills

Can you see it? Thousands of fans screaming your name as you run out of the tunnel for the NCAA Division I Women’s Basketball National Championship, can you hear it? Time is winding down, your team is down by one. Three.....Two.....One! You shoot the ball only to hear the crowd erupt again and your teammates tackle you, falling not so gracefully to the ground, and together you celebrate your national championship win. Can you feel it?

This was my dream. When I closed my eyes and dreamt of what I wanted to be when I grew up, this was it: a College Basketball National Champion. Years were spent chasing that dream. Millions of shots, thousands of drills, hundreds of suicides (if you do not know what that is, consider yourself blessed and spared from death). But by the tenth grade, my four foot, eleven inch frame was not cooperating. Hitting my growth spurt when I should have been hitting my peak performance, I awkwardly struggled through the next two years as I sprung up to five foot, seven inches and finally developed triceps! My senior year was amazing, by far my best year, but when I started having back problems, colleges started looking in the other direction. My shot at my dream was over. 

Cross country had always been a part of my life as well, not because I liked to run, but because it helped my cardio in basketball. So when the call came through in July of 2003, asking if I wanted a full paid cross country scholarship to a Division I college, saying yes while picking myself up off the floor was pretty easy. There was only a slight hesitation when I realized this meant I would be running for the next four years, but the Division I glamour got the best of me.

My work ethic never changed, I just changed my scenery. Instead of a gym, I now had the open road. Instead of a basketball, I had some pretty spiffy running shoes. Running quickly became a passion of mine and the view from the top of the podium was my new goal. There was really only one hold up when it came to running. I hated running hills. Running five miles out of the way was by far the preferred path over a hill any day. Not having many hills to choose from in my small hometown, the ones that were available, I could literally put my hands down in front of me and crawl up the hill. Terrible! Straight up, steep hills!! Failure was immanent when it came to hills, and quite frankly, I was okay with that.

Have you ever had an argument with yourself, in your own head? (Not like those car commercials were they actually grow another head and have a conversation, that's just creepy) Let me explain. On one particular run, feeling pretty good, I approached the hill with defeat already in mind. Then, something said “get to the top!” Yeah, no! About half way up, breathing heavy, chest burning, I heard the voice again, “keep going!” NO! The funny thing was as I am having this conversation, my feet kept running. Before I knew it, I was at the top. Of course I was near death and could barely stand but when I turned and looked at what I had accomplished, it almost felt like the podium was already under my feet.

This was a major turning point in my training schedule. Even now, I actually have days on my running calendar that just say “hill workout,” which have become the highlight of my week. Why? Because there is no other option than to get better when you are running up hill. It doesn't matter if you are almost walking, as long as those feet are moving you are getting better. Your cardio is improving exponentially, your legs are getting stronger, your posture will start to improve and all you are doing is running up hill.

There are those days that the hills still want to get the best of me. When I first started having my love affair with hills, it was very easy to walk for a second or two, or even walk when I got to the top. I approached the hills with an optimistic mindset but somewhere in the middle, I mentally could not pull through. There were times when I would go through stretches of making deals with myself half way up the hill; “If you walk now, you have to do an extra two miles.” Or, “If you make it up the hill, you can take the short cut home.” Yes, sometimes the incentives worked, but I found myself disappointed when I would get home, short of my goal mileage.

If there was one thing evident here, it was I had to get stronger mentally. Therefore, I stopped making deals with myself on the hill itself. Whatever my plan was when I reached the hill, that was the plan after the hill. I had realized that I was making decisions that really impacted my training, and eventually my overall performance, during the hardest part of my run. By allowing my circumstances to dictate and change my plan of action, I was making decisions that were ill-advised and were not in the direction of my goal.

How many times in life do we allow this to happen? We have a plan of action but when our circumstances become difficult, we lessen our goal or our standards to gain access to the path of least resistance. It's easy to maintain our goals when we are on the downhill or even on level ground. We methodically go through our day, doing the same thing over and over again, content with our lives. But were we called to lives of contentment? So what do you do when you see the hill on the horizon? Do you run five miles out of the way to avoid any difficult circumstance? Or, do you smirk and say “bring it on!”

One of my favorite verses comes from 2 Corinthians:

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed....Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting way, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” 4:7-9,16-17

God wants us to the see what is at the top of the hill but we have to work to get to the top. Working our way to the top is how we grow, how God molds us into the people we were meant to be. If we change our minds half way up, we will most certainly miss the view.

I met Sam Andrews just over a year ago.  Not long after she and Tim returned from their "Major League Baseball tour" honeymoon... yup, girl likes sports.  They joined our life group and then decided to move... to Hawaii.  Sam is pursuing her Phd in something sports medicine-y, while Tim spends time in a large ship under the water.  She blogs about being a navy wife and taking pictures... miss you, friend!

My Mission. HIS Church.

My husband led a team of 20 people on a mission trip to Haiti a few weeks ago. We caught up over the next couple of days.  We talked about the trip, the ins-and-outs, the people of Haiti; the weather, the food, the team dynamics. And I started thinking about our history with missions... and the Church.

We have both felt a love for and calling to do missions since we were married. Tim served in a local church as a youth pastor where we could regularly challenge the youth and teach missions. During that time we became frustrated and disenchanted with the Church as an institution. There were so many experiences, of so much hurt, and very little reconciliation.

It was in the middle of this frustration with the Church as a whole, that we actually began the application process for long term international mission work. We were just a couple years into our marriage. Our plans abruptly came to a halt, however, when Tim was diagnosed with a rare medical issue just a few short months after we started.

Tim is still a youth pastor. (A really great one, if I do say so myself). Every year he gets the opportunity to go on a couple of short term missions trips, mostly leading youth, but often challenging adults as well. Every time he comes back we lay awake at night dreaming of what it would be like to have our family in this place, or that place, and what GOD is calling our family to. And every year the LORD teaches us more and more about HIS Church and what HE is calling HIS Church to. And it is beautiful!

This time, as we processed Tim's trip to Haiti, the LORD whispered on my heart, "reconciliation of the Church." HE has actually been shouting this same message at me for the past couple of years. I have seen the Church for what it is and what it's supposed to be... faulty, unworthy humans living out the overflowing love and grace of GOD. Forgiving because we've been forgiven. Loving because we have been loved. (Some of us need a little more forgiving and loving than others.) I have seen the Church be the Church described in Acts 4:32-35 over and over again and seen GOD's faithfulness and blessing poured out on HIS people over and over.

And I hear The SPIRIT whispering to me that I could not do missions until I loved the Church and was reconciled to the Church instead of tolerating it as an institution.

Before, you would almost get the sense that we were trying to head to the mission field as a way to run away from the Church... and in many ways we were. We acknowledged that the Church had a role to play in missions but did not fully recognize the complete dependency one has on the other. If we had gone on the field when we originally wanted, we would have ended up using the Church instead of loving it.

Tim and I still feel the call of missions on our lives as strongly as ever. (In fact, as I write this Tim is in Costa Rica preaching on Grace.)  For now we will do our best to live this out daily here in the States. But maybe... just maybe... the LORD will release us to "go to the ends of the earth" sooner, rather than later. We have hope in a GOD that is big enough to heal the physical ailment that HE so graciously used to bring us here.  Here to a place where HE could heal our hearts and reconcile us not only to HIMSELF, but to HIS Bride.

- tiffany

Sweet Interruption

Good morning everyone! it's Sweet Interruption Wednesday!

Introducing...

Selah Diane Leinberger

born 7.11.12

7lbs 3oz.

Selah means to "pause or reflect."  Diane means "divine."

May she always live up to her name.

(and share with her mother the love of glass top dining tables.)

Finding God in the Impossible

Life is full of impossible situations. 

They creep in out of nowhere and blow me away. Of course, sometimes things are a consequence of our sin, but when I'm truly following hard after Christ, I have a hard time understanding why things aren't easier. I've learned, however, that if I wasn't faced with the difficult situations, I wouldn't be nearly as dependent on Christ. And if He wasn't there to rescue me from those rough patches in life, then I would most definitely keep trying to promote myself instead of giving God all the glory He is due.  

What follows is a post I wrote about one of my favorite "impossible situations" found in the Bible. I'm challenged and convicted by the obedience these believers showed, in spite of their circumstance, and in awe of the faithfulness God showed to them.

It's funny how many times you can hear a Bible story or an encouraging word or verse from someone, and not really let its application sink in. There are tons of Bible stories I've heard over and over during the course of my life, but never really taken anything from them or seen what truth I can take away and apply in my life.

A couple of weeks ago, my mom was talking to me about the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. You can find it here, if you want to read it! It's a story I've heard a million times and thought about how "cool" it is, but nothing more. I've honestly never put much more thought into it than that. Multiple times, over the past 2 weeks, though, God has brought that story to mind and given me insight into how I can apply it to my life right now.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were totally being obedient to God. They definitely didn't make a mistake by choosing not to bow down to the gold statue that Nebuchadnezzar set up. Yet somehow, they still ended up in the middle of chaos - in the middle of a blazing fire, to be exact! But, God was totally there with them. And, in the end, it says they came out not even smelling like smoke. I mean, how could they give credit and glory to anyone other than God after that?

I've struggled- big time- the past couple of months with understanding why when I feel like I'm being obedient to God, things turn out completely differently than I thought. If I'm trying to listen and obey and I have a peace about my decisions, that I feel sure come from God, why would I end up in the middle of heartache and chaos?

I feel like I'm standing in some fires of life right now - even after making decisions I thought were being obedient. But, I know that God is right there with me - even when I feel all alone or discouraged. And, at the end of all this - I know God is going to deliver me. I want to come out of this like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego - not even smelling like smoke! It's exciting when I think that at the end of all this I can look back and give glory to God alone for the way I know He will deliver me. Even now, the way my heart and thoughts and attitudes have been growing and changing, can't be attributed to anyone other than Him!

I am a camp counselor and I was sharing this with the girls in my cabin. We spent a lot of time talking about God's plan for our lives and His direction and leading. One of the questions I asked the girls in my cabin during devotions was to raise their hand if they thought always knowing exactly what God's will was, and what He had planned next, would make it easier to follow Him. I'm pretty sure just about every hand was raised. And honestly, before really studying and processing the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, I have to say, I would have totally agreed with them. But I was struck by another sort of reality or truth that I can take away from this bible story.

My new perspective? If I was Shadrach, Meshach or Abednego I'm not sure it would have been any easier for me to follow God's plan for my life if He told me it included, literally, being thrown into a fire. Especially once I was informed of the fact that it was because I was choosing to serve only Him and no other gods. I mean, my reward for obedience is something that is sure to lead to my death? I feel like that's a question I would be asking - but, I definitely don't think knowing that was God's plan for my life would make following it any more enticing. In the end, God still received all the glory and praise due to Him, but I know for certain I would not have been all happy- go- lucky to jump on board with that plan! So really, knowing the plan, probably wouldn't have made things any easier.

The reality is, I don't know God's specific, step-by-step plan for my life. And, I'm never going to know exactly what He has next. What I do know is that in good times and bad, He is with me every step of the way and I want to always be living in obedience to Him, in spite of what it costs me. Regardless of my circumstance, I want to live my life so that when people look at me, they see Jesus working in me. I want my life to always point to Christ - whether I'm standing in the fire or not.

Ashley McGarvey is a 20-something, fantastic, Jesus-loving, kind, compassionate, full-time, year- round camp counselor at New Life camp. Oh to be one of the girls in her cabin! She is a daughter, twin, aunt and friend. I met Ashley about 13 years ago and have loved being reunited with and stalking her on facebook.  She has always made me happy.

The Triumph

"Named aborted baby today. Declared forgiveness out loud. The day isn't even over yet. Whew!" 

That was a TEXT I got from a friend while she was attending a retreat. I stood in my kitchen and shed tears of so many kinds. As an adopted girl, abortion is such a reality to me. (And, consequently, has been a point of judgement that the Lord is refining.) I know the struggle my friend has battled to wrap her head around total forgiveness. I know the statistics: 40% of women in childbearing years have had an abortion. She's not the only woman hurting.

This entry is not about abortion. It's about this... "they triumphed over him {Satan} by the blood of the lamb and by the word of their testimony..." (revelation 12:11). In other words, my friend's text finished the job. Jesus started the victory and she finished it. The blood of the Lamb came first, the spoken words of forgiveness sealed the deal.

What is the power in this? That, once again, the Lord has chosen to finish the job through us. He did it with the Great Commission, He does it with prayer and He even wants to take out the ultimate enemy using piddly ol' me.

Is this resonating? For all of you, sitting on your tail thinking, "I'm good. Jesus forgave me for my junk. It's over." You're missing the point. He is waiting for your testimony. Jesus wants your words, your experience, your story. It's that important. To us. To those waiting to hear it. To those of us who need to hear your story, to heal our story. Do you see the domino effect? My friend tells of her deliverance, it causes me to do the same, and you and you and you... TRIUMPH.

Isn't it just like Jesus to take the enemy's own scheme and turn it around to defeat him? I love that. That's what He does when He heals us- what man intended for evil, God meant for good.

"Beauty from ashes. Oil of joy instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair...". Then you become an "oak of righteousness. A planting for the Lord to display His splendor." (Isaiah 61:3) There was a time that I  would never have thought of myself as an oak, a weeping willow maybe. Now I can't see myself as anything but an Oak. Roots deep. Limbs strong. Ready for any opportunity to display Splendor. 

http://www.toptenzpictures.com/top-10-amazing-tree-pictures/angel-oak-tree/

My sweet friend? Splendor. Roots deepening. Just yesterday she said to me, “Each time I tell my story, it's getting easier. Much less emotional.” That's what we need! Ladies who can tell their story, without blubbering, and with a confidence that can only say, “HE did this! HE healed me! HE set me free!” 

This is the next verse in Isaiah 61, “ They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.” A rebuilt city or building is always sooo much stronger than the one before. It's rebuilt to withstand waaayy more than the previous structure. That's my friend! Stronger. Fortified. Ready.

- jill

What I'm Learning From Golf

Some people are naturally more positive-thinking than others. I am one of those people. I love it when things are tracking smoothly and everyone around me is getting along. People at work tease me about “Julie World” where everything is butterflies & bunnies and puppies & kittens. In Julie World, everyone does what they are supposed to do and treats each other nicely. Doesn’t it sound like a wonderful place? I live in "Julie World" most of the time, but then I can also be very hard on myself. Enter golf…

Golf is a maddening game. Yet, I want to be good at it. The crazy thing is I think I could be. I hit some beautiful shots sometimes and think, “Yeah, I’m pretty good.” Then I hit a shot that goes so far off course (literally) that I look like I’ve never played before (and I have played for 15 years). I start to beat myself up in my mind, about how bad I am. This thinking, of course, leads to more bad shots and more ridiculing of myself. A friend has recently challenged me to think about what I’m learning about myself and life, from golf.

I have a friend who is a good recreational golfer. I would love to have her disposition. As a recreational golfer, you will not usually hit great shots. Hopefully, you’ll hit shots in the general direction that you’re trying to go. My friend does not appear to be rattled by shots that are “off”. She usually just shrugs it off and goes to hit the next shot. And, she plays well; I would love to play as well as she does. Intellectually, I know that her approach is much more rational and productive. After all, golf is just a game, meant for fun. At the end of the round, the outcome is not meaningful. My livelihood is not affected, no one else cares how I played. So why do I care so much?!

I've yet to figure out all the reasons why I’m so hard on myself. I know that I’ve always hated being bad at something. I was a competitive gymnast as a teenager and demonstrated some of these perfectionistic traits back then, as well. I’m competitive more with myself than other people. And when I see that I’m capable of being good at something, I get frustrated when things don’t go well. So this year, I’m working on the mental game as well as the physical parts of playing golf. I’m wondering if “take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5) applies to my golf game. I don’t want to over-spriritualize golf, but there is value in stopping negative thinking in all aspects of our lives and remembering Whose we are.

I am Christ’s friend. “I have called you friends, for everything I learned from my Father I Have made known to you.” John 15:15

I am complete in Christ. “and you have been given fullness in Christ, who is the head over every power and authority.” Colossians 2:10

I am God’s workmanship. “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10

The list could go on and on about who I am in Christ. The trick is to remind myself of these truths when my mind is telling me the opposite. Maybe you don’t play golf, but what do you tell yourself when you make a mistake in parenting…or your job…or a friendship.

So what’s your golf…   

- julie

Giving Up Olivia

 "This is not my fight. This is not my child. I am not the Creator of life or future. I am the steward. Scripture tells us that when you are faithful with the little, God will make you ruler over much. Here is your much."

I remember being 12 years old, sitting at the dining room table reading my Brio magazine, when I saw an advertisement for Teen Missions. I felt a tug on my little heart, and as soon as my parents walked in the door from a missions conference in Switzerland, I asked if I could go to Iceland for a month. Without hesitation, they gave me their permission, and bent over backwards to support an ambitious little girl who had no idea what she was getting into. I remember my dad driving me to Dover to get my pictures taken for the bookmark I would send out to my trip supporters; on the way home we would discuss US/Israel foreign policy. My mom sat down with me and her tattered address book, helping me make a list of people to call on to support my trip. They were pouring into me from the earliest age, and my parents were the most exceptional example of this principle.

I didn't know it then, but this was the first of many tangible moments where I can distinctly recall being released to the Lord. "Have your way with her." They didn't fear my plane crashing, or being abducted, or whatever else parents think they can control. It is all in vain: the worrying, the fretting over what could happen. It could happen under anyone's watch, so why not let me go and let God do unbelievable things with my life? Why not let the One who sees and knows all be the protector over me? I went on to be a part of nine more trips in the next ten years, all before I was 22. I served in Iceland, Brazil, Venezuela, and then Romania for six summers.

My parents showed me such an incredible picture of faith. If you aren't familiar with the Bible, you should read this true story of a father and a son. God asked the father, Abraham, to sacrifice his firstborn son (put him on an altar and light him on fire). Abraham believed that God was the Almighty, and out of the most beautiful picture of obedience, he proceeded up the mountain to offer his only son. Here is the story in a very short format for anyone who has never read it.

Fast forward 13 years.

I had an out of body experience last weekend. We were at Olivia Teagan's dedication, facilitated by our very close friends and mentors, Heath and Jill Forbes. I was in a room, surrounded by people who know and love us, and now love our daughter as well. There I was, after years and years of telling myself that when God gave me a child, I would promise to give it back. Ben and I had more discussions on the theology of infant baptism than probably any other child-rearing topic. We both adamantly agreed that it was crucial for us to entrust our kids to the Lord from very early on, knowing that we are called to be stewards of whatever he gives us, whether it be situations, finances, whatever. I struggled to take it all in, to comprehend the gravity of what we had chosen to do. The day had arrived and we were just trying to make good on our promise. It was less about Olivia and more about us. We wanted our community to know that we are believing that God will make himself known to her very early on, and that she will make her very own decision to follow him. It is up to us to guide her and steer her and make known to her the Truth.


This is such a beautiful predicament, "giving up Olivia". It sounds so foreign to people. Why would we ceremoniously dedicate our child to a God who cannot be seen or touched? But that, my friends, is just it. That it where parenting becomes unfathomably amazing. We will see and touch God when we believe in Him. When we garner up the faith to know and believe in our heart of hearts, that He is real. That He will do anything to protect his children. That He sent His Son to die for you and me. That when we give Him our lives, our family, our babies, my baby, the blessings will pour out. They will be immeasurable. The peace and joy will be uncontainable. There is nothing quite like it, I assure you.


Returning home from the hospital, or the birth center, or the woods, or wherever you had your kid, is of the most daunting things a parent will ever experience. Realizing that I am going to mess up. I am going to fail. I am responsible for this little life, that will hopefully become a big life. And that is why we put such an emphasis on our public declaration. We want everyone to know that we refuse to raise her on our own. We cannot and will not be responsible for her well being. We would drive ourselves crazy trying to control her every move. It just isn't a road we are willing to go down with someone so precious as Olivia.

It is so freeing to know that we have given our girl away. Given her back to the One who knitted her together in my womb. Trusting that He will guide her every step, and believing that she will call on Him through a faith of her own one day soon. Sure, God has placed us in her life to protect her innocence and defend her safekeeping. But again, we realize our role as her parents is to steward her. To guard her.

There were family and friends who couldn't be with us, and for you I will share the challenge that Heath and Jill issued: "Here is your much. This is it. It does not get bigger than this, and guess what? God entrusted you with it. He doesn't think you can handle it. He knows you will turn to him. You have no other choice. This job is hard and it sucks sometimes. (When you hear your five year old say Jesus take the wheel, you know you've said it a couple of times). And that is why you all are here. You are not just family or friends. You are diaper changers, meal bringers, phone callers, truth speakers, accountability givers, late night prayer lifters, stroller pushers, Hank walkers, grace bringers, life givers....You are Olivia's legacy. Please don't take that lightly. You have the power to hear from God on who Olivia may become, what gifts she has been given, or to advocate for her when her parents are stuck. You all have a purpose."

"I prayed for this child, and God gave me what I asked for. And now I have dedicated him to God. He's dedicated to God for life." (1 Samuel 1:27-28)

If you are interested in replicating a dedication such as this, or are just nosey and want to see more, visit me tomorrow (www.ourscottlandyard.blogspot.com) for pictures and more little details of this incredible day.

Maribeth Scott is a sweet spot in my life.  She and her husband, Ben, showed up in our lives just about 2 years ago in out "Before I Do" life group.  And here we are talking about their baby.  She is the one who pushed me over this blogging cliff... Maribeth shares my love of Mc Donald's (we know, we know, pink slime), Phil and Ted strollers, dessert before main course, framing pictures and the Word.  I hope you have just fallen in love with her, too.

Taking Hold of God's Promises- Not My Doubts

“The LORD is faithful to ALL His promises and loving toward ALL He has made.” Psalm 145:13b

I’ve realized that I have a privilege set before me every day where I get to choose what I believe. I teach this to my kids all the time, especially as we start to pray, read a scripture, or receive a blessing spoken over us. They’ve heard it 1,000 times: “Do you guys know what it means to really believe? You have to believe to receive. Do you believe that what Jesus says to us is real and true?”

I would love to say that they jump up and down and rejoice in the amazing understanding and appreciation of God’s grace and mercy and shout, “Yes! We Believe!” What I get instead is rolling of the eyes and exasperated sighs: “Yes, mom. Yes, we believe. Yes, we know God is true. You ask us this every time.” “Yes,” I say, “but you have to believe it or its just words.” But is our God not big enough to take a mustard seed size amount of faith and a few jumbled words to answer a prayer?

“Lord save me!” Peter was literally drowning in doubts as he began to sink in the water, and Jesus didn’t stand there and make sure he had all his doubts erased before stretching out His hand to deliver him. I’ve wondered why I so strongly want to know my kids believe. Why is it that it’s so imperative that I hear them say “Yes, we believe”? It does give me a sense of security and comfort knowing they are saying the words, but doesn’t God already know their hearts? Isn’t He strong enough and big enough to lead and guide them in their own personal journey of faith, just as He has done for me? Is He not the “author and perfecter of our faith" (Hebrews 12:2)? Doesn’t God promise He will meet our every need? Aren’t my children God’s before they are mine? Doesn’t He care for them more than I could possibly attempt to try? I feel like I hear Jesus saying, “Becky, why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” (Mark 4:40)  

How can I be so strongly convinced in my security in Christ, and be steadfast on His promises of salvation, yet still battle doubt so many times each day? Am I good enough? Am I parenting right? Am I pretty enough? Am I smart enough? Did I use enough coupons at Publix to save us $? Did I take enough time to look at all the sale items before buying new stuff? Am I doing enough for God? Am I calling my friends enough? Am I involved enough at church? Am I doing enough at work to meet my own expectations and those of my boss? Am I patient enough for my daughter? Do I play enough for my son? Am I encouraging enough for my husband???? When is enough enough Lord?! “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24)

Jesus is so good and sets me right immediately: “Quiet! Be Still! Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” (Mark 4:39, 6:50) “Becky,” the Lord says, “No one is good enough but Me”. That’s why I’m utterly dependent on God. That’s why my days are interrupted with the messes of life: reminders that I need God’s help. I need His intervention. I’m not expected to do all and be all. 

Ahhhh, sweet release. Peace. “Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have PEACE with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by FAITH into this GRACE in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the HOPE of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also REJOICE in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, HOPE. And HOPE does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” Romans 5:1-5

I’m choosing to claim what my kids say to me: “Yes, I do believe.” Enough said!

- becky

The Interruption of Freedom

The boys jumped into bed with Heath and me this morning, at 7:06, fully dressed in their fourth of July garb. Teaching moment... "Tell me about the Fourth of July. What is it about?" Will answers, "to thank those who fight the bad guys?" "Sort of, but it's the birthday of our country. On July 4, 1776, we became a country. We fought a war, won and became a country."

"What if we hadn't winned?" (We're working on our verb tenses.)

Aaahhh, the age old question. What if they hadn't left England? What if we hadn't fought the war? What if we hadn't won? Freedom interrupts life. Life is changed.

Our lives are built on the "what ifs". What if I hadn't met that boy? What if I'd picked another college? What if I'd gotten that job? Bondage interrupts life. Life is changed.

We live there, don't we? Second guessing. Wishing we had made other choices or that life looked differently. Hoping that our ship will come in and all things will become new. At the very least, that is not what the earliest Americans fought for. They didn't give up everything so we could sit in our own self-loathing. And what about Jesus?

"It is for freedom that Christ set us free." (Galatians 5:1)

Period. That's it. He set us free for... Freedom. Not to do works or save people or change the world. For freedom. And we leave ourselves in captivity, bound by the "shoulda, coulda, woulda's".

This Independence Day, let's allow ourselves to be interrupted by freedom. To "throw off all that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles and run the race marked out for us..." (Hebrews 12:1). Let's allow this day of freedom to look differently and set a precedence for days to come, living "where the Spirit of the Lord is [because] there is freedom." (2 Corinthians 3:17)

- jill

Learning to Let Go

Is your last name Heath?
Me: Yes, why?

That explains a lot.
Me: A lot. A lot of what?

How you act.
Me: How do I act?

ANGRY.

I wish I had a nickel for every time I heard that. Actually, I wish I had a nickel for every time I believed that. I believed that because of my last name, I had to be angry. I’m not talking about righteous anger. I’m talking about an unhealthy, quick to explode, never knowing when things might push it over the edge, throw a plate, anger.

If you’ve never felt this, be thankful. If you’ve ever experienced the receiving end of this, I apologize for the hurt that was caused by it.

After wrestling with this gut-wrenching weight for the majority of my life, I have finally laid it down and asked God to deliver me from this bondage. If this is your struggle, my prayer today is that this piece of my heart will help you get one step closer to freedom. I wrote the poem below as my final step of letting go and letting God heal the inner parts of my heart.

You see, I didn’t choose to pick up this generational bondage, but I did choose to let it go.

I’m Angry
Why? Why you ask?
Because…just because
Because of the pain, because of the shame, because of the hurt.

Don’t you know what he did? What she said?

I’ve lost my dignity, my innocence…my identity.

I WANT THEM TO HURT TOO!

They just go on with their little lives: happy, smiling, giggling.
Don’t they know what they’ve done to me? I’ll show them!

What? It isn’t them? It’s me? It’s my fault.
WHAT? ARE YOU CRAZY? I deserve to feel this way.

Forgiveness?

I’m so angry I forget what that looks like.
Help me heal…I doubt it. The comfort in anger wraps around me, holds me, keeps me company. Forgiveness seems so far away.

How do I even start to walk down this path?
Turn around…take one step. That’s all you’re asking?
Surely there’s a trick.

Hold your breath…say a prayer. Let the journey begin.
Renew your mind, heal your spirit and walk in the FREEDOM it gives.

FORGIVENESS!

Amie Heath gave up a "real world job" to follow a ministry path that even she could not have imagined.  She is the Director of Special Projects at the North Charleston Dream Center and can love on some people.  Amie is creative, speaks Spanish, and will leave light-up snowmen on your porch, in April, and let her friends take the blame. She and Oliver, and their two dogs, live in Mt. Pleasant, SC.

Being the Interruption

In the 80's, I was an awkward 5th grade girl. My teeth pointed in every direction but down. I had thick pentagon shaped glasses. My hair was long and in a ponytail 7 days of the week. My twin sister and I were squeezed in the middle between two older siblings and two younger siblings. Yep, you counted correctly. 6 children! Growing up with so many siblings always gave me a playmate or partner to endure consequences with. I am a child of two alcoholic parents. Due to certain decisions of my parents and the economic times, my siblings and I grew up not only as children of alcoholics, but also children of the welfare system. My 10 year old dreams were simple: eating a meal in a restaurant, having a closet with clothing options, and having my own room. The latter would not come until my senior year of college. 

During that 5th grade year, I was introduced to the Decker Family. Myrtle Decker came into our home as a home health care physical therapist. She saw children close to her own children's ages living in a situation beyond their own awareness. My sisters and I were invited to spend an afternoon with the Deckers at their local pool. One afternoon lead to countless days, nights, and weekends spent with them. They took us into their home, on their family vacations, to their church, and most importantly, into their hearts. Yet, the Deckers would never describe the Kelly girls as an "interruption." I have often said the Decker family was the hand of God in my life before I ever knew the hand of God. 

25 years later I am grateful and challenged by Myrtle Decker and her family. They allowed their lives to be interrupted. They opened their home, hearts, and time to meet us where we were. After numerous conversations with this wonderful family, I realized that the Deckers did not set out to "save these poor" girls. But what they did do was show us love, consistency, and a difference. Because of their time, conversations, hugs, and prayers my life was never the same. Being poor financially was nothing compared to being poor in spirit. I began to taste the goodness of God at the Decker family dinner table. 

As a result of being the "interruption" in the life of a family with whom my own family now has relationship, I am more able to see the value of a life interrupted. I am a loved wife of a man who pursues the Lord, a blessed mother helping raise two amazing and active children, completely involved in a community and church body and the foundation for my choices being the unconditional love, hope, and redemptive power of Jesus Christ. The generational cycle has been broken! The Deckers were and continue to be the hands and feet of the Lord's character. Being in the presence of this family has left an eternal imprint on my life. I saw a difference. I felt hope. I was forever changed. 

So, as you follow my entries, I wanted you to know where and how my story began. I began as the interruption. And I am forever grateful, thankful, and humbled by the willingness and generosity of a family open to an awkward 5th grader. 

I pray that you and I may have the eyes and ears to see the opportunity of an interruption. 

"Know therefore that the Lord your God is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments, to a thousand generations..." Deuteronomy 7:9

- annie

the mess

I hate glass top dining tables. I don't like the sound a drinking glass makes when it hits the table. I don't like when leaned on, the suction cups let loose and the table comes up. And the fingerprints!

My friend Stacey LOVES her glass top table. She loves it so much that she talks about how much she loves it-while she is cleaning it. Bleh.

Our family spent a couple of months in Panama last year. Beautiful high rise apartment, rooftop pool, doorman... glass top table. Really? I remembered very quickly that I hated the table. A two year old, a four year old and the fresh fruits of the Carribean... mess. Toward the end of my time I really began to dissect this hatred.

What did I hate the most: that it got so messy or that I could see the mess? When the top was wiped, the underside was still gross. I mean, my regular pottery barn cafe table gets messy, too. But I can't see the mess. How much had I missed on the underside of my table at home?

This is what I decided: the mess reminds me of how much work I still have to do. I can't ignore the mess if it's glaring at me. I can't walk away from the table if it is obviously still dirty underneath. And there's my life... admittedly open, authentic, see-through. I can't get frustrated when I see the work I still have left. When I think I've gotten it all, there's the underside. At the end of the day I, more than anything, want to be clean. Usable for the next experience. Ready for the next thing.

Get you dish rag ready, Jesus. We got cleaning to do.

the forbes boys in panama,  christmas day, at our glasstop table

- jill

i love a wedding!

Thought I would take this Monday and share with you some pictures from TIFFANY and BRYN'S wedding.  The new Mr. and Mrs. Alexander were in a "Before I do" pre-marital life group that Heath and I facilitated.  We love them and are so grateful to have shared in this day.  

and i do love a wedding...

Congrats!

entering their reception at The Lighthouse on Shem Creek.

Mr. and Mrs. Bryn Alexander.

love watching a groom get adjusted to his new wedding band.

gorgeous and delicious cake made by tiffany's aunt.

the helpmate thing has already started!

Security in the Uncomfortable

On June 15, 2007, we moved to Mt. Pleasant and into our apartment. 

At the time, our apartment seemed huge! 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, 1000 sq ft. The place felt like a mansion. There were three of us Forbes then and the space was "temporary.” Now there are five Forbes. The master bedroom became a storage area. (Looking back, I should wonder why it was ok to risk my life and the life of our unborn child as i precariously would make my way to and from the multiple middle-of-the-night bathroom trips;  stepping over shoes and boxes of clothes the boys had outgrown, while Heath soundly slept.)  The walls began to close in. If I had a nickel for every time I said, "Please stop jumping. Respect Ms. Linda downstairs, please!” 

Almost 5 years later we have bought (just about) the perfect house for us. It is twice the size, has extra rooms, work space for everyone... A new mansion.

We have begged the Lord for this place. I mean, on my face, lose my mind, screaming at the wrong people kind of petition. (Sorry telemarketer lady, but I'm SLEEPING IN A STORAGE UNIT!)  And here it is. The perfect place. So why am I sad? 

I didn't realize how many expectations I wrapped up in this. I thought there would be cartwheels at closing, high fives when the apartment keys were turned in and angels singing as each box is unpacked.... Nope. I have just felt sad... (and overwhelmed and tired, but that's my life... and that's a whole other show.) Even as I write this, I can't really figure out why this has been so difficult. 

Is it the memories? Maybe. Is it learning a new part of the Charleston area? Could be. Is it my neighbors? Not sure. All I know is that even in the chaos of the apartment, I was comfortable. I could find the popcorn at my Publix. The beach was a bike ride away. And it was exactly 7 minutes to the church building. Not so much anymore. I nearly cried at our new super Bi-Lo, the boys complained about the itchy sand on their feet as we made the 20 minute drive home from the beach AND WHAT'S WITH THE DON HOLT BRIDGE! How many accidents can there be?! I can't get anywhere in 7 minutes! UNCOMFORTABLE. 

Isn't this what I'm called to? A life on the edge, just waiting for Jesus to push me off? A life of insecurity is a constant reminder of the security in a Father that is FOR ME. FOR me. For ME. He is right beside me in all of this, luring me inviting me into insecurity "because when I am weak, He is strong." 

I will continue to have a hard time. I will probably always feel like a fish out of water, keeping my eyes open to the interruptions that remind me He, the Author of all of this, is here. And secure. And purposeful. 

- jill

Zumba Obedience

What is Zumba ? See the following from the official Zumba Fitness Website:

“THE WORD ZUMBA^® DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING
The word ZUMBA^® was coined by our company, and is an arbitrary or fanciful word we selected as the original brand name that identifies Zumba Fitness' dance fitness programs and related products.”

Who can resist something for which its branders chose a word that “doesn’t mean anything” and at the same time is “fanciful”? They go on to say that using the word “Zumba” as a noun or verb is incorrect. It should be referred to as “Zumba Fitness”. (That was free for all of you English language nerds, like me)

So, official definition aside let me tell you what “Zumba Fitness” is to me. It is the first type of physical exertion that doesn’t feel like “I can’t wait for this to be over” exercise. It is an hour of high energy, fun dance movements that allow me to bring out my highly imagined inner Latina. As a bonus, I get to wear cute, sparkly shoes as opposed to bulky, clunky tennis ones.

And yes, for me, it has become an exercise in obedience. (No pun intended, but if you appreciated it—all the better.)

Sounds like easy obedience for something so enjoyable, right??!! Wrong. Whereas it is a great deal of fun, I am HORRIBLE at it. Now, before you start thinking, “I’m sure you’re not that bad. You’re just being hard on yourself”. Let me assure you --I am that bad. As anecdotal proof, I’ve talked with two different instructors (after class) and told them how much I loved the class, but how dreadful I consider myself to be at it. I was, of course, secretly hoping, for a “That’s ok. Keep coming. You’ll get it” response. What I got instead: “So glad you enjoyed the class”. Big smile, followed by awkward silence!!

My historical fall back would be, “Ok so I’m not good at it, I’ll find something I’m better at and do that instead... Appreciate those instructors as ‘truth-tellers’ like the ones you wished some of the contestants on American Idol would have had in their lives before they made it to the national stage”. It has, however, not proven to be quite that simple in this case. I don’t just feel the freedom to move on. I am sensing from the Holy Spirit that He is using “Zumba Fitness” to get to something much deeper in my heart.

This quote from The Calvary Road,, by Roy Hession, is what the Lord used to get me thinking in that direction, “Anything that springs from self, however small it may be is sin”. The author goes on with a laundry list of the usual suspects: “self-indulgence, self-pity, self-seeking”: but then he comes to one that I wasn’t expecting: “self -consciousness”

That’s it—“Self-consciousness” It seems so innocuous, certainly not in the “sin” category—right??!!. And yet as God started to drill down into my life on this point, I was dismayed to discover the all-too-familiar hallmarks of a trap of the enemy of my soul. It is the reason I don’t speak Spanish better—afraid to put myself out there with Spanish speakers. It is why I over-prepare for meetings at work, and freak out when my boss asks me a question to which I cannot provide a thorough and immediate answer. It is why I am not fully myself in every relationship. Shrinking back from ALL of the freedom that God has for me, and stopping short of ALL of who I was created to be. All of this in order to protect an image, or not be embarrassed, is most definitely not God’s choice for my life. In a word, that would be “sin”.

So, for a while at least, it looks like my Saturday mornings will be ones of stepping to the right while everyone else is going left. Facing the wrong direction when everyone turns and my row is suddenly at the front. And making sure I am out of the way when it is time for my neighbor to kick in my direction. All the while growing in dependence on the blood of Jesus to cleanse me from self-consciousness and dance me into a whole new level of freedom.

- Brenda