My Calling

Lately I’ve been feeling discouraged. I feel like the work I do day after day is endless, thankless and just plain yucky. Some days I feel like I can’t possibly wipe one more poopy bum or deal with one more temper tantrum. I feel like a stable boy whose most important task is to shovel manure- every single day. Now, I know how important it is to have that manure shoveled and I know that if there wasn’t anyone willing to shovel it, then the whole farm would feel (and smell) the effects of that neglect. But that doesn’t make shoveling the manure any easier or any more fulfilling.

So here I am, shoveling away. Most of the time no one even notices that I’m the one clearing out all that yuck. And even if someone does notice they usual don’t bother to thank me. I’m just doing my job, after all. I know this is my part of the Kingdom work. I know that I’m down here in the muck and goo because this is where Jesus wants me to be. I know that the reason I’m lonely here is because there aren’t many others who are willing to be down here, too. And so I’m shoveling manure to the glory of God. There won’t be any glorious mountaintop moments here in the sewage- no, we don’t get any of those down here. I won’t ever be pretty and clean like the other women I see and even if, for a brief moment, I do manage to make myself presentable I’ll only slip and fall in a fresh pile of dung and be right back where I started- right back where I belong.

Yes, I am feeling pretty low right now. No, I don’t always feel like this. But right now I can’t seem to see past my own filthy nose. And yet, there is a tiny voice I still hear- a voice that’s telling me to hang in there and keep on shoveling because Jesus sees it all. He notices the work I do and He sees my face beneath the perpetual layer of grime. And He’s the one standing right next me, knee deep in it all, with a shovel in His hand, too. And I know that someday- maybe years from now, maybe minutes- He will pick me up, straighten out my aching back and gently wipe away all the dung, filth and tears from my face. And then I will hear the words that will make it all worthwhile, “Well done. You did all this for Me and I saw it all- every gross job you did and every hopeless day you faced. You’ve done it all and there’s no more dirty work for you to do. Come now and rest with Me. I’m so proud of you, my beautiful girl.”

Yes, that’s the thought that keeps me plodding along. So now I must pick up my shovel and roll up my sleeves. I’ve got work to do.

Musings, Ramblings and Thoughts About My 25th Birthday

So today I turn a quarter of a century old. I was trying to determine if I feel really old now or still really young and I've decided that I feel young. I still think of myself as a sixteen-year-old petty teenager at times and I'm not sure when I'll start feeling like a "grown-up." Yes, I've got responsibilities out the kazoo, but I still can't seem to get a grip on being an adult. Maybe I'll figure it out by the time I'm 30 or maybe by 60.

Sometimes it feels strange to have skipped the college phase of life when most of my peers chose that path. I don't regret not going to college- I just wish I had a friend who didn't go either. It'd sure be nice to have someone my own age to talk to about potty training methods, homeschooling, and what to do with an emotional 5-almost 6-year-old. It'd sure be nice to not be the youngest mother in my social circle.

Oh, well! God saw fit to put me here and now and so here and now is where I will bloom. God has done some amazingly beautiful and harsh things to me in these past 25 years- more than I thought could fit into 25 years! It's exciting and a little bit frightening to think about what He'll do in the next 25 years. But whatever crazy stuff He's got in store for me, I know it'll be better than I can fathom right now. Golly, it takes a lot of faith to trust God with my future! But He's proven Himself trustworthy in the past so I guess I'm just going to have to close my eyes, grab His hand and jump right in to this new quarter of a century. Here goes!

Happy Birthday to me!

My Memory

Today I was remembering a history lesson Mom had given us back in 6th or 7th grade. It was someting I'd had an attitude about at the time, but I realized that I remembered more of it than I thought I did. What's more, I cared about this topic now.

"How about that?" I thought. "Mom actually knew what she was doing when she taught us. She taught me to care about this stuff. I should tell her that. She'd get a kick out of hearing me say that after all this time."

It only took half a second or so before I remembered that I couldn't tell Mom. It's been over five years now since she died. You'd think I'd be able to remember that.

Jumbled Thoughts About Why We Do What We Do

I was sitting in church yesterday thinking about all the time and energy I put into making myself clean and presentable that morning. I took care to shower and do my hair and pick out a nice outfit. I made sure I was in a good mood so I could smile and chat with other people at church. And I sat there all prim and polished, as we confessed our sins before God and admitted how worthless and vile we are.

But I didn't feel worthless and vile. I was clean. I didn't even have cracker crumbs on my shirt dropped by some messy child. I put on my best face this morning and now I was supposed to focus on how not nice I am.

I'm totally convinced of my sinfulness and perverted nature. But on Sunday mornings I feel clean and pulled together- well, most of the time I do, anyway. So I was just thinking what difference it would make it I showed up for corporate worship in my sweats with my hair disheveled and greasy and feeling grumpy in general. What difference would that make in my worship? When I'm sitting at home having a quiet time with God, I feel more real and unappealing. And sometimes, on the flip side, I feel so guilty sitting in church with everyone else looking so neat and pulled together and when I compare myself with them I feel filthy- even though I look just as nice as they do right then. So why do we get all dressed up for church? I mean, I understand the idea of being properly dressed for meeting with our God, but still.... How am I supposed to be real when I'm all dolled up?

I was trying to bring these thoughts together for a coherent blog post, but I'm finding I'm having a hard time doing that. Does any of this make sense? Does anyone else feel similarly? Any thoughts, anyone?

I'll Share Jesus with You- Just Don't Touch Me

We recently received a newsletter from the Pennsylvania Pro-Life Federation. These people are really trying to save lives by changing the way our country views unborn children and I applaud their efforts. That newsletter got me thinking, though. I’ve been an active “Pro-Lifer” since I was young. Much of that was due to the fact that my mom, in her job, worked with unwed mothers and helped them make the decision to keep their babies and not have abortions. So I would proudly wear the footprint pin and the T-shirts and march downtown with a poster-sized sign. These were very good things to do, but how come I never wore a T-shirt that said drugs were wrong or picketed a strip club? Why was I so outspoken against abortion and not any of these other sins? Could it be that part of the reason there are so many loud “Pro-Lifers” is because unwanted pregnancies and abortions aren’t things that we struggle with? Would we be so outspoken about sins that we are tempted by? And what if that sin was "extra bad" and not talked about?

Harvest USA is a ministry that reaches out to people that struggle with sexual sins. They provide counseling and teaching for the guy who can’t get enough porn, the girl who thinks she might be lesbian, and the husband who cheats on his wife. These are the “yucky” sins that we church folks don’t want to talk about. We’ll go to hear a great speaker talk about the horrors of abortion, but if there’s a lecture about homosexuality then we’re out of there. The brave people who work with Harvest USA aren't afraid to be associated with the unpleasantness of certain sins.

I’m not saying that we should stop be outspoken about protecting a babies life or that it’s wrong to be Pro-Life. On the contrary, I’m eager for the day when I can donate some of my time and energy to help fight abortion here in Erie. What I’m saying is, we can’t ignore the other sins that don’t get talked about.

If someone in your church got pregnant out of marriage then you’d probably know about it, but what if a Christian sister were struggling with alcoholism or a brother were struggling with sexual addiction? Would you even want to know? And if you did, how would you minister to him?

I don’t care how socially unacceptable some sins are. We Christians need to stop being so prissy and get our hands dirty! If we are too good or too “polite” to talk about these sins then who will bring these poor, battered souls to Jesus? Jesus Himself hung out with thieves and prostitutes. Do you think He didn’t know what that prostitute was doing the night before? Do you think He shrank away from her? If the Holy Son of the Almighty Creator could stoop to love and save these filthy sinners, then who are we to think they aren’t our problem?

After all, are we any less sinful?

My Peaceful Neighborhood

I'm feeling down. I'm having trouble exactly pinpointing why I'm feeling so bummed out, but I do know one thing that is contributing to this. Last night a man killed himself at the high school right behind our house. He called the police and when they got there he shot himself. (You can read the story here.)
The high school parking lot is like a second back yard to us. It's an ideal place to teach little people to ride bikes or rollerskate.

But now it is stained with blood.

I realize that this isn't a big deal compared to what happens in inner city areas everyday or even compared to the violence that has taken place at other high schools. But this happened in my back yard. And the next time we go for a relaxing Sunday afternoon walk we will walk on sidewalk that witnessed death.

And consider this: Where is that man now? Is he even now begging to be allowed to return to this life, which now seems a pleasant place when compared to the fury of hell? Or was he my brother in Christ that lost hope?

This used to be a peaceful neighborhood where nothing ever happened- or so I thought. I guess this is really the neighborhood I live in- a place where people hurt so much that death is a gift to them. So does this change who we need to be here? How are we to be Christians here? How do we shine in this dark place?