Be church.

It is not we who bulid. [Christ] builds the church. No man builds the church but Christ alone. Whoever is minded to bulid the church is surely well on the way to destroying it; for he will build a temple to idols without wishing or knowing it.  We must confess---he builds.  We must proclaim---he builds.  We must pray to him---that he may build.

We do not know his plan.  We cannot see whether he is building or pulling down.  It may be that the times which by human standards are times of collapse are for him the great times of construction.   It may be that the times which from a human point of view are great times for the church are times when it is pulled down.

It is a great comfort which Christ gives to his church: you confess, preach, bear witness to me and I alone will build where it pleases me. Do not meddle in what is my province.  Do what is given to you to do well and you have done enough. But do it well.  Pay no heed to views and opinions. Don't ask for judgments. Don't always be calculating what will happen. Don't always be on the lookout for another refuge!  Church, stay a church!  But church, confess, confess, confess!  Christ alone is your Lord; from his grace alone can yo ulive as you are. Christ builds.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

success, contentment, and the boxes that remain

A good question: What is your idea of success?

Success, right now, today, in your various callings: what would you say that looks like?

Take a moment to consider this with me.

Many months ago, I was challenged by some words from a friend. She said, “It was when I dropped my idea of success that I began to experience contentment." (Heidi Goehman)

Wait, what?

She dropped her idea of success?

Why would someone do such a thing?

That makes me anxious, not content. How could I find contentment if I drop my long (long) list of goals for the day?

Her words continued to echo in my head, “When I dropped my idea of success…”

What is your idea of success? Mine has a lot to do with completed tasks, with order and neatness, and being helpful, with emotions in control and cheerfulness and health. Basically: cleanliness, productivity, order, health, and a good attitude to smooth over any rough patches, which there should never really be if you’re doing it right.

Am I right? And assuming this checklist is perfectly completed, contentment will come naturally.

Indeed.

This is why I need God to adjust my aim.

I make myself a list, and contentment becomes my reward for “success,” for perfect completion. It’s on the list, it’s just at the very end. 

Oh friends, don’t you see? Our God is not such a harsh taskmaster as we are ourselves.

He is the author and finisher of our race. He has set us on this journey in the first place.  He invites us to rest and contentment along the way, not as something we earn but simply as another gracious gift from His loving hand.

Surely He who gives us His Son will give us this thing.

Contentment.

Soul rest.

Sucess. What if it has more to do with rest than with work?

No, we don’t get to curl up with our Bible and ignore our neighbors. But we can return to our sanctuary often, in His lap, in His Word. In fact, we are actually invited to do this time and again, as if resting in God and believing in Him were our most important “work” in this life. As if everything depends, not on our constant giving, but on our receiving.

The boxes are not all unpacked, but I have more important things to do.  The children are napping, and it's time for me to set down my vocation for a moment, and become a child.  

Eyes on Jesus, hands open to receive.  It is enough.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone,

my hope comes from Him

He alone is my rock and my salvation;

He is my fortress, I will not be shaken.

My salvation and my honor depend on God;

He is my mighty rock, my refuge.

Trust in Him at all times, O people;

pour out your hearts to Him,

for God is our refuge.

Psalm 62:5-8

art in transition

Have you ever been given a time in your life when you get to just sit back and watch God provide?

That's where I'm at right now.

Well, when I say "sit back" I really mean pack and unpack a million boxes, learn a new city and a new school and a new life for myself and my husband and this wild pack of children, and meet hundreds of new people whose names are a blur, and organize a house while pizza-eating kids stomp on bubble wrap and fight over night lights.

This life is full of so much everything right now.

But part of me is sitting back.

Though the grief lingers, and I miss my Indiana home, and the to-do list is huge, the biggest of the Big Feelings I have at this moment is: Wow.

Wow, how God provides.

We have only just begun to drink of His provision here in Michigan, but the well is deep, and He has already given so much more than we asked or imagined.

Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place.

hand-me-down art and luncbox packing art!

I haven't been writing much. And I almost said something crazy about that, like, "I am setting my art aside for awhile while we get settled." But then I remembered what I learned from Emily P. Freeman about art.  I'm still me, still a child of God accepted by grace alone, still receiving all that I need and more from the Father.  And what He gives is still spilling out all over the place on those around me. And that's art.

I've been practicing the art of organizing a home, helping with homework, walking a dog on a leash, and hanging up uniforms in a neat little rows.  We've been learning the art of sitting in grief, and the art of opening hearts to a new place and new people. We've eaten the fruits of other people's kitchen art, and we've moved into a house full of new-floor art, and clean everything, and the smooth art of freshly painted walls.

And God is still creating, sustaining all things by His Word:
the pine trees, the black squirrels, and the people in the hundreds of cars driving by my new home each day; and the pastor, called to this place, to this enormous job; along with his family.

We are upheld.  God is faithful.

The Sheep of His Hand

When we moved to Indiana, nobody had ever gone to school before. I was a stay-at-home mom with four preschoolers. Little Lorraine was the first one to leave. I remember the nights leading up to her first day of kindergarten: her big brown eyes asking me terrified questions, “Mama, what was school like when you were a kid?”

“Mom, will I get to have a stay-at-home day with you again?”

“But what if I miss you?”

Years later, a son's first day of school. His face said “this is no big deal” when he left me, but after school, he grabbed my hand and made a quiet confession: “Mom, I cried a little at rest time because I missd-ed you, but nobody saw me.”

Now, a new city, a new home, and all six are old enough for school.  God is asking quite a bit of me, it seems, to trust my precious babies with people I hardly know. But He is kind to me, even through this, providing me assurances of His presence and His love for these dear children; a love greater than mine.

In Indiana, and now, here in Michigan, we walk across the yard to school.  I may be able to see the school from my window, but the distance between home and school is huge, no matter where you live. Here, I am the one to whom they come with joys and problems. At school, to whom will they go? If they cry, will anyone see? Once they are on the conveyor belt that takes them to kindergarten, to sports, to junior high, to high school, to college, will they ever come back to me, to simply rest in my arms?

Yet, they are not mine, and I have no right to hold them as if they are. Our children are ours for a season, but by the grace of God given in Baptism, they are His for eternity. And here in my kitchen as I pray for my school kids, I know that God Himself is there in the school with them, helping them grow into who He has made them to be.

God is there, and I thank God, that His presence is welcome at this school.



Last night, one wouldn't eat. Another had a horrible dream that he went to school and forgot his shoes. One was extra fussy about her hair. They are wearing unfamiliar clothes (uniforms!), and they don't know their way around the building.  They need to learn to use lockers, and they are meeting all kinds of new people.  And yet, this morning, they each managed to put one foot in front of the other and walk into the unknown.  Not one of them cried when I left.  God is holding them up, even as He has promised.

And now, they are sitting in new desks, learning their new lives. And God is with them. They are watching for his provision, and He will provide. They gather with their peers and their teachers, not only to learn multiplication tables and phonics; they gather with the body of Christ, and together, they will receive good things from His hand.

The eyes of all look to you,
    and you give them their food in due season.
16 You open your hand;
    you satisfy the desire of every living thing.
Psalm 145:15-16

Almighty God, heavenly Father, You have blessed us with the joy and care of children in our homes and in our school. Give us calm strength and patient wisdom that, as they grow in years, we may teach them to love whatever is just and true and good, following the example of our Savior, Jesus Christ, our Lord. We cannot do this except by your strength. Please pour out your abundant provision for us, your church, and grant us faithful hands and faithful hearts.

In His name we pray, Amen.

(prayer paraphrased from LSB p. 315)

Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised,

    and his greatness is unsearchable.

One generation shall commend your works to another,

    and shall declare your mighty acts.

On the glorious splendor of your majesty,

    and on your wondrous works, I will meditate.

They shall speak of the might of your awesome deeds,

    and I will declare your greatness.

They shall pour forth the fame of your abundant goodness

    and shall sing aloud of your righteousness.

The Lord is gracious and merciful,

    slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.

The Lord is good to all,

    and his mercy is over all that he has made.

(Psalm 145: 3-9)

see you in His hand...

When we moved to Indiana seven years ago, there was crying and hugging and much sadness as we said goodbye to our dear friends there.


But I remember one lady, an elderly lady who worked alongside me at the pregnancy care center, and I remember her goodbye as quite unusual. We loved each other, and she was surely sad to see us go, but she didn’t talk about that so much. Instead, she filled her conversation and her goodbye card to me with encouragement from the Lord, thanking Him for the times we had shared, and praying to Him for future blessings. Then, she ended her card simply,


See you in heaven.


Those four simple words, “see you in heaven,” were startling to me then, and strange enough that they made me think. She had the perspective of age, and perhaps her age gave her this clear-sighted perspective. She did not know how long she had in this world; for that matter, none of us know. My friends and I comforted each other with promises of visits and emails, but these things were unnecessary with her. And in truth, there were further visits, and I have seen her again, and when we parted again, her response was the same: See you in heaven.


The words, the life of this dear saint, has become a sermon to me. She lived , eyes on Jesus, always walking toward her rest in Him. She said her see-ya-later simply, as if to say, “I may see you before then or I may not; we cannot know those things, and how much do they matter, really? We have eternity together, and in Christ we will be reunited when change and tears are forever past! Perhaps we will be allowed more time to encourage each other in the weary journey of this life, perhaps not; but surely we will be together in the great celebration at the end, the final victory, when sin and death and the devil are defeated, when the saints are perfected in love, when we begin the forever days of perfect love and life in the presence of Him who made us his own!”


As I received this open-handed love, it gave me permission to fly, to seek the Lord where He called me to find Him, and to trust Him to restore all that I grieve back again someday, in His timing.


I carry these thoughts with me today, as we say our last round of goodbyes to Indiana.

I want to make more memories with these people. I want to know when I will see them again. Yet these things can only be placed in God’s hand, in His hand that has provided all we have needed and so much more. We place ourselves and those people and places we love in His hand. When the grief tsunamis come, I will curl up and ride them out, in His hand. And when the new joys pour over us, we will receive those also, from His hand.

It will be His own hand that cares for the church here, and for us as we leave. And it will be His own hand that brings us back together again, in His timing, as He works all things for our good.

As we leave our dear friends in Indiana, words cannot recount the ways we have been loved and cared-for here, or the depth of our gratitude. We will miss you dearly, but even as we part, we know that neither you nor we will be so far as to be outside of God's loving hands.

See you in heaven

(and maybe even sooner!)

See you in His hand!

on last times

On last times

One after another, last after last,
the lasts are coming in quick succession these days.
The lasts press down heavily on my heart,
But the weight is not only sadness.


These moments are heavy with significance,
filled with long embraces,
when words too awkward to say during the flow of normal days
                                                         fall from our lips,
                                         and we share gratitude,
                              and the flood of memories,
                            and our powerlessness
                   over the passing of time
and the love that has always been there comes bubbling to the surface and pours out our eyes
            and we cling tight to one another,
                                                and to our God
                                                       in with and under us
                                                                  and we give thanks to Him
                                                                     for friendships that will hold together
                                                                                         long after our embraces end.

The church's house, our home.

The church’s house, our home. The parsonage.

As a new pastor’s wife, I wondered what it would it be like to live in “the church’s house” Would it feel like a fishbowl, or would we be able to make it home? This parsonage in Indiana was where our family began to answer those questions.

The large windows in the front room seemed to amplify my fears of living in a “fishbowl” when we first moved in. Now, I love those windows because they allow me to watch the birds eat, and the tractors drive by, and the burning bushes turn bright red in the fall.

I vividly remember one early lecture from daddy to the little boys. They were not to play so rough, not to throw things at the ceiling fan; they were to respect this house becuase, after all, it is the church’s house.

The church’s house.

But will it ever feel like home, I wondered, if we always think of it that way?

It’s funny, how I once thought those ideas were at war with each other; how I didn’t understand that “the church’s house” can be made “home” just like a church family can be made into true family- by the grace of God and with His help.

So, we moved into this house, by the grace of God, this house given to us to use from our church family; generously prepared, painted, cleaned, and maintained for us by hands that eagerly served God, by those who loved us even before they knew us.

We received it as the gift that it was, and as we made our lives here, we tried to pass on the grace we had received. The church’s house had open doors, and extra seats, and plenty of room in the yard. The blessings in it flowed over us and through us and multiplied until they ran over everywhere, until the yard looked like the aftermath of a toddler frat party.

Here are some snapshots of grace from this house,

this church’s house,

And our temporary but much-loved home

We opened our house often, for babysitting and after school playdates and Christmas parties and Bible studies and children and their mamas and friends of all kinds. We had campfires, pool parties, sleepovers, scavenger hunts, and we did not lose even one kid in the woods or the swimming pool.

Weekly “Coffee, chaos, and comfy pants” at the parsonage, where the kids ran wild and the moms got to talk; where the toddlers got to learn to hold babies, and the big babies met the littlest babies, and the 4-year-olds got to be the "big kids" for once, and they all dressed up in wedding dresses or power ranger suits and flipped over every bucket in the house and covered all things in orange crumbs from the goldfish crackers; and we learned to make bread and laundry soap and how to wear a baby and where to buy cloth diapers and how to let some things go and how to say no; and we talked about husbands and jobs and bodily fluids and placentas and sports and sex and facebook and mom-shaming and we chose mom-encouraging instead. 

The price of adult conversation:

And Wednesdays, when we tried to add meat to the chaos, and the house filled with up to 30 kids, and we shut them in the basement with a movie while we shouted discussion over the heads of the babies on our laps and at our feet. We learned to love our hymnals, and we amazed the babies by joining our voices in song. We prayed awkward prayers, we read old books, and we grew together in God’s word.

I was given the gift of a garden, and advice to go with it. I couldn't wait to get my hands dirty, to see if I could be like my mom, and nurture things beautiful and good.

Little boys at my feet helped plant seeds. Later, they shouted about the sprouts that grew, they stared in awe at the budding plants; they harvested with such delight, I was witness to layer upon layer of miracle.

They painted rocks to label my precious plant, and I added the words of a hymn:

“Future needs in earth’s safe keeping, Thanks be to God.” 

And God granted the growth, nourishing my family and beyond, from these little beds, year after year.

A tiny boy walked with me, observing the words of the hymn, and the painted handprint on the rock beside it. He stops, horrified…“Wait, you’re growing fingers there?”

Our front porch received produce every fall, gifts of love from this farming commnity.

Four children came with us from Michigan when we moved here. We welcomed baby 5 and baby 6 home to the parsonage in the years to follow. This house has seen kid fragments from diapers and baby food to skateboards and algebra books.

Friends and strangers have cried in our living room, and the children have, too, but for different reasons. We have handed-out bandages and encouraged with the Word of God times without number, and we have received the same from our dear church family during our days of crying on couches.

The church's house,

the parsonage,

our temporary and much-loved home.

May it ever be a place of blessing.

Thanks, 

dear White Creek church family,

for giving us a lovely home here.

May this place continue to keep open arms and doors

that it may be a blessing to many more.

We will take so much Indiana-flavored love with us to our new home,

thanks to the grace of God in this place, 

given through your hands.

He himself will be our home,

as He is yours, 

as we travel onward.

Pray for us please,

 as we set our roots down in our new home,

that we may receive it also as the gift that it is,

and that it, too, may be a blessing to many.

If you are reading this, he said yes to the call.

If you are reading this, then my husband announced that he has officially accepted his new call. 

Our world has changed, irrevocably, and forever.

If you are reading this, you probably have questions for me, and I probably cannot give a satisfactory answer to many of them. God has called. We have answered.  The hard thing is, we think, the right thing. His faithfulness is our comfort. It is enough. It will have to be.

Words cannot convey the sadness I feel as I consider actually leaving this place. It was truly the perfect gift for our family during this season in our lives. My babies got to be preschool kids in the country, saying goodmorning to cows, riding on tractors, and hunting for frogs in the pond. They entered school under the gentle care of the best teachers I have ever known. The parsonage by the cornfield has been a place of celebration and study and learning to be community, even with a bazillion children underfoot. During the hardest time in our lives the church was truly CHURCH to us and helped and upheld us in every way in the love of Christ. Pastor has Baptized, married, and buried so many people here, people that we will never forget. Deep bonds with friends have grown over the years, and I can no longer imagine life without these dear friends that we have known in Indiana.

And yet, we must go.

Dear friends, please do not let it diminish what you know of our love for you when we say that we go in peace, confident in the Lord’s provision both for us and for you who must stay behind.

We must go, and we go with mixed emotions: sadness and excitement, grief and hope— but underlying all these emotions is a peace that passes understanding, His peace, the peace given to us in Baptism; the peace with God given in Jesus; the peace of the sinner reconciled to God; the peace that is free to trust that in all things God is FOR us, and works even the most painful things for the good of those who love Him and whom He loves.

And of all things we could wish for those who love us, especially for those who grieve, we wish you God’s peace.

If you are reading this, and you love us, you are probably trying hard to say and do the “right” thing, even as you grieve, question, worry, or even feel angry. When you don’t know what to say, or when you say what you don’t mean, or when emotions get in the way of saying anything at all, remember that we are together in this. We grieve together, and grief often means flailing. I’m flailing, too. Praise God: we flail under grace.

The best “right” thing you can do for us now is to pray: Pray for us in transition, pray for our new church, pray for the church here, and pray with eyes on Jesus. Pray with us, alongside us, as we have been and will continue to be- joined together in Christ, joined in peace under His grace, joined eternally as heirs of His grace. Though we must endure a temporary parting, geography cannot sever such a union as we have in Him.

The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Andthe peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

(Phil 4:6-9)

He himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments expressed inordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility. And he came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. 

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets,Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit. (Eph 2:14-22)

anxiety (a quote)

A demon explains how to bother a Christian in times of trial and anxiety:

Your patient will, of course, have picked up the notion that he must submit with patience to the Enemy's will.  What the Enemy means by this is primarily that he should accept with patience the tribulation which has actually been dealt out to him---the present anxiety and suspense.  It is about this that he is to say "Thy will be done," and for the daily task of bearing this that the daily bread will be provided.  It is your business to see that the patient never thinks of the present fear as his appointed cross, but only of the things he is afraid of.  Let him regard them as his crosses: let him forget that, since they are incompatible, they cannot all happen to him, and let him try to practice fortitude and patience to them all in advance.  For real resignation, at the same moment, to a dozen different and hypothetical fates, is almost impossible, and the Enemy does not greatly assist those who are trying to attain it: resignation to present and actual suffering, even where that suffering consists of fear, is far easier, and is usually helped by this direct action.

(CS Lewis, Screwtape Letters.)

steadily unsteady

Steadily unsteady we remain.

The gifts God freely gives continue to pour in and over us, and yet so many things remain unsteady.

Does God give gifts and let us love them and then request them back?  Which ones can we keep, and for how long? If He wants them back, will He replace them with others?  Will he accept my half-commending of myself and all things?  Will He care for the children? Will He equip us for the work He sends? Will my ankle heal? Will disappointed people say hard things? Will I fall apart in public?  Will He make it crystal clear? For us only, or for others?  Will we see snow this Christmas?
Will we stay or will we go?

Will He be faithful?

Were I to look within or around, there would be no reason for hope, nothing solid to grab. Yet, steady is His Word, steadfast is His love for us, even as He makes all other things sway unsteadily.