Faith Archives - The Messy Middle

Ending Chapters, Faith, Messier than normal

Unlikely Containers Holding Your Story

Years ago, standing in our parent’s basement one of my sisters wondered what it would be like to deal with all of our dad’s paperwork. While not a hoarder in other areas, every piece of paper the man had touched through his life, he kept.

In that moment, the Lord gave me this insight: All this paper is more than paper, it is the container of your dad’s story.

Tax records going back decades were not kept in case of being audited. No, they were kept as a record. A record that said, “I was here, I took care of my family, I held a job, I gave to my church and charities. I invested myself in what matters in this world.” I can tell you this is not what my tax records mean to me because I do not keep my story in tax records.

Oddly, though a non-car person, my story is held, in part, by the cars I have owned.

As a college graduation present, my parents got me a car. It was love at first sight! She was a red Dodge Shadow and had an air spoiler and a strip down her side. In sixth grade I was cast as Margot Lane in a radio play about The Shadow; so, her name was Margot.

My education program was completed with a year of student teaching and graduate classes. Margot drove me out to Perry Middle School in rural Kansas. We had our first near death experience along those roads. She drove me to South Junior High where I learned to love teaching Algebra. And from South Junior High we hurried to the University of Kansas where I taught ESL to students from around the world as I completed my Master’s Degree.

During the summers we spent hours together driving home to Denver. And then hours apart as she sat in a parking lot while I taught English and fell in love with China. After several years of teaching in Kansas and summers in China, Margot watched as my dad helped load a U-Haul to take my worldly possessions back to Denver to live for two years in my sister’s basement.

Dad headed off to Denver and Margot and I hit the road for a detour through Wichita. A dear friend had donated a kidney to her brother and I wanted to visit her one last time before I moved to China.

Because I was only going to China for two years, it seemed silly to sell her. So I didn’t.

I do not know where my story would have been stored if I had sold her. I am also not sure when she became the keeper of my story. All I know is that she did. Every time I returned to the U.S. she was there to drive me around and provide me with a sense of independence.

In the blink of an eye, nine years passed.

I returned to the U.S. on a study leave. Margot and I were united again. And again she drove me to school, to visit friends, to speak at churches. She heard me sing and bore silent witness to the tears I shed in the months leading up to another goodbye.

In the blink of an eye, three years passed.

I returned to China. My beloved Margot sat once more, waiting for me.

Whenever I returned to Denver, she was there. She provided me the gift of coming and going at will. But then one summer, it was obvious that Margot was aging and the time had come to do the unthinkable.

No one would have paid her true value and I could not bear to have her underappreciated. I called the local rescue mission and explained I had a car to donate. We set up an appointment for me to turn over the title, I had only one stipulation: You cannot take her until I have left for China. I cannot bear to see her drive away.

The pain cut so deep, it went beyond reason. I might have given my left arm to be able to keep her. And that’s when I hit me.

Margot held my story.

I loved living overseas. I thrived. But every now and then as I aged the twinge would come when I thought of siblings and peers who had houses and cars and other “normal” markers of adulthood. I had a passport full of stamps, yes. But I had nothing tangible to point to that indicated “Here is an adult. Here is a ‘real person.’”

Margot had been with me through my 20s and 30s. She was the one constant in a sea of change. While I lived a more nomadic existence, packing up after each year in China (another story for another time), at age 30 having life rhythms I had had at twenty, I would say to myself, “Don’t worry, I am a real adult, I own a car.”

Last week all of this flooded back.

Four years ago I moved back to the U.S. and bought another car. Much to everyone’s shock, after insisting on only buying red computers, red this, red that. She was blue. As a Honda Fit it seemed only fitting that she be called Fiona.

Cutting to the chase, she was pummeled in a colossal hail storm in May. Last week she was deemed totaled. This had not occurred to me when I casually dropped her off the end of August. On the phone with the insurance who went over the details and what I would be paid and steps I need to take, she casually asked if I needed to get an any personal items out of the car before she was reclaimed at the repair place. Of course I do you idiot. (Only part said out loud.)

I still own nothing but a car as a sign of adulthood. And now that which held my story for the last four years, is no longer mine.

My story will go on. God at work in and through me, to be sure.

But I am left wondering who will keep the story now? And why can the cost of the call sneak up? Will Fiona’s new owner know what she is capable of?

Love, Amy is on sale today for only $5 on Kindle because Love, Amy reminds me of Margot. It is a privilege to share these stories.

It may not be taxes, paper, or cars, but in his mercy, God uses ordinary things of this world to help hold your story. What is it for you?

A version of this first appeared on A Life Overseas.

Faith, Just for fun

Marching Bands and Missionaries: Same-Same

(Hey friends! Robin Reads has the Kindle version of Looming Transitions on sale for .99 TODAY, so I put the Looming Transitions Workbook on sale for $1 for 24 hours. Amy)

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This truth hit me smack between the eyes.

I didn’t see it coming. I’m not sure I like it. (Hello, one seems fun but maybe a bit shallow and the other purposeful, deep, you know, important.)

But the truth is marching bands and missionaries are basically the same.

It is marching band camp season in the US. With an oldest niece as the drum major and a second niece is in the percussion section (her first year), let’s just say that the insight marched up to me.

Here is how marching bands and missionaries are basically the same

1. Regional flavors exist. Here is the U.S. it turns out that band in Iowa, Colorado, and Texas are, um, not the same. Mission work in Ghana, Thailand, and Brazil are, um, not the same.

2. The whole is made up of parts. Like other bands, marching bands are divided into sections. So, sometimes the flutes are off by themselves practicing their little fluty hearts out. Other times, the entire band is together working on their show. You, dear missionary, may be a part of a team, a city team, a region, and maybe even a much larger organization. If you get together for annual or bi-annual meetings, it’s kind of like seeing the show that God is working out through your different efforts.

3. The work is same-same, but different. Every year the marching band learns a new show. They do not pull out the show from the year before and dust it off. No, they learn a completely new show. Now, they are, for the most part, playing the same instruments, wearing the same outfits, and marching with the same marching techniques. Here is where missions can learn from marching bands: are you working on a new show? Or are you pulling out last year’s show? Worse yet, have you been playing the same show for the last four years. If you are bored, of course check with the Holy Spirit, but perhaps, you’ve been putting new wine in old wine skins, so to speak.

4. New members come each year. The nature of a marching band is that the commitment is four years, so that means every year there are newbies in with oldies. There are those who are familiar with what they are doing with those who are just learning. There are those who have never marched before and learning to march is actually harder than it looks. We are in a season of welcoming folks new to the field. It is exciting but,

5. Getting everyone’s feet going up at the same time and height takes a lot of practice. You do about 10 steps over and over. Most common word heard in this phase? “Reset!” Oh that everyone just got it right away. Instead, you reset and do it again. Which leads me to . . .

6. It can be less glamorous than it appears. What do most people see? Your marching band performance. Costumes, props, music, precision. What do they not come to watch? The three hours you were out on the practice field where you might spend a whole morning on 20 seconds of the show. When it comes to missions, what do most people hear about? The dramatic, the annoying (hello visas, I’m talking about you), the moving. Which can perpetuate the myth that everything we do is so fascinating we are basically floating through life.

7. Growing pains. Bands do not stay the same size year after year. Three years ago, the band was made up of 40 members. (Side note: it is impressive that a small band can produce a show as impressive as a band with hundreds. Size isn’t the key factor, committed members is.) Obviously this is a small marching band. This year, there are 70 members. Exciting? Yes. But that means the majority haven’t been a part of the band for more than one year. In a few years it could grow back to 50 or so. Bands do not stay the same size, and chances are neither has your organization or the number in your country of service.

8. The curse of history. Want to know who gave my drum major niece the most problems a few days during band camp? The returning members.

Stop and pause on that one for a moment.

They have won state for five years in a row. They had a beloved band director retire over a year ago. Last year was the first year for the new (and talented) new director. There was a bit of bemoaning the good old days (“Why did you bring us out here to starve? We had it better in slavery in Egypt!.)

9. The blessing of history. With returning members and a history of state championships, the band isn’t starting from scratch every year. Instead they are standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before. They are adding to a story that started before them and will continue after they graduate.

10. In the end, it is worth it. Both marching bands and missions are about something bigger. Something that is living and dynamic. Something that pushes you to the limit physically without guarantees of glory. Something that offers a common purpose, fellow sojourners, and the chance to be a part of something that might not look like much on the ground, but the view from above? Now, that is something to behold.

Were you in a band? What did playing in a band teach you about missions? What instrument did you play?

This first appeared on A Life Overseas

Faith, Personality

Using my free pass

*I apologize if you get this emailed to you two days in a row. I transferred servers yesterday (blah, blah computer talk) after posting this and then this post disappeared. The only solution was to repost it. But from here on out, blog problems I’ve been having should be solved. And the crowds rejoiced!

When I was a junior high math teacher each student received a “free pass” on the first day of the quarter. The pass was theirs to use when they were not able to get their homework done. I didn’t care the reason, if they had run out of time, had a late night at a sporting event, or simply forgot to do their homework, the pass spared me as their teacher from having to listen to at least a little bit of the junior high drama.

I had some of the students for eight quarters in a row and here is where it got interesting, Without fail, a few of the kids used the pass the very next day. The very next day! What?! Why wouldn’t you want to save it? (You can clearly see my wiring).

Others used it sprinkled throughout the quarter.

A few saved the free pass to the very last day of the quarter and used it like a veteran poker player who was getting away with something.

But a few—without fail—never used the pass.

Responsibility and time management skills are admirable. And no doubt those kids probably went on to become capable and dependable employees.

In many ways I can relate to those kids. What if this is the one math assignment that if I don’t do I will become so lost I’ll fail the test and then my grade will be tanked for this quarter?! I better do it.

A few nights ago I was watching a rerun of Major Crimes and the teenage character Rusty Beck said with disgust after he beat a chess opponent, “You call yourself a specially trained operative, but you only think of two moves ahead of you when you play.”

Lightbulb moment.

Those who live life playing too many moves ahead never use their free pass. That which is a useful skill in chess can hamper you if taken too far in life. It is too risky to stop and smell the roses because you never know what will happen if you lift off of the gas pedal.

I am finding myself in a season of few words.

After the words flowing effortlessly for several years, I sit here wondering what to say. I have ideas, I have thoughts, but I don’t have the drive to put them down. The words I do have are going to Velvet Ashes (especially the book club.Click here to see a list of all the books we’ve read) and A Life Overseas (this ismy most recent post). In one writer’s group, my goal for the summer has been not to start a new book now that Love, Amy released. I actually had to make that my goal! Forging ahead is second nature to me.

Using my free pass and trusting that I will not starve and be homeless when I am old is not.

But I sense God sitting at the far side of the lake, smiling at me, asking me to join Him. Will I use the free pass and trust that if I write here a little bit less, it will all be okay in the end?

I’ll be back for the end of the Summer Reading Challenge. Here is a pro-tip for free: feeling behind? Read a graphic novel. I read four in the time it would have taken to read one non-graphic novel :). So, when you see my numbers later this month, don’t be too impressed. Ha! Graphic novels are good summer reading. August 17th is still a ways off, you’re not too late.

This is me, using my free pass. Apparently I am drawn to animals.

See you in a few weeks :).

Amy

How about you? When teachers gave you a free pass, did you use it right away? Never? On the last day? How does your wiring influence the free passes life offers us?

Faith, Personality

HALT-B: I don’t do all that well with tired

I learned about HALT-B in some class. You can easily tick it off on your fingers:

Hungry
Angry
Lonely
Tired
or Bored

HALT-B stands for things that can lead us to make poor choices. Poor choices can lead to sin and distance and shame and regret. While none of us are at our best when we are hungry-angry-lonely-tired-or-bored, some will be easier to roll with than others.

The granddaddy of them all

When I’m lonely, yeah I’m lonely but I’m not as likely to do something that I will later regret and potentially have to confess. When I’m hungry I can get a bit testy; but the granddaddy of them all is when I’ve had a long day and all I want to do is go to bed. I am not at my most lovely late at night. To say I’m not a night person would be, um, a colossal understatement.

For me, it’s when I’m tired that I’m most likely to say something that I know — usually immediately– I shouldn’t have said. And sadly it happened yet again last week while I was on a business trip. It had been a long day (note to self, pay attention!) and I had returned from a hot-pot banquet with about an hour before bed. A friend at the banquet later emailed me that I looked tired near the end, but she didn’t think anyone but her had noticed. That was the least of my concerns during the meal! As the guest I kept getting served lots of organ meat. My primary concern around the communal hot-pot wasn’t whether they thought I was tired, but whether or not the hosts were noticing how much pig’s stomach I was trying to hide in my dipping sauce!

So, yes, I was tired.

When I got back to the hotel another co-worker called because she had had a rough day and needed to process it a bit. I like this co-worker and am glad to walk through the up’s and down’s of growth and change. She was sick, not at her best, and at those times can get a bit extreme. Her health will NEVER recover. She’s a burden to everyone she’s ever met. Darth Vader had more friends than she does.

When she gets like this I can usually use mild sarcasm to reflect back to her the absurdity of her statements. Note the use of the word ‘mild.’ Tiredness can take mild and—if I’m not careful, bypass moderate and land on caustic—sarcasm before Princess Leia’s hair comes into it! That evening I was cruising towards caustic when she rightly said, “Wow, you’re a bit sarcastic tonight.”

She was more than a bit generous and gentle! Thankfully, the Helper confirmed with a knife to my heart her admonition and I was able to dial it back to mild. But I know I don’t do well with tired. Late at night I’m good in a crisis, not in a deep conversation and if I’m not on guard what starts off as merely a foolish choice of words can end in blatant, distance causing sin. Now, confession can be made and distance closed. However, how much lighter and freer to be able to go to bed or face the next morning without regret.

How about you? Which are your greatest stumbling blocks?

China, Cross cultural, Faith, God, Learning lessons

Deeper and wider than my small arms

One of the highlights of last week was your response to Book Cousins. Thank you for jumping in with sharing where you have seen God at work. The winner was notified, but to entice you to buy The Bells Are Not Silent, today go bell hunting with Joann and me. This was first published in September 2012.

Remember the song Deep and Wide? I belted it out as a kid, complete with hand gestures and humming words as we sang it faster and faster. “Deep and hmmm, Deep and hmmm!” Through song and laughter the breadth and depth of God’s love drilled into us as we sang in Sunday School.

I shared last weekend that Joann and I were going to Harbin to research church bells. She’s the actual researcher and I am the side kick. She became interested last spring in Chinese church bells we have traveled to Qingdao, Tianjin, and Harbin. We’ve also visited the bell museum and various churches in Beijing.

These trips have shown me that my view of the Bride of Christ has stayed about as far as I can open my arms to show how “deep and wide” the church is. Um, that is to say, pathetically small.

Part of it is just the reality that we can’t know what we haven’t been exposed to. Part of it is that history has kept different part of Christianity separated. Part of it is just that I forget how truly amazing God is.

Through these trips, God takes my arms and pulls them apart, experience by experience widening my view of vastness of the church.

In the stretching, there are moments of comical “what should we do” and a bit of mild awkwardness. When a Catholic brother and sister asked us in their sanctuary if we could pray together we said, “of course!” and started to do the Protestant huddle only to realize we were going to stand in line facing the cross. In the Orthodox Church we forgot to bring head coverings and I had to keep reminding myself to back out of the church and not turn my back on the cross.

But the most holy-ground- surreal-ness of “is this really happening” comes in meeting people and seeing how beautiful the bride can be.

At the Russian Orthodox Church scheduled to meet a contact at 10 a.m. and had been told that church didn’t like Protestants or Americans, so try to speak Chinese. We met utterly delightful Russians and as they realized we truly were interested in them, the bell, and their history, they repeatedly thanked US for caring about their history and trying to preserve it. My friend wrote more about the experience and about the bell. You should read what she wrote!

When our motley crew of Chinese, Russians, and Americans was finally allowed up into the bell tower, we were all in awe as we looked at an 1800s Moscow bell in an Orthodox church in a Chinese city being researched by an American.

We entered with those labels, but we exited one radiant bride. Humbled by the thought that God uses the likes of us.

Deep and wide. Deep and wide. May our understanding of how truly deep and wide expand far beyond our fingertips.

I loved the responses to last week’s question: Where have you seen God at work? So, this week. What songs were popular when you were a kid? I’ll share a few I remember in the comments.

Community, Faith, Relationships

14 Ministry Lessons From Holy Week

Happy Monday! I wrote the following for A Life Overseas. Which point do you sense God has for you today?

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He is Risen!

He is Risen Indeed! After Christ’s crucifixion and the agony of Saturday this refrain never gets old.

Lent culminated yesterday—technically Saturday night at midnight for some churches, or early morning as the sunrises for others, or at any hour your tradition follows. Holy Week is rich not only for our faith, but for the ways Jesus taught his disciples about a life in ministry.

Earlier when they asked him to teach them how to pray, he did not hesitate. He taught them. If the disciples had asked Jesus to teach them how to live a life centered on service and ministry, He would have pointed to Holy Week.

Jesus will be recognized for who he is.

Later, some who recognized him as Messiah will reject him.

Jesus is a God affronted by injustice as he fashions a whip and goes after the moneylenders.

Ministry requires patience, but a time may come that you need to curse the fig tree, so to speak, and move on. Fig trees take about five years to bear fruit. While Jesus was not using the fig tree as a time measurement, he does say fruit is one way to measure a project, team, or season.

Learning from Jesus is important. Much of Tuesday is dedicated to Jesus’ final public teaching. What does he emphasize in his last lessons? In part, God’s heart for his children and how love will be a hallmark of His children.

Silence. Nothing is recorded for Wednesday. In a week where we know more than any other week in Jesus’ life and ministry, Wednesday stands like a gapping hole. Ministry also can abruptly have silences from leaders, supporters, and teammates, even God Himself.

There will be times to go broad. Take Tuesday. Jesus poured into the many as he taught.

There will be times to go deep. Thursday evening finds Jesus with the twelve. Even though he knew his time with them was coming to an end, He invested in them until the very end.

Betrayal is a part of ministry. Recounting Judas and Peter, neither or overly villanized, instead their actions are reported. We also see that not all betrayal is the same. Judas did not reconcile with Jesus this side of death, Peter did.

Accusation is also a part of ministry. Jesus was falsely accused and paid dearly for it. If Jesus Himself was falsely accused, should we be surprised when we are?

Jesus will serve you. Ministry is not only about us ministering to others. We too will have our feet washed by Jesus.

Jesus will feed you. Take eat. Then He took the cup. Do this in remembrance of me. Ministry is a life of pouring out and feeding others. But do not confuse feeding others with feeding yourselves. Jesus will feed you; you do not have to feed yourself. He will be creating in feeding you, but it is not on to be fed.

Death is a part of ministry. This side of heaven, death is woven into ministry. People die, relationships die, hope may die, even ministries may die.

But death is not the final word, resurrection is. Somewhere, somehow, life will sprout.

Jesus never held back any punches on the realities of ministry, did He? He understood the blessings and cost. And because He loves us, He never tires of investing in us as ministers of the Good News.

Which of these 14 lessons stood out to you today? What is Jesus saying to you about that lesson?

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Have you wondered what Spiritual Direction is like but don’t know where to start? Part of the Velvet Ashes Retreat involves working with a Spiritual Director. The retreat is geared towards women serving cross-culturally, but because it is scripture based, you can benefit wherever you are in the world. Have you signed up? Did you know there is a generous scholarship fund because God wants to be with you? For only $15 you will receive personal spiritual direction, testimonies from those who serve cross-culturally, a retreat guide, and more. Remember #12 from above? Register today.

Faith, Learning lessons, Messier than normal

When a bit player in your life takes center stage

It started off simply enough.

I had an infection and went to the pharmacy to get over-the-counter medication (as I have before, no biggie).

Then the infection returned while traveling. Sigh. Oh well, still, no biggie.

Then it returned.

Then it returned again.

Now, I may not be the quickest to get myself to the doctor, but four infections in about a month? Um, apparently another approach was needed. Praise Jesus for people who sit in labs and have no social life and figure out how to make pills that cure what ails the rest of us with social lives and jobs and people counting on us!

Until said prescription ends and the infection returns. Why do “emergencies” always happen after hours or on a weekend?! (I put it in quotation marks because I get that my situation is not life-threatening. I often think a situation is an “emergency” when in truth it is more distracting or uncomfortable or just plain annoying. I also notice how these situations make my vernacular choice a tad dramatic).

According to the internet, cutting out a few foods would help me feel better.

Fair enough.

I would have said that I was an overall healthy eater. Oh sure, I like a piece of chocolate after dinner. And if pizza was a food group, I would have had no problem meeting the quotient. But, hey, there is “bad pizza” and “good pizza.” You know, with only veggies and no silliness like stuffed crust.

So began the change in my relationship with food. No carbs, no problem! We will kick this infection and move on with life. After all, I like tofu and hummus and Kalamata olives.

I was referred to a specialist and put on six months worth of medication. But—oh people—my body doesn’t really seem to be responding to the medication, so he said, “You will need to starve it out of your body. Anything it eats, you don’t.”

I’m not proud of this, but I cried as I walked out. I thought, “I don’t mind giving up pizza for a while. After all, the side effects right now are so awful, I don’t want to eat it. But if I had known the last time I ate pizza was THE LAST TIME, I would have enjoyed it more. I would have savored each bite. I would have been more present. And now I can’t give pizza a proper goodbye.”

It is easier to say what I can eat than bore you with what I can’t. Plain greek yogurt, meat, and most veggies are sustaining me. It is still surreal I haven’t eaten fruit since November (other than lemons and limes). My new party tricks are actually annoying food facts.

Did you know there are moldy and non-moldy nuts? And mold likes to make things grow? So, no peanuts, cashews, or pistachios for me. Did you know vinegar is in yellow mustard? And vinegar is processed in yeast and yeast likes to make things grow? Did you know soy sauce has soy which is a bean which is a carb which is VERY ANNOYING? Did you know that the “ose” in “lactose” refers to sugar and sugar likes to make things grow? Did you know chicken bullion is 1% sugar?

Oh, I had lost track of the time too. It is getting late. I can totally understand why you and the kids need to go to bed at 6:30 p.m.

Food has moved from being comforting to part just-for-survival and part medicine as I try to cooperate in my healing.

I go through waves of fear. Fear?! I have never been afraid of food. But it is so much easier to eat at home and know that I am not risking setting my healing back by months.

To waves of gratitude. My mind wanders to my friend Mike who died last September. If all Mike had to do was alter his diet to stay with his family and feel better he would have done it. All I have to do is alter my diet and my life goes on pretty much as it has.

I have learned how much food is woven into culture. Be it holiday baking or a favorite meal for a birthday to casually hanging out with friends, food is often the center. It is exhausting to have a part of life that is usually a bit player take center stage.

It turns out that food, even in Western individualistic countries, is far more communal than I thought. My diet restrictions have impacted my family. It has impacted get-t0gethers and what I can and cannot eat. It makes all who come near me think through menus and restaurants and rituals. I wish I did not have to take so many on this path with me.

And yet.

And yet, the kindness shown also comes wave after wave. The research people have done. The recipes people have tried. The thought and effort put into not merely keeping me alive, but also finding ways to thrive in this new land we find ourselves. The Psalmist said to “Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

His goodness has also come in comments. “Amy, what is tricky is that you are sick, but you don’t look sick so you have to get all of your work done while finding time to go to the doctor and learn a whole new relationship with food. All the while you need more rest and to slow down and listen to your body.” I teared up when a friend said this. “I see that you are sticking to this. I know you are not eating what you shouldn’t be.” Sometimes all it takes is a witness. Someone to say, “I see you. What you are doing is not un-seen.”

It started off simply enough, but isn’t the same true for many of life’s profound lessons? When I signed up to write about food, I thought the infection was dead and I’d be reporting more from the “after” side of these lessons. Instead, this is a report from the front lines. I am still in process of learning and leaning into the not-as-resolved-as-I-would-like parts of life.

I know you can relate.

What has been impacting your relationship with food recently? Any new loves? Or foods you are needing to avoid?

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Have you listened to Looming Transitions? A version of this post first appeared on Velvet Ashes. Image by Karen Huber. Happy weekend friends! Any fun plans?

Faith, Learning lessons

Singing with gusto about death and destruction

I attended Sunday School faithfully, but nothing from those years really stands out except gathering weekly to sing. I vividly recall every Sunday morning the various grades shuffling and shoving, as we were corralled into the Fellowship Hall. Frank Mower (name changed) lead us in singing, one of his great loves. Bless him for Sunday after Sunday showing up to lead us in song, whether we sounded good or not! We sang with gusto and, at times, hand gestures and actions.

A few months ago I found myself humming a tune I’d sung in that Fellowship Hall week after week.

It was a catchy tune I hadn’t thought of in years. I started to sing it under my breath and it was as if I was hearing it for the first time.

Life was filled with guns and war,

And everyone got trampled on the floor,

Did I seriously sing in church about guns, wars, and trampling? With other children? Not as a joke or part of a skit, but in worship? Even trying to harmonize, as much as elementary kids can harmonize, under the direction of Mr. Mower?

I wish we’d all been ready

Why?

Children died, the days grew cold.

A piece of bread could buy a bag of gold.

Were there no adults that thought this might not be the most appropriate song for children to sing? About them dying? Starving? Did I mention it was an upbeat tune?

I wish we’d all been ready.

There’s no time to change your mind,

The Son has come and you’ve been left behind.

I have a scene in my mind of a scene from a movie we were shown: an abandoned mixer still running. The message, you too could be raptured while baking. Are you sure you won’t be left behind? I think it was a clip from A Thief in the Night. It turns out the song we sang on Sunday Mornings was written by Larry Norman and was the movie’s opening song. As a kid, I knew none of this; I just knew it was a catchy tune.

Man and wife asleep in bed,

She hears a noise and turns her head he’s gone.

I wish we’d all been ready.

The song at least is thorough. Baking or sleeping. Alone or with someone, when it’s time, there will be no warning. Mom, Dad, gone in an instant. Are you sure about your parents’ salvation? Are you sure about your own?

Two men walking up a hill,

One disappears and one’s left standing still.

I wish we’d all been ready.

The lyrics are based on passages from Matthew and Luke that refer to two women grinding, two people in bed, and two people on a hill and one taken, the other left (ah, now I get the mixer, aka modern day grinder). Based on scripture, yes, but age appropriate? Not so much. Of all the songs we sang, this song is the one that I’m humming and wondering what was up with the 70s.

Now, it’s true that I sang about trampling and starving and turned out fine. I don’t think my theology is overly whacked and I’m not afraid of hiking, baking, or sleeping. But here is why it matters: music is powerful because of the way our brains are wired to recall information. Young minds are like sponges when it comes to memorizing, making that a key age for pouring in spiritual nourishment.

To the Frank Mowers of the world: you have a hard, hard task. Thank you for showing up week in and week out ready to engage, pour into, and love on our young people. As a gentle reminder, what you are doing now, will live on. On Sunday morning you have a sea of squirming bodies, but someday far, far in the future, a song you sing this Sunday will pop into their heads and they will hum.

When that happens, they might turn to a co-worker and say, “Hey listen to this” and actually hear what you poured into them so many years before. May the words out of their mouths be something more edifying than “seriously”?

(This post first appeared several years ago on a blog that no longer exists. I didn’t want it to totally disappear.)

Faith, Oneword

What does an abundant year look like?

My word for 2016 was Abundant (you can read the back story here).

Abundant is the kind of word that breathes life, isn’t it?

The year, and the word, started off they way I hoped an abundant year would. Looming Transitions was published and did well. I had my first podcast interview—and have been on two others in 2016. Here I get to talk about one of my favorite subjects, books! My friend Joann and I were filmed for Serving Well in China, a course that prepares people for life and service in China. I helped plan and put the second annual Writers on the Rock Conference (sign up now for this year’s conference). Want to hear the whole Bible, 60 seconds per book? You can! Not sure where to start? How about Nehemiah (Part one and Part two)? I love making the Bible accessible!

Yes, yes, this is what being Abundant looks like. Endeavors paying off. Hours of work reaping rewards. Making a difference in the lives of others.

And then much to my surprise Looming Transitions birthed companion resources of the Looming Transitions Workbook and 22 Activities for Families in Transition. Ah, this is also abundance; a project going further than you had dreamed. Yes, yes, I quite like being abundant.

But over the summer, Abundant turned a corner and lead me down a side alley. I wasn’t sure where we were going; I looked over my shouldn’t once or twice wondering if I should turn around and head back to familiar roads.

In July and August Abundant taught me afresh that hope is risky, but it is also the well spring of life. Without hope, we merely go through the motions; in the effort to protect ourselves from pain, we also isolate ourselves from joy. I think I preferred my book having babies to having a hope dashed.

Abundant whispered that she also involves taking risks and opening yourself up to disappointment and confusion.

However, it was in September when my friend Mike died, leaving his wife a widow, his children part-orphans, and the rest of us never to hear his laugh or be engulfed in a bear hug; I thought, There is no way—NO WAY—I can claim my Abundant year as the year that Mike died.

Abundant doesn’t look like loss or pain or grief.

Again she whispered to me, “Amy, your understanding of being Abundant needs to be broadened. What you think you know of being Abundant isn’t wrong, it’s just limited.”

Hundreds of us gathered for Mike’s memorial service, including about 40 of us who had lived and worked in China. Being Abundant looks like a throng who drop everything to be together. To hug each other. To be in shock together. To say, “How can this be?”

And then Abundant reminded me that we will all be known for something, what will I be known for? The most used word to describe Mike? Love. It might sound trite; but in his case, it was shared that as a young Christian, Mike decided he wanted to be known for being loving.

Abundant reminded me to pick a point. Aim for something. Put your sights on a great goal.

In the end, we will all be known for something. What am I living my life towards?

Just before Mike died, I attended a writer’s retreat and we did Lectio Divina around Psalm 37 and I knew my word for 2017. Verily. Isn’t it lovely? Verily seems like another way of saying yes or indeed. But it’s the phrase Verily I Will Feed You that captured me.

I just wanted verily.

But I will feed you wouldn’t leave me alone.

Since October I’ve had a distracting infection that stubbornly wouldn’t respond to medication. After begin referred to a specialist, he said, “Well, I think you’re just going to have to starve it out of your body.” Words everyone loves to hear going into the holidays.

Wait, isn’t Abundant supposed to look like health? and not being in pain? Shouldn’t she involve words like feast instead of starve?

Verily, I will feed you.

Ah, this is why I have been meditating on being fed—for a couple of months before I enrolled in a personalized crash course in nutrition. Top on the syllabus? The foods I can and cannot eat—for now, Lord willing the extreme restrictions will end.

Abundant’s last lesson of the year involved how restrictions can involve freedom and creativity. The less I could eat, the more I enjoyed when we discovered a new few I could eat. I loved getting texts from a niece or a sister, “Hey, can you eat almond flour?” or “Can you eat sunflower seeds?” We have rallied around my diet, tried new recipes, and rejoiced at small victories.

I can testify it is possible to make it through Christmas, your birthday, and Chinese New Year without really eating what others are eating . . . and . . . wait for it, be fed abundantly. Feasting not just on food, but people, experiences, and their generosity.

Based on previous years, I can say that 2017 is going to bring me lesson on being fed (I still want verily but God seems to have fed for me. So God and I may each may end up picking a word for me).

“Verily,” I smile. “Fed,” He counters with a wink.

Do you have a word for the year? You might think, “Hey, it’s February, aren’t you late to the party?” Being Abundant also loosened the ties about when you “should” do something. :)!

Faith, Family, Grief

Sunday is our “Quantum Leap”

In the early 90s I was hooked on the show Quantum Leap. Seeing time as a line, the main character could time travel when the line bent and touched another date; so if today and November 7, 1964 touched, he would suddenly find himself surrounded by poodle skirts or whatever the fashion was in 1964.

This year, Sunday is our quantum leap.

It is Super Bowl Sunday.

It is also the third anniversary of the death of Tom Young.

All the Super Bowls involving the Broncos.

The last week of his life.

The last three years.

They all oddly mix and merge and will touch each other on Sunday.

I say oddly because . . . even though it has been three years and he had Hep C for decades, death is still odd. We are no longer in shock, but I don’t know if we will ever be familiar with death. That begin said, three years out is far enough to see that the anchor of love and relationship really is deep enough to hold the test of time.

My first Super Bowl Sunday was January 15, 1978 when a certain team from Texas beat the Broncos. Dad, Mom, and Aunt Bobbye were in New Orleans cheering on the Broncos and growing wearing of the Dallas ladies in full-length fur coats making fun of the “hicks” from Colorado. My sisters and I were not abandoned to fend for ourselves, as Grandma and Grandpa Young stayed with us.

I won’t go Super Bowl by Super Bowl, but you can see how footfall and family are woven together. Jumping forward to his last Super Bowl, the 2013 AFC Championship game in Denver is the last active memory Del and I have of doing something with Dad (after that most of the memories involve hospitals). I think Dad used so much of his energy to be there with us. I also know this, if you were to ask him if it was worth it, with he would just give you one of his famous “beaky looks.” Silly question, of course it was worth it.

But then two weeks later, have said goodbye to Laura as she flew home—we thought we had more time—he ate his last meal of pulled pork and popcorn. Elizabeth made both and brought them to the hospital. Football and family. The game was humiliating and awful, but because he was dying, no one rubbed our faces in it and we didn’t really care.

And then on Wednesday, he died.

This Sunday, around 2:00, we can’t help but remember his death, it is part of our Quantum Leap. On that February 5th, we had an appointment scheduled with the mortuary because his time was drawing near. We discussed who would go to the appointment and who would stay with Dad and then we realized, “This is silly! These moments are precious.” The meeting was cancelled and we all stayed.

And this is how everyone should die, surrounded by their loved ones, having lived a rich and broad life, and on a numerically interesting time (2:22, in his case).

On Sunday afternoon, we will remember how we went to Elizabeth’s house to be there before the girls got home from school. As they entered the house, each face registered a brief moment of shock. What are you all doing here? And then you could see it hit them. No, no, as they buried their faces in a parent’s chest.

But at 4:30? We will remember last year! Woot, woot! Laura had flown out to Denver so we could all watch the Denver Broncos take on the Carolina Panthers. When we gather and the subject of the Broncos comes up, the stories take on their own quantum leaps as we jump from this year to that. We recall this funny or annoying thing one of us did.

What I have learned in this third year of his present absence is that the story will continue. I have written before about the down side of doing your good deeds in private; when you die, all of your stuff comes out because you are no longer your main PR person. What I had not factored in is that more always exists to learn. It may just be a nugget, but those nuggets? Pure gold.

I’ve mentioned how my dad never met a piece of paper he didn’t want to keep forever. At first this annoyed me, but now I’m grateful because it allows us to continue to know him. Recently I have been going through and shredding every tax document he ever touched. People. we are talking all the way back to before he even knew my mom. Want to see the instructions for filing taxes in 1972? I can hook you up.

Over and over, Tom Young proved himself faithful to his family and the non-profits he supported. I was reminded afresh how he quietly did what was right over the long haul. He was willing to accurately report what needed to be reported, but if he was told he owed money he didn’t owe, he was willing to document and involve legal help to support him. (He was the trustee to at least four of his aunts and uncles, so taxes could get a little complex.)

I am humbled and blessed because of the quietly consistent choices he and Mom made to set their children up for adulthood.

So, this Sunday our Quantum Leap touches on football and family; I can’t say I’ll be watching the same game you all will. Instead, I think I’ll watch last year’s game.

We will gather as a family and as the day passes and certain times come and go, we will be transported in time.

Dad, we still think of you often, talk of you regularly, and see your influence in the world. We miss you and love you. I think those constants will remain no matter how much time passes.

And to you, my reader. Grief is no longer as sharp and she offers gifts I don’t always want to receive; yet one of her gifts is you. This community and the ways you bear this loss with me and with us, even offering your own losses, helps us to bear it. Thank you. Amy for all Youngs, Smiths, and Purdies

Monday Amy, you didn’t know {This is our passion week}

Winner of Katharina and Martin Luther: The Radical Marriage of a Runaway Nun and a Renegade Monk has been notified. Thanks all :).