grace every day

Creativity And A Bucket Of M&Ms

2012-01-30T01:11:00.002-05:00

Five years ago, "Creative Arts" at PCC meant that Brian and I sat around and thought up things we thought were creative, and then we scrambled to make it happen. These days, there are a lot more of us doing the thinking and planning, and we have a larger team doing the scrambling.

We plan ahead as much as possible, but to be honest, we have to leave room for spontaneity. Our focus is so intense for the current Sunday; once it's over, it seems like the coast clears and we can make room to really think through the message and the extra elements. A lot happens between Monday morning and 930AM Sunday!

Today's service was typical in many ways, but it was a little more....spontaneous than usual. Here's how the process went:

We planned the topic in a vague sense when we outlined the series, right around the end of the year. What that means is we jotted it down on a planning sheet and started thinking about songs, skits and other creative stuff. We finalized the topic with a short outline from Brian right around the first of the year.
Lindsay brainstormed a long list of songs that fit each week of the series; going off the idea that giving is a good way to live, we had a few good ideas to choose from. "Satisfied Mind" was on her list - the Jeff Buckley version. We knew there was a bluegrass/country version out there, too, and knowing that we had some great bluegrass resources, we tossed that song to Carlisle Bowling and asked him to put it together for us. We anticipated that as either the set up song or the closer. When Carlisle and his buddies came in today, they were short a fiddle player; their guy had fallen ill. We turned to Matthew O'Donnell and said, "Can you play fiddle?" Yes, he could - but he didn't have a violin with him. Tony Stoddard ran down to Powhatan Music & Sound, grabbed a fiddle off the display shelf and brought it back to Matthew. And voila` - we had a quartet!
We thought the topic would make for a great skit, and we talked through some options; the idea of playing of a Hoarders type show was appealing, and we took a look at a few clips. Christine Peyton helped come up with the idea of an old, stingy guy who couldn't let go of his stuff. We sent a few ideas and a summary to Chad Milburn, who wrote the script. Christine cast the skit, set up rehearsals and arranged for filming with Chauncey so we'd have a version for Westchester. Jackie Heberle and Christine put the set together, the actors learned their lines and somebody put baby powder in Matt Morin's hair to make him look old.
On Tuesday, we picked worship music. Somebody mentioned "Like A Lion", which has been in my "songs we gotta do" list since last September. Matthew loved it and we knew he would do a great job with the tune, so we programmed it. We were feeling the heaviness of a lot of sickness and illness in the lives of people that we know and love, and that led to a desire to do "Always" to start the service. I started thinking about set-up scripture and decided I'd open the service with Jesus' words in John 16.33.
Brian wanted to find a different way to end than "Satisfied Mind" - we talked about the fact that we had used presentation songs for a few weeks to close the service. We wanted something that would allow us all to respond, react and participate; we picked "Surrender" and "Never Gonna Stop".
The band gathered Thursday night, rehearsed the songs and made sure we knew how they would begin and end. We always leave rehearsal aware that we'll need more individual practice before we return at 730AM Sunday to connect the dots of the music with the entire service.
Late in the week, Brian filmed the message for Westchester. I helped with the graphics and listened to the message. After he told the very funny story about his kids hoarding candy in the theater, he said something like, "God could make it RAIN candy if he wanted to!" That line stuck in my head, and as we talked through the message when he finished, I said, "You know....what if we DID make it rain candy?" And off we went.
I talked to my engineer husband about the possibility "raining" candy literally with some sort of pulley system. He encouraged me to consider that this might be one of those ideas that we thought were good...but turned out to be a disaster. After input from Lindsay and another conversation with Brian, we decided to go with a bucket. I went to Sam's for M&Ms, Tractor Supply for a galvanized bucket and argued with Brian about whether or not the M&Ms would be salvageable.
We saw an email on Saturday regarding the new "Afghanistan Community Church" and knew that we had to say something in the service - it was so exciting! We decided Sunday morning to bring Brian out for the offering prayer and let him share this exciting news with crowd shots and a shout out to the folks on the other side of the world.
We went long in the first service and ended up cutting "Never Gonna Stop" from the closing songs on the fly. In between services, we talked about how to tighten up the time and seriously discussed cutting one of the opening songs. We work hard to honor the efforts our children's ministry team and parking team make to move people in and out of the service efficiently. When they loose 10 minutes of time, it makes a big difference. We elected to tighten up speaking parts, start earlier and keep everything as is; however, when we took the stage for the final song, we knew we'd have to cut the closer again.

Those bullet points list the planning and the decision-making elements of a fairly typical Sunday morning. Today was a little tougher for all involved, because we made several last-minute changes that kept the technical team on their toes. Add to that some challenging equipment issues that had Ginger Lewis building the graphics after the service had already started and it made for a day of scrambling.

But there's no question it was a powerful day for our community to be together. I believe we experienced the presence of God as we worshiped through song, and I know we heard truth taught from the platform. We worshiped God for who He is through the attention of our minds and the affection of our hearts. And we have an image of cascading M&Ms that is seared into our brains. Someone said, "I'll never look at M&Ms the same way again."

And that's kind of the point. PCC exists to reach people who are far from God, untouched and unaffected by traditional churches. We worship Him passionately and authentically, because we believe He is worthy - and we seek to lead by example in that worship. We strive to find creative ways to capture your attention and imprint God's truth on your heart.

And we'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

So - if you attend PCC, or if you watch online, know that that one hour of "church" represents hours of planning and praying and preparation. It's crazy ideas and careful contemplation. It's hours spent memorizing words and chords and scripts. It's hours spent moving furniture and making a living room. It's 20 hours spent wrestling, praying, researching and writing for a 25 minute message. It's a team of incredible volunteers who show up on Sunday ready to be flexible, to smile at last minute changes, to cheer one another on and lift one another up.

When you say, "Service was awesome today!" my hope is that you walked out of the room somehow different than when you walked in. Our prayer is that we create an environment that enables you to connect with God - emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. We believe God will do it - and he does. We work to simply craft the room for you to experience Him.

If it takes a bucket of M&Ms, so be it. Whatever it takes.

If this sounds exciting to you and you'd like to investigate being part of our team, get in touch with me - beth {at} pccwired {dot} net.
If you missed the service, you can watch it here.

Nightline Nightfly

2012-01-28T23:31:00.001-05:00

I was in college when I found it.

One night, after the regular 10PM newscast (that's Central Time; I lived in Texas, where prime time began at 7 and the news came on at 10), there was Ted Koppel and this news show, Nightline. The show actually started in 1979, when the Iran hostage crisis began. When that event ended, the show lived on. I never stumbled upon it until I went away to college in Lubbock, Texas in 1981.*

I remember sitting a a round table in a tiny apartment, surrounded by friends, catching this guy on the news talking to us like it was normal that we were still awake. He was sharing news - interesting, relevant information, and it was for normal people.

I've always been a Nightline fan. And I loved CNN when it started because it was news all the time. So I could feel normal any time, day or night. Because most of the time, I don't feel so normal when it comes to my work schedule, my life rhythm, my energy levels.

It's 11:13PM and I just started a load of laundry. I function best at night. I'd like to stay up until midnight or 1AM every night and sleep til 8.

These days, life won't work that way because I have a 6th-grader whose bus pulls up at 6:45AM.

Which is just wrong, I think. WRONG.

But anyway - I don't function like that today due to school schedules. But someday, that will change.

(Insert happy dance.)

In fact, part of my "Future Plan" includes how many more years I have to get a kid on The Early Bus. (Two and a half more years, if you're counting. And I am. Since I've been doing it since we moved here, eight years ago.)

When I can, I wonder if I will. Stay up late, that is. And sleep until I get eight hours. I'm not sure I'll ever feel like I'm not about to get in trouble. From my mother.

Time will tell.

*Are you one of those people who grab a date - like "I went to college in 1981" - and begin to do the math? "Hmmm....if she was 18 in 1981 when she started college, and it's 2012 this year, two minus one is one and 11 minus eight is three, carry the one, that was 31 years plus she was 18, so add those together and then she must be in her late forties...."

Yeah, give it up. I'll be 49 this year.

**I'm one of those people.

And for your listening pleasure:

Trying To Be Second

2012-01-25T09:54:00.001-05:00

I had the immense privilege yesterday of leading our staff through a short devotional time. My instructions were to make it "inspiring, vision related, relevant and concise".

At least the parameters were clear.

I love assignments like this; I think the primary buzz I get is in the wrestling through the creative process. So many things had been swirling through my mind, and I started to jot things down, re-read blogs and circled book pages, find notes from recent sermons...

And I threw it all on a screen and started to edit. Keeping in mind the call to be inspiring/vision-related/relveant/concise", I was also compelled to be authentic. So, the end result of what I compiled has a lot to do with where I am residing these days, spiritually speaking.

Here's just a snippet of the place I landed. Perhaps you will find some relevance to your own life today.

Angie says, "Create in me a pure heart, O God (Psalm 51.10)

Proverbs says, "Who can say, 'I have kept my heart pure; I am clean and without sin?' " (Proverbs 20.9)

Eric says, "In a very real sense, following Jesus begins and ends with humility. Do I enjoy being reminded every morning that I need a clean heart? And that I need to ask someone for it?"

Paul says, "Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others. In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness." (Philippians 2)

In whatever work we do, however we advance, whatever vision we pursue - if we fail to humble ourselves, seek a pure heart, pray for others and identify with Jesus' willingness to serve, we can easily miss the mark. In all my doing and going and busyness, when I skim over this call to humility, I am rendered less-than-capable. An easily quotable scripture I've heard all my life is from Paul's writing: "When I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Corinthians 12.10)

This whole idea of kingdom-living is whack. Crazy. It goes against the grain.

We're called to be second. That doesn't come naturally. And how weird is that - trying to be second? Working towards humility?

Interesting paradox. And worth the pursuit.

This is one of the reasons I am passionate about being a Christ-follower. It is no easy thing; it is not the stereotype of believing dogma and following rules. It is the wrestling with the essence of our humanity, in the context of our community, following the example of a Prophet. That's just for starters.

Am I the only one who struggles with this notion of truly, authentically, really valuing others above myself?

Journal Entry

2012-01-20T23:55:00.002-05:00

I am sitting in a hotel room, alone.

I long for these moments. I had big plans for reading, working, writing...but now it's 1130PM and I just want to crawl into bed.

Which I will do.

All my plans slipped away. Snow is falling here, and it is beautiful and mesmerizing and lovely. I found the anemic fitness center and did something good for my hormonal levels with 60 minutes of cardio work.

And I came to the computer, with visions of words floating out of the chaos of my head and onto the screen in some coherent string of sentences, full of meaning and sense and the tying of things together. So much of my thinking needs to be organized, and I do that best with the wrapping of the words around a paragraph form. Tying it together.

I am thinking of my children - my daughters, particularly, as two of them are together here. One happily settled in college life, hours full of challenging things to learn and heart full of beautiful friends she has come to love. The other investigating her future, trying to imagine herself here. Or somewhere else.

Another daughter is giving up her entire night - as in all night, overnight - to invest in a gathering of local kids. This comes on the heels of a plant-based diet, a new, disciplined lifestyle of eating, a renewed intellectual and spiritual pursuit that is as inspiring as it is delicious.

I am, often, in awe of my kids. My girls fascinate me. My boys do funny things to my heart.

I think, "I am their mother." That has defined me. For twenty years, that has been the biggest, busiest, most real me.

But things are changing. I am changing. They are changing.

Lately I would tell you that I am desperately clawing for purchase on the side of a slippery slope, a tunnel smeared with slickness. Time, slipping away. Dreams, deferred. Vision, cloudy. Life, altered. Me, changing. And in all likelihood, over thinking it all.

But in the midst of all that motion, I'm feeling less of that desperate need to slow things down and a bit more acceptance. And a willingness to enjoy the ride.

I sat down at this desk and glanced up before I began to write. I saw my face, and for just a moment I was struck by the strange disconnect between what I feel and what I see.

And I wonder if the corner I turn now is one that carries this new me, this older person, this mother-of-grown-children (and two more still coming behind them...let's not forget...) towards a new direction. I wonder if it's possible to allow the lines on my face to represent a wisdom that has been earned (in some cases) and generously given (in others).

I wonder if maybe I might like this woman just as much as I liked that girl.

The Chief End Of Me

2012-01-07T23:11:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I wrote a post detailing my despair.

First world problems, for sure. But it is what it is, and I am in the middle of it.

I've had helpful conversations; I've sought fresh perspectives. I dedicated most of my day off to some much-needed self care.

And I had this thought one morning, unbidden, as I drove west on the highway that splits our county. Well, a fragment of a thought, really.

The chief end of man is....

....enjoy Him forever.

I lost the middle part, but the beginning and end were clear. Like so many things lately, I couldn't quite recall what I knew was buried in my brain. I thought, "John Piper? Is that Piper? Didn't he write that? And what's the middle part?"

I really didn't think it was Piper, but I knew it was something I needed with me. So, as most good Americans do when faced with challenging issues, I acted swiftly. At the next stoplight, I pulled out my iPhone and googled it.

It is the Westminster Shorter Catechism, and if fully reads as follows:

The chief end of man is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him for ever.

John Piper begins one of his books with this statement, and since I'm not well-versed in catechisms of any sort, I knew that the refrain of these words were buried in the time I spent in that book. Which book? Well, I still haven't googled the results of that lost memory, but I got what I needed.

I mulled that over a bit, and before getting bogged down in whether or not that truly is the chief end of man, I contemplated whether or not I was effective on either count.

Glorify God?

Oh, I pray I am found faithful there. I strive to that end and I spend most waking moments seeking ways to do that, not only personally but in my vocation(s).

Enjoy Him?

That requires a bit of contemplation. From the pit of self-pity and despair, I don't see much enjoyment on the map - not of God or life or anything else. It certainly was something to think about.

A day later, I was driving - again - and in burst another thought. Again, unbidden, but I trust that it swam up from the depths of my subconscious because I needed it. It had to make itself known.

To paraphrase, I heard myself speak to myself, and it went something like this:

"Yes, you are going to die. Life is short.

So how about you just have a good time from this point forward?"

It was my grandmother's voice, spoken with love and a twinkle in her eye. It was my mom, being matter-of-fact and truthful. It was Bob, with a hearty laugh and that gorgeous smile. It was my husband, with tenderness and love.

This is certainly no new revelation, and undoubtedly many of you readers made your way to this truth long before it stumbled its way into my brain. But the mere fact that the thought appeared helped me understand a bit more of what I was feeling. And thinking.

And fighting.

I still mourn the loss of my dear friend, Bob. I don't even realize it until the grief sneaks up on me and I find myself crying, or simply soaking in sorrow.

I miss my grandmother, too. I regret every day I didn't have with her because I was in the midst of a busy season of babies.

I still mourn the loss of my marriage to my kids' dad - even though its death brought life and new relationships and many, many good things. It is part of my history, and there are days when I am reminded of some of what was lost.

I mourn the loss of my kids' childhoods. It has happened so unbelievably fast, and now they are flying all over the country and driving cars and working jobs and planning lives and leaving.

And I think I am mourning the loss of my younger self; because deep in the midst of all this first-world angst, I believe there is a hormonal sea-change surging in me. I've never been one to write off bad or inexplicable behavior to hormones, but I've a strong suspicion that I am at the mercy of those changes. I think it's about that time.

With all these things, there are two sides. The yin and the yang, the good and the bad, the joy and the sorrow. And I wonder if that's the lesson of this season; that the sum of a life is in the coexistence of all that it's made of. I'm seeing things differently, from the New Year's Eve party to my role in my job to my parenting.

And there's room for it all.

So how about I just have a good time from this point forward?

Mundane Grace

2012-01-05T22:31:00.001-05:00

The following is a rather mundane blog post.

I woke up this morning, got dressed, went to work. Met with one of my favorite people and talked about her job, her life and all the cool things ahead of us. Met with my boss and realized that when you have a pastor as a boss who is also a friend, you can't ignore the potential counseling opportunity. Over chicken soup and catfish there were many words, a liberal amount of tears, and some interesting revelations.

Honest conversation is good for the soul. At least it was for mine.

An appointment at the Genius Bar of the Apple store turned into a wonderful win. Their customer service is incredible, and they are fixing a problem that I was willing to live with because I doubted I could afford the repair. For free.

A few moments at home, leftover pizza, band rehearsal, Food Lion and then towards home. A quick stop at the neighbor's house to give her the mail that our mailman stubbornly refuses to put in the right box. She invited me in, showed me around, honored me with some good conversation. Then into our home, noting the new roof and the wonderful progress on the addition. On the couch to watch the end of Grey's Anatomy and share a carton of hummus with my daughter, while the other daughter washed the dishes.

A glimpse of some gorgeous photos; it's amazing what Sarah Brawley can do in a basement with a sheet and a few lights. You'd think you were on an amazing theatrical set.

I'm ready to call it a day. And I'm reflecting on the things I received today that I tried to push away, that I didn't deserve.

Invitations to talk, to say irrational things and let their power diffuse in the light of friendship.

A repair of a broken device, free of charge.

A beckoning to cross the threshold and visit a while.

The beauty of my family, under one roof, being themselves at their best. Sharing pretzels and hummus.

The simple things reduce the noise. I'm glad I can see clearly tonight.

Grateful for the grace of invitations, repaired computers, welcoming neighbors and the love of my children.

Grace.

The Holy Fire Of Love

2012-01-04T22:39:00.001-05:00

I have blogged recently about Behold the Lamb of God. The experience of inhabiting and interpreting the music was one of the finest of my musical life.

Much of it had to do with the material. I am so impressed by Andrew Peterson; his lyrics move me, the melodies sing to my soul.

I so need that.

He has a cycle of songs called Resurrection Letters.

I so need this.

I've felt the holy fire of love
Been burned by the holy fire of love
Made clean by the holy fire of love

Perishing And Stumbling

2012-01-03T23:24:00.001-05:00

image by Katie Rusch

We kicked off the new year with a staff meeting today. I love the people I work with, most of all because they are real. There's not a one that I don't look at with some measure of awe - not so much because of all the amazing things they do, but because of the authentic ways they live and do life. It's such a privilege to be surrounded by these people, every last one.

We take turns leading the meeting each week, but today the Big Kahuna was in charge. Brian is an exceptional leader, most especially when it comes to casting vision. He is healthier and more focused than I have seen since I've been working with him, and that's exciting. We prayed, and he shared a few thoughts and then got specific.

He cast some vision, listed some things that he was dreaming about. Big things. Things that only God can do, things way beyond our abilities or resources. Exciting things.

And then he asked us for our lists. What were we dreaming about? What's on our list?

~~~~~~

Crickets for a few moments.

And then a few people began to share. Good ideas, brainstorming, thoughts and musings. Very cool thoughts.

Those moments are right up my alley. I love to dream and brainstorm, to think up big things and talk about them, to catch a vision and then turn around and cast it. For most all of my life, big things have caught hold of me and propelled me into places I never thought I'd go, doing things I'd never imagined. It's part of my skill set, my gift - one of the things that I've always believed made me an asset.

But not today. My dreams? My list?

Nothing.

I had nothing. Every thought that came into my mind was met with a cynical, sneering caricature of my internal self - quickly articulating a reason why anything I might think up would never work.

A big choir? Nah, you tried that once. Didn't work. You can't do that.

Our location and building as a center for the arts? Seriously - who is going to lead that? Like you need one more job to do...

A big Easter production? Right...have you noticed that it's January? And you got nothing? There's not enough time. It'll never happen.

Performing arts classes for kids? Remember your deficiency in administration? Yeah, that's a GREAT idea. No way.

Recording a cd with our band? With original music? Yeah...you've been talking about that one for years. Obviously that's not going anywhere.

Nothing.

My heart broke, right then and there.

It's a long-running joke that we often have some intense conflict in our staff meetings; on a weekly basis, Brian threatens, "I'm gonna make you cry!" But today, I didn't need any help. I couldn't open my mouth; there was nothing to say. The tears lurked just beneath the surface, and I just prayed that nobody asked me to speak.

They did not.

I'm not sure what's going on, where my head is, why my heart is buried. Why I am afraid to dream. Why I feel so defeated. If I'll feel this way tomorrow, and the next day and the next. Or if this is a momentarily thing, a situational lapse of permission to think beyond myself, to believe God. I just don't know.

I do know this, and I believe it: Where there is no vision, the people perish. Or, as Eugene Peterson puts it: If people can't see what God is doing, they stumble all over themselves.

I need to rescue my dreams. I need to see.

I need rescue.

New Year's Eve 2011

2012-01-01T17:46:00.002-05:00

It's been a long time since I rang in a new year from someplace other than my couch. Or my bed. I'm not much for going out.

But I said goodbye to 2011 this year out in public, and it was more fun and more meaningful than I ever expected.

Local band Nick Reams and the Moonshiners have been around longer than I've been alive. Nick was headlining The County Seat on New Year's Eve, and while renting a PA system from Powhatan Music & Sound, he punched a winning ticket and got a bass player to boot. With my husband signed up to be a Moonshiner, it was pretty clear where I'd be on Saturday night.

Turns out most of the band members have been playing together for decades. Or they're kinfolk. Or both. Nick, Harvey and Pat are all related, and their musical bloodline was obvious. They know the same songs, the same way. They share that unique resonance that only happens when the band shares the same blood.

Turns out about half the crowd was kinfolk as well. That made for lots of hugging and kissing.

I met some wonderful people, just sitting out in the audience watching my husband. I must add that I was grateful for that vantage point; it's not often I get to sit out in the crowd and watch him. I really enjoyed it.

The band got cranked up, with great versions of "Gonna Find Her" and "Brown Eyed Girl", and even a cock-eyed version of "My Ding-a-ling"(bringing back my own unique memories; I actually owned that 45. Chuck Berry's version.) The empty space in front of the bandstand quickly filled, and initially I was amused. The median age seemed to be 68. The crowd was old. I saw familiar faces - some of the same folks who frequent The County Seat at breakfast and lunch time, local business owners. A few kids, home from college. The occasional waitress, boogieing her way across the dance floor with a pitcher of water held aloft.

Here I was, out on New Year's Eve, with the geriatric crowd. Woo hoo.

I nursed my goblet of water and watched the folks in front of me. The "old people". And then slowly but surely, I started to see them.

I saw a beautiful woman, easily on the other side of 70, nose to nose with her husband as she mouthed the words along with the band.

You'll never, never know

The one who loves you so

No, you don't know me

A man closed his eyes and remembered, as he clutched his wife close to him and swayed along to a Bee Gees song.

The entire crowd, laughing, smiling and carefully throwing their hands up as they sang, "You make me wanna SHOUT!"

A couple easing onto the dance floor, finding an obviously familiar rhythm, their feet moving in perfect tandem.

These folks knew the band; they knew each other, and they knew the songs. I watched as 2012 drew closer and realized I was witnessing more than just a party. A bit of history passed right before my eyes, as the crowd responded to the music, connected with their memories and let themselves respond.

I found out later that many of the people in the room had followed Nick and his band for years. As in forty years or so. He cut his teeth on the east coast dance hall circuit playing music. At seventy-two years of age, he led his friends and family into 2012 with a great gift; the opportunity for people to remember, to relive the past, to revel in the ingrained melody and rhythm of songs that undoubtedly connected each one to unique places and times in their own lives.

I was connected last night, if only as an observer. I saw the evidence of lives well-lived, of treasured relationships, of aged romance. There is something to the enduring legacy of a community gathered around a common love of a good time.

I daresay it was one of the best New Year's Eve I've ever experienced.

And I got to take the bass player home. Epic win.

You Can Be A Winner!!!!

2011-12-23T10:37:00.003-05:00

Two things.

Kevin's back at PCC, and boy, am I happy about that. If you heard him sing at Behold the Lamb, if you've been at Powhatan or Westchester when he's been leading worship, then you've seen his talent in action. We're doing another special tune together for tomorrow's Christmas Eve services, and rehearsal last night reminded me just how much I love working with this guy.

But there's more to Kevin than meets the eye - or the ear, in this case. He has a passionate love for God and God's people, and he's also an excellent pastor.

And darned if he isn't pretty creative, too.

He tossed this idea to me a few days ago and I was tickled pink, as they say. Now it's time to share it with you. It's a contest!

First, a 55-second teaser:

And now, the info; here's a quote from Kevin's blog:

The Prize...Travis Wagner, of PCC's "Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb of God" fame ("straight A" VCU Med student; musician; singer; future Nobel Prize winner and all-around great guy)...Travis will personally play and sing for you the song"Matthew's Begats" from "Behold the Lamb of God."

This is just too fun. Go for it. Read all the details on Kevin's blog. Check out his FB page. And get on board! Do what you gotta do, which is pretty darn simple.

And by the way, I can personally attest to the fact that Travis is an all-around great guy, and the idea of him singing to you personally? Pretty darn cool.

Plus - reading the Bible? Pretty darn cool as well.

Processing "Behold The Lamb Of God"

2011-12-19T21:54:00.000-05:00

We wrapped up our major Christmas production last night, our version of Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb of God. After a day away to process and recover (sort of - I'm still so exhausted I nodded off in small group tonight, while Dave Ramsey was yelling about negotiating a better deal...), I remain firmly convinced that this was and will be one of the highlights of my personal and professional life as a musician and as a leader.

Here's a few things I learned, on the professional side:

Inspiration strikes at unlikely times and often presents itself as an utterly ridiculous idea. Our executive pastor, Dennis Green, reminded me last night that after we heard Andrew Peterson and company do Behold the Lamb last year in Richmond, he had leaned over and asked me if we could do something like that at PCC. I had laughed and pretty much told him he was nuts. But the seed was planted, and it slowly sprouted...
It helps to give things away. I think, for the first real time, I learned the value of delegation. It was hard, at times, having to say, "I don't know" to a myriad of questions. But everything was so much better because other people lived into their strengths. Christine Peyton created a dramatic element with the children, the manger, Mary and Joseph that reflected her understanding of the story. It was beautiful. Walter Felton eat, slept and breathed this music for months, and cast visions of dedicated excellence to the other musicians that was impossible to deny. He led, spiritually and musically, in a way that allowed others to grow and prosper.
Moving our big event to the weekend prior to Christmas, rather than Christmas Eve, was a very good decision. Less stress, more availability, better results.
You can mix serious ballet and acoustic music in a church with incredible results.

Personally, I learned a few things as well.

It's very cool to play limited amounts of notes. The less I played, the more I heard and felt the music. I had to adapt my style and it was harder than I expected - but it made for much better music.
Certain songs humble you. I had the privilege of delivering the message of Labor of Love, and each time I sang it, I became less. I was no match for the beauty of the song. Certain works have had that impact on me; a Bach invention, the second movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata...but rare is the contemporary song in a contemporary church that has the same weight.
Art - good music, inspired dancing - is sufficient unto itself. It stands alone. However, in our setting, art inspired and infused with spirit - the spirit of God, invoked in our preparation and even in the creation of the music a decade ago - is a completely different, living matter. Behold the Lamb was entertaining, inspiring, beautiful - a good way to invest an hour for anyone. But beyond that, lives were changed. Lives were changed because of the experience created by the fusion of music and movement. Internally and externally, some people were irrevocably changed. That is a remarkable thing, an unexpected miracle, a great privilege.

It wasn't a perfect performance. Notes were dropped, lines were skipped, technical gremlins ran loose. But we inhabited the music, whether we ran tech, sang, played, danced or acted. It was an act of grace, a song of praise.

And Someone inhabited that. And thus arrived the Christmas Spirit.

I would love to read your comments in the space below, if you were impacted in any way by "Behold the Lamb". It helps us in our evaluation and gives us valuable perspective. Plus, if you liked it, it's just cool to share the love. :-)

Dancers from Stavna Ballet. They. Were. Amazing.

Travis in rehearsal. He's an amazing musician. He's also my daughter's significant other. Epic win.

Walter, speaking. I didn't plan on him playing this role...until I heard him recite the entire introduction. He was prepared....

Matthew, as the dancers entered...preparing for beauty.

John, absolutely brilliant on cello. The final note on "Deliver Us" resonated through my soul.

Matthew.

More Matthew. We love Matthew.

One of my favorite photos; see the intensity?

Surprise. More Matthew. Did I mention that we love this guy?

Stavna.

Carlisle, who played beautifully with his daughter Paige on "O Come O Come".

Yeah...there he is again...

The end of "Deliver Us", with Andy voicing the part of God.

We were so proud of Paige! Great trio.

Father and daughter - magic.

I imagine that Paige will never forget her performance. It's a privilege to know that we will be part of her musical memories.

They Can't Take That Away From Me

2011-12-13T00:16:00.002-05:00

I have a reputation for being something of a Scrooge at Christmastime. It comes with the territory, sort of; in my line of work, Christmas is so challenging. You always disappoint somebody, it seems. Church programming at Christmas is a challenge, to say the least.

And yet...it is a joy. There are exquisite moments.

But somebody's always left wanting a little something more, or something different.

So I find myself struggling, every year, to claim some part of Christmas for myself. It's difficult. Eventually, I get there; but often it is at 10PM on Christmas Eve, when the work is all done and I'm home with the kids. We light candles and sing songs and dance and open one gift and go to bed and have a grand day on December 25th.

Up until that time, it's intense, stressful and challenging.

This year is much the same; and yet...

(Two of my favorite words these days...)

And yet, there are two bright shining spots. One has been months in the making; the other, a last minute surprise, a gift of grace that warmed my heart, made me cry and brought a huge grin to my face. Simultaneously.

Painting the set

First, the planned event: Behold the Lamb of God by Andrew Peterson. I've posted about it before, but it is upon us now, and I am overwhelmed with excitement. Sunday afternoon we had all the players in place, and the dancers, the percussionist, the hammered dulcimer - all connected with the parts we'd been working with for months and it was magical. I've never been so excited about Christmas music. I hope you'll come experience this with us (December 17, 6PM; December 18, 9:30, 11:15 and 6PM)

And the surprise event? I accompanied my dear friend Kevin (also singing in Behold the Lamb of God) in a Christmas concert. Kevin not only works at PCC, he also leads a terrific ministry called Encore, focusing on folks who live in places like Chesterfield Heights, a local retirement community. Tonight he was the singing pastor, and we covered not only holiday standards like "I'll Be Home For Christmas" and "Let It Snow", but also a few traditional holiday carols and a couple of standards, just for fun ("They Can't Take That Away From Me", "Stardust", etc.) Kevin is a huge fan of Sinatra and that era, and I'm a huge fan of Kevin and any jazz standards.

Kevin at Behold the Lamb rehearsal

It was a wonderful evening, with an opportunity to play some beautiful music on a nice digital piano. But what struck me was the spirit in the room. Folks gathered to simply be in the moment, and the music not only created a special moment, it also struck chords of nostalgia and memories that were almost palpable in the room. As Kevin sang "The Days of Wine and Roses", you could feel the room change, as if folks were piecing together memories of times gone by and changing the atmosphere as they did so, slipping in and out of the present and the past as easily as I shifted chords on the keyboard.

Music is so powerful. I felt so blessed and honored tonight, to use the gift I've been given to bring an hour of beauty, joy and memory to some precious people. As they clasped my hands and thanked me, one by one, I noticed the record of the years on the faces I saw. Lines, creases and crevices on hands and faces that were open and kind, appreciative and, in that moment, filled with joy.

Tonight, I felt as though I did not disappoint. I brought something of value to people who expected only light entertainment, and were pleased with what they received. It was so refreshing, so precious, and so meaningful on many levels. So gracious.

The spirit of Christmas was very real to me this evening. I didn't see it coming. But I'm sure glad I was there.

A few of the folks thanking Kevin.

The dynamic duo.

Kevin and his remarkable bride Candy.

Born Is The King

2011-12-11T12:16:00.001-05:00

Here's a cool video of the closing song from this week's service at PCC. It's a fun song; see if it doesn't get in your head and make a nice little soundtrack for your Christmas season!

Don't Forget Where You Came From

2011-11-28T08:03:00.001-05:00

My parents celebrated fifty years of marriage last week. To celebrate, per their request, we gathered the immediate family together in a spacious house a block from the ocean on Tybee Island, outside of Savannah. They weren’t interested in a party or a cruise or a big gift; all they wanted to do was get us all together. The entire process sparked a lot of thought and some new realizations in me. I plan to write about it here for a few days.

We realized that their big day would coincide with Thanksgiving and my oldest son’s 16th birthday, so we were prepared to pack a lot of commemoration into a few days’ time.Normally this sort of planning freaks me out; makes me nervous. Interesting, because my job involves planning, and a lot of it. I work in creative arts at my church, and there’s no escaping that every-seven-days deadline. I thrive on the adrenaline in that environment. But our family stuff tends to paralyze me; I defer to my mom, who is the champion in the kitchen when it comes to organizing and getting things done. Or I lean on my sister-in-law, who is more gifted in administration than anybody I know. For our annual summer gatherings, I’m usually just a worker bee, once I manage to get my entire crew there in one piece.

But this year I felt the burden of doing something extra. My brother sealed the deal in a phone conversation prior to the big day, when he remarked, “You do this kind of thing all the time. You’re good at this. Make it happen.”

As per my usual mode of operations, I thought and contemplated and considered until I had very little time left for action. The weekend before we were to leave, I made my way to Mom and Dad’s house and quite UN-surreptitiously collected handfuls of photographs. I snuck around the community and found friends from their church to pre-record good wishes via video.

And then I set aside an entire day to put it together.And what a day it was.

I was taken completely by surprise. The emotional wallop packed into looking at fifty years of my family’s life was overwhelming, to say the least. During the twelve hours I worked on this project, I found myself incapacitated on at least five occasions - caught up in emotions I could barely identify, much less express. I just cried. And cried. I sobbed like I haven’t in years.

It struck me that I was seeing, for perhaps the first time, some things that I had been too busy to ever notice before. Maybe in my entire life. And these were important things. Not just random memories of events and parties and bad outfits and haircuts.

In the gathering of photographic documentation of life; separating the images into seasons and eras and looking - really looking - at the people in the pictures, some things came sharply into focus for me.

Most people, if they're honest, look at their history in regards to themselves. How many of us, when we look at a photograph, quickly scan it to find our own image first? We identify ourself, assure ourself of our presence, and in that context we remember the event, categorize it, assign it some importance. I do that.

But this time, I didn’t. In every photo I scanned, I was looking for a man and a woman - my parents, either separately or together - in an attempt to stitch together a story. I looked into their eyes, paid attention to what they were wearing. Tried to read the expression in their eyes. The others in the photos - even myself - were of no consequence. Even in the most horrid picture, the one that defines bad fashion taste and a horrid haircut - rather than focus on how awful I appeared, I looked at Mom and Dad. And they looked good. (Me, not so much.)

I saw the lives of these two people as they came together in a little Presbyterian church in November of 1961, and I saw hope and excitement and anticipation in their eyes. I have seen those pictures hundreds of time; but I never saw my father’s boyish joy before. I had never noticed the calm, radiant beauty in my mother’s eyes. In looking at them as they were before I ever existed, I learned something about them and about myself. I paid attention and thought about what I was seeing.

There is something incredibly freeing about identifying a man and a woman as independent people - a couple made up of two individuals - apart and aside from their role as your parents. The act of gathering information to tell the story of their lives as a way to honor them became a step towards maturity and growing up that I didn’t even realize I needed to take. My paradigm shifted, ever so slightly.

In the past two decades as I have raised my kids, my focus has most often been on them and their needs. I have seen my parents function primarily in their role as grandparents, in a way that has positively impacted and informed the character of my children. I have rarely lifted my eyes off of my own little world to see the larger world my parents’ inhabited.

I have been accused of being selfish, undoubtedly with just cause.But now I see. I have looked up, and back, and I have seen. And here I am again, in the middle of my life, growing up a little more. No one’s more surprised than I. And I have a richer, deeper love and appreciation for my parents than I ever had before. It goes beyond the fun we had this week as we celebrated. I carry something with me now that is markedly different. And it’s not only my perspective of their lives; it is how I see myself.

I am the daughter of Clyde and Peggy Case. I’ve got good genes and a strong example set before me. I had a fine upbringing; I am of good stock. I was raised right.

We recalled this week how my grandfather - my dad’s father, Jim Case - once overheard me complaining about the small town in which I grew up; the town where he still lived and farmed. We were visiting our hometown, driving down Liberty Street, and I bemoaned the lack of stores and Things To Do, as compared to the wall-to-wall suburbia we knew as home in Dallas. Pop turned around to glare at me in the back seat. He pointed a finger at me and said, “Girl, don’t you ever forget where you came from.”

I know a lot more about that now. I am grateful for my mother and father, the grandparents of my children, two people who lived well and stuck to their promise to stay together. My daughter Sarah wrote a song for them that she sang this week:

“The words of a Marine / the strength of a seamstress’ seam
I was taught to love and taught to fight / I carry you with me in the bloodline”

I guess in the end, I am a bit selfish. It all comes back to me, and how I am living my life, what I am learning, who I am. But I suppose that is parenting at its best; they never stop teaching me things. And then I turn around and try to do the same for my own kids.

And so it goes. Down the bloodline.

Next: The Need To Grieve

A Weekend Full Of Gratitude

2011-11-26T23:03:00.001-05:00

What an incredible few days we have had.

Eric, David and Dad

We - my immediate family, along with my uncle Dave and Shannon's boyfriend Travis - met to celebrate three things that fell essentially at the same time this year: 1) Thanksgiving, 2) my son's 16th birthday and 3) my parents' 50th wedding anniversary.

Two of these things are important milestones. The third is by far my favorite holiday. So it's been a huge win and a lot of fun.

We spent the first evening reconnecting; my brother and his family meet up with my crew and Mom and Dad every year for our summer vacation. We just saw each other in August, but a lot has happened in those few short months. After a quick and easy - and delicious - meal of our traditional rice bowls, we watched a video that looked back at our parents' lives. It was profound and moving and led to a few tears. Mom kept commenting on every photo that came up. Dad kept crying. After it was over, we had over an hour of great conversation; memories, things that mattered, why we valued one another and what it meant to be a family.

Sarah, Syd and Shannon in costume for the Talent Show

Thursday, we ate. It was delicious and wonderful. That night we had our annual Talent Show; we prepare for this every year during the summer, so this one was a bonus. We laughed so hard we cried. And then, we spontaneously just started singing songs.

I can't help but think that we are uniquely blessed. And I am deeply grateful.

The remainder of the time has included long walks, games, reading (I finished two books) and great conversation. It's been a respite; we were so busy leading up to this week that I didn't realize how good it would feel to unplug and relax for a while.

After we get home, I'll likely write another post with more photos. But for today, as we wind down the weekend and head to our respective homes, I am thankful for the people in my family who go out of their way to let one another know that we matter. It has formed who I am. It is forming my kids and the ripple effects are positive.

Going to bed a grateful girl tonight.

Eric and Tony in a serious conversation. Over ice cream.

Eric and David, rocking the v-necks.

Travis, Shannon and Tony


Tony and I; for the Talent Show, we did a bizarre version of Minnie Ripperton's "Loving You"; a vocal duet with banjo.

Three Wives And Twenty-four Kids

2011-11-18T22:31:00.001-05:00

It is Friday night, and I am home alone. So I am watching 20/20 and waiting for the clothes to dry.

I know, I know. You are insanely jealous of my chic, adventurous lifestyle. I just can't help myself.

So anyway, 20/20 is doing this story - quite seriously - about a man in Utah (duh) who has three wives and 24 children. He courted and married two of them simultaneously Ten years later, another woman caught his eye. She was the twin sister of one of the first two wives. Made perfect sense for him to marry her, too.

So now he has three wives and all these kids and they're going public, fully aware that they could be investigated and/or arrested. Because - well, you know - having more than one wife is sort of weird. Not to mention illegal.

A huge part of the story (at least according to Soledad O'Brien's questions) is how the man manages his lifestyle; he rotates to a different bedroom every night. Questions about his stamina and jokes about one wife finding his underwear in another wife's sheets are asked in all seriousness, and with a wholesome, gentle, holy look, everybody talks about the necessity of dealing with jealousy and trusting that this is all good for their family.

And then they interview one of the oldest kids - a young woman who has recently married. She is beaming, obviously ecstatic - beautiful in her wedding dress. She talks about how much she loves her husband, and how the thought of sharing him in the future is almost unbearable.

"But", she says, "God changes our hearts sometimes. And when he does, we have to trust that he knows best. And that we'll change, too."

And my first thought was this: When a man begins to lust for another woman and justifies taking her by claiming polygamy as God's command, what sort of mental gymnastics does a woman have to do to be okay with that?

Maybe it's the ultimate in submission. Maybe it's a sacrifice you make for a unique sisterhood and a large family. Maybe it's a relief to share all those marital and household duties.

But I just can't help but think that it really, really sucks to be that girl. And that having sex with three (or more) different women and calling it God's will is not quite right.

Beyond Any Egg You May Have Scrambled

2011-11-17T08:54:00.001-05:00

From the morning prayer in my Book of Common Prayer today:

A passage from Forgotten Among the Lilies by Ronald Rolheiser: " If the Catholicism that I was raised in had a fault, and it did, it was precisely that it did not allow for mistakes. It demanded that you get it right the first time. There was supposed to be no need for a second chance. If you made a mistake, you lived with it and, like the rich young man, were doomed to be sad, at least for the rest of your life. A serious mistake was a permanent stigmatization, a mark that you wore like Cain. I have seen that mark on all kinds of people: divorcees, ex-priests, ex-religious, people who have had abortions, married people who have had affairs, people who have had children outside of marriage, parents who have made serious mistakes with their children, and countless others who have made serious mistakes. There is too little around to help them.
We need a theology of brokenness. We need a theology which teaches us that even though we cannot unscramble an egg, God's grace lets us live happily and with renewed innocence far beyond any egg we may have scrambled.
We need a theology that teaches us that God does not just give us one chance, but that every time we close a door, he opens another one for us."

It's not about Catholicism; not at all. There are many cultural and social structures that don't allow for mistakes.

It's about this tremendous need for grace. Over and over, I am reminded of our desperate need for it. And yet it's so hard to give, sometimes. And it's sometimes even harder to accept.

This, today, reminds me of my calling. Reminds me of who I am.

Had a theology of brokenness not been overwhelmingly and undeniably offered to me, I could not stand. And not in the easy pie-in-the-sky, "Jesus has always loved me!" sort of way. Not in the stick-your-head-in-the-sand and coast on a simple humanistic peace-and-love-for-all philosophy. But in this: that I have screwed up, time and time again. I have made mistakes, big and small. I have pushed against commandments, Biblical and moral - and pushed hard enough to break them. In ancient history (my own) and more recent (like me, last week), I have said and done things that have hurt people. I have scrambled enough eggs, my own and others', to feed the nations.

And in this: I am offered another chance. Not only by flesh and blood people who tenderly, tearfully offer grace and forgiveness - but by the one who is holy, righteous, massively unfathomable - beyond any understanding I might have. As far as the universe is, there is grace.

That is the violently insistent heartbeat of my faith: There is grace.

Renewed innocence.

Happiness.

In the tripping and falling that we all claim as part of our climbing through life, a theology of brokenness lived out for ourselves and for those around us - well, that could change the world.

And there's enough of it, for us and the whole human race.

Go show somebody some grace today.

Show yourself.

Dreaming Of La Romana

2011-11-11T10:12:00.001-05:00

Ampiteatro at Altos de Chavon

Last week I bemoaned (on Facebook) the fact that I never seemed to have a day with absolutely nothing on the schedule.

Finally got one.

Big smile.

I have a million things to do around here; laundry is piled higher than usual. The kitchen is cluttered. I went grocery shopping last night but we literally have no place to put the groceries, so I need to go get creative. The porch needs to be cleaned. There is much to do...

But no appointments. No lessons. Wide, open space.

So: I have John Gorka radio on Pandora, which is better than I ever expected. Tiny, four-minute gems, one after the other. Gorka, then James Taylor, Neil Young, Johnsmith....and some names I've never heard before. There is space today for their songs to fill up this house.

I have coffee, hot. Sarah made it. Everything's better when somebody else makes it.

I have the residue of a long, detailed dream that occupied the early morning hours. I was back in the Dominican Republic, driving from Santo Domingo to La Romana. I was me, now - mother of five, my age today. The road had changed - new things, like a big baseball stadium and new construction. But all the people I encountered were as they had been over 20 years ago. The people hadn't changed. My kids all had friends there, and they wanted to stay, scattered all over the path we were driving. In my dream, I was talking with Karla Sanchez, with whom I haven't been in contact for 20-plus years. It was so very real, and I was so there.

Since I woke up, I have been wondering: "Where did THAT come from?" After the coffee kicked in, I started tracing the lines back to the source. And here's what I discovered:

Glee this week featured West Side Story. When I lived in the DR, we staged a production of WSS in the Altos de Chavon Ampiteatro. Karla played Anita; she was amazing.
Our church is planning a mission trip this year to Puerto Rico. I have always wanted to return to the Caribbean. I initially jumped at the chance to go along as a chaperone. But I'm hesitating now; what I really want to do is go back to the DR. And PR is not DR. The decision is pressing upon me; I have to figure this out.

Not sure what else is churning in there. I'm fascinated by the creative ways my brain processes its contents.

And I think I'm going to start saving up for a trip to the island of Hispaniola.

Planning Nothing

2011-11-10T08:23:00.001-05:00

I don't know if it's the age - pushing 50, people, and how did THAT happen? - or the season or a combination of both, but I've been intentional about building a lot of margin into my schedule for the past few weeks. Rather than plan meeting after meeting after meeting and pile things onto my plate, I've built a lot of vague and general hours into the work week.

Our staff sends out our schedules to one another at the beginning of the week. It helps us pray for each other, gives us a sense of what's going on around us and helps us know how to find one another and what to expect. For the past two weeks, I've had several blocks of time that simply say, "working from home".

When I plan this time, in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "Maybe I can multi-task while I'm writing charts. I can have a load of laundry in while I reply to emails. I can make phone calls to musicians while I make the bed." Because there is such a limited amount of time in my day; I have so many things to juggle, it seems.

So planning to get a lot done seems prudent.

But here's the truth: the laundry is undone, the dishes stay in the sink and life goes on as usual at our house (meaning we all chip in and nothing's perfect, but it gets done). And what happens with those vague, unplanned "working-from-home" hours is this: I have time to take a phone call from someone in crisis. And then I have time to go meet them for coffee. I connect with a musician who has gotten stuck in his spiritual life, who needs a little encouragement and truth-telling. I discover some awesome new music that will be a great fit for our Christmas services. I answer the phone instead of letting it go to voice mail.

And in my heart, I have compassion for people. I have time to care.

Being that I am called to care, led into ministry as a vocation, this is a rather important thing.

So here it is: it really feels weird to build specific time into my work week in which I plan to do nothing. And yet it has proven to be the most effective and meaningful time of my work week. And probably the most productive.

Go figure.

An Open Letter To Andrew Peterson

2011-10-31T13:45:00.003-04:00

Dear Andrew (forgive me for the informal greeting, as we've never properly met - but how can I not feel like I know you well enough to call you Andrew, after soaking in your words and melodies for so many hours? Plus there was that one time I saw you in person in Richmond. So that counts for something....)

I'm working from home this morning. The first part of the day was a long phone conversation with a musician friend who is working with me to lead our Christmas production this year. We spent an hour working through the specifics of instrumentation for all the songs we're doing the weekend prior to Christmas - what will, for us, be the Christmas event for our church. Usually we do something big on Christmas Eve, but this year we're doing what my pastor affectionately refers to as a "cantata" (in our contemporary church, that's one of those words that makes you gag. Just a little.) And I guess it is a cantata, sort of. But not.

Behold The Lamb of God is a collection of some of the most amazing music I've heard. I like it, for sure; but what I have discovered is that repeated listenings reveal layers and layers of stuff. Musical stuff. Lyrical stuff. Theological stuff. It never gets old. And in my line of work - leading creative arts at a contemporary church - I'm sad to confess that this is a rare thing. Too often, the awesome closing worship song of last week is forgotten in the next. Because, frankly, it is forgettable.

But not this stuff.

Yesterday at rehearsal we ran through "It Came To Pass" for the first time. The upright bass and the banjo were brilliant, and as it echoed in the room, I beamed. It was rough, for sure - it was the first time. But to hear such art come to life under your own hands, after it has become ingrained in your soul...it may be a bit of a stretch, but for me it's the same joy that comes while I play a Beethoven sonata or a Bach invention. To recreate music that has endured; this is art. And it is the highest calling we can claim, as musicians. To create - or bring new life through recreation - art.

Anyway, I am rambling. Forgive me. The point is this: as I continue my work, I realize that without thinking, an Andrew Peterson playlist is moving me through midday. "The Silence of God" begins, and I remember the very first Blue Christmas service we did, in an effort to give voice to the grief and sorrow that too often colors the holiday season. I remember how devastating that lyric proved to be - and yet how it offered such hope. And I remember the harpist in that service, and the candles, and the couple who clung to one another because their child had died four weeks prior, and the echo of hope.

The aching may remain / but the breaking does not...

And then came "Dancing In the Minefields", and I remember stumbling upon that video and sending it to my friends, who were clinging to one another in a dark and difficult season of their lives. I remember that they watched it, together, and that they cried. And I know today that they are stronger.

And I remember, too, when we used that same video in a church service about marriage. And I remember the wild, viral fire on Facebook the week after, when people were posting the video and the song lyrics and drawing the hope and honesty of that song into their hearts. And into their marriages. And telling everybody who would listen. And how some friends now still use the phrase, "we're dancing in the minefields" as part of their adopted language of hope and faith in their marriage.

I remember seeing you and your friends in Richmond last year. Jim and Judy had told me, year after year, that I needed to see Behold the Lamb. Finally, we did; in fact, our entire church staff went last year as our Christmas party together. I remember the utter awe, the glory of God, the thrill of creation and the beauty of the music that you played, fresh, like it was the first time. Which it obviously was not. And yet it is, recreated again and again for the glory of God, fresh and new and alive. And we, the audience, were part of something remarkable. Sort of what I imagine heaven might be.

And now, we prepare more of what has flown from your heart and mind and the strings of your guitar. We are about to immerse our community in the grace of God enfolded in the story you have told through this music and these lyrics. We will paint the back of the stage wall swirling blue, with tiny stars to echo the album cover. We will watch as a musician who has been starved for community, whose instrument has been silent for two years, plays. He has fallen in love with this music, and with the joy of recreating it. And he has fallen back in love with his God. I can hear it as he plays.

We have battled the challenging rhythms of "So Long Moses" and made them our own.

We soak in the sparse beauty of "Labor of Love".

We memorized ALL of the begats! (Well, one of us did....)

This music has inspired and motivated us. We are creating something wonderful for our community to enjoy. But something has been created in us as well. Some awareness of the unique calling upon us and the ever-present, unending grace of the brave little boy who is our Savior.

And so, Andrew - my friend I've never met, but whose heart I feel I know through his art - thank you for letting your song sing. Thank you for all the work you have done to bring light to this world. Thank you for setting your creations free. Thank you for what you've given to us because you responded to what must have been a very demanding calling at times.

Thank you for the times when even travelers get lost and the aching that remains and the minefields and the when I lose my way, find me and the gather round and the begats and the labor and the gathering and passover us and the hallelujahs. You've made a difference in our world here. And we're grateful. Your songs sing in our community and they have changed our lives.

Blessings to you,

beth

Five Foods

2011-10-26T21:45:00.001-04:00

A bit late on the writing prompt, as I have had a tumultuous week. But here we go, with Five Foods.

The first time I fried chicken, I was fifteen years old. Mom had gone back to work in preparation for my college tuition (which she didn't have to pay, since I ended up scoring a scholarship - but Mom and Dad paid for years and years and years of piano lessons, so in the end, they did pay for my education...) and I was given a few assignments to help get dinner ready. This was a new thing, cooking for my family. I was selfish and inexperienced. But I tried. I followed the directions: floured the chicken, shook it up in a paper grocery bag (to this day, that's the way you should do it, I think), heated the oil in the cast iron skillet and put the chicken in to cook. When it turned brown - like it looked when I saw it on the table - I figured it was done. I took it out, set the table and waited for my parents to get home. When my dad bit into his first piece of chicken, it pretty much gushed blood. Turns out my powers of visual assessment weren't quite developed yet. I learned that it takes a good long while to fry chicken. And that those visual assessment powers come after you have kids and cook a thousand meals.

And by the way, I still prefer my mom's fried chicken over all others. When she makes it.

One of my favorite meals that I make myself is homemade chicken soup. It's all natural, very few spices - just lots of fresh carrots, celery and onions. Boil an entire chicken. Throw in a lot of garlic and some kosher salt. Add pepper. Cook everything down; add extra wide egg noodles. Watch the end cook time carefully; turn off the heat right before the noodles are done. It's real food. It's good for you. It marks my virtue as a real mom. I make chicken soup, and it's healing powers are real.

Our family vacations together every year - my brother, his wife and two kids, my parents and our crew. The first year that my sister-in-law was a vegetarian, she brought a recipe for rice bowls. Very similar to Chipotle's burrito bowl, but fresher, better for you, and sans meat (although somebody usually cooks up some chicken to toss in). I love food you assemble yourself when you have a bunch of people together. This is a standard vacation food for us now; we never get together without having rice bowls. It means family to me. If you come to my house and we make rice bowls, you know I love you.

Meatloaf at The County Seat restaurant in my little town. They only make it on Wednesdays. It's really, really good. It reminds me of the meatloaf I used to eat at Neely's Home Cooking in Tolar, Texas. That was a million years ago - before I had kids, when I was a 20-something teacher who thought she knew everything. I wish I could go back and tell that girl a few things.

Vanilla Swiss Almond ice cream from Haagen Dazs. Because it's my husband's favorite ice cream. I love to make him happy. Ice cream - especially this kind - is always a sure bet.

Greasy Muffins

2011-10-21T13:33:00.002-04:00

Hello, day off. It's so nice to see you again.

I am spending the afternoon in the kitchen, baking.

Don't get excited. It's all from a box, and it's all quick and easy. And lest you have some rosy image of a domestic divvy surrounded by baking supplies in a beautiful kitchen, let me share this fact: NO ONE HAS DONE THE DISHES SINCE WEDNESDAY.

We do not have a dishwasher.

Six people live here.

Do the math and maybe a little physics and you can just imagine the height, depth breadth and width of the dishes piled in the sink. And the mass.

So, before I can start "baking" - which is a euphemism for "opening the box, adding eggs/oil/water/, mix, lick spoon, add to baking pan, scoop out a little more for "tasting" - before the "baking" begins, the washing of the dishes must take place.

Being known for my remarkable ability to multi-task, I tried washing dishes and mixing the first batch of muffins simultaneously. As I poured the mixture into the pan, I marveled at its interesting yellow color and viscosity.

What I mean to say is this: the muffins looked really weird.

Lest I rush into an area impulsively without considering the cost (which I am wont to do), I took another look at the recipe.

In a squinty fashion, I did look. For lo, in the fourth decade of life, one doth require the squint in order to see the recipes on the back of the boxes.

And I took a nostalgic tour down the five minutes of dishwashing/recipe mixing.

Here is what I discovered: If you get the amount of oil (1/4 cup) and water (3/4 cup) backwards, you get some really interesting muffins. Oilicious.

Yuck.

Moral of the story? One thing at a time, children. Do one thing at at time, and do it well. And that is the secret of life.

On to round two. Which means box number two of delicious Betty Crocker goodness.

In other news, I picked Coldplay as a soundtrack for this beautiful, windows-open October afternoon. But Coldplay - particularly Viva La Vida - is not autumn afternoon music.

So I opened Pandora and picked a John Denver playlist. Oh, yes I did.

And so far we've had "Back Home Again" and "Danny's Song" (like, maybe the greatest Loggins and Messina song EVER) and "The Boxer". Simon and Garfunkel. Is there anything better?

Hello, perfect soundtrack. And well-balanced muffins.

Have a nice day. And tell me - which do you prefer? "Danny's Song" (Even though we ain't got money/I'm still in love with you honey/And everything will bring a chain of lo-o-o-ove) or "House at Pooh Corner"?

By the way, I am doing all this baking stuff as part of opening night for Pocahontas. Sydni Brawley's in this CYT show, and it - like all CYT shows - is really, really terrific. You should go. Get tickets here. And choose Syd's name from the drop-down and give the girl some ticket credit love.

Tuesday Tips

2011-10-18T08:18:00.000-04:00

There is so much content available on the internet. It is a blessing and a curse; I have been moved and enlightened, and I have also wasted too many minutes of my life on meaningless drivel.

But there's some great stuff out there. Today, on a gorgeous October morning, I decided to share the love, y'all. I'm giving up my secret sauce recipe.

Avoiding the meaningless drivel, I'm going to give you some Tuesday Tips on where to find the good stuff. At least what's on my radar. Following are three sites on my daily reading list.

Lindsay

Fueled By Diet Coke - this is Lindsay Durrenburger's blog. She's passionate about body image, about girls growing up healthy and strong, about her marriage - actually, Lindsay's passionate about everything. Her take on life in this season is always encouraging and edifying - and often surprising. She's on my daily list. She makes me think. She makes me laugh, too.

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda - Mir writes about writing, about life and about motherhood - specifically, the challenges of parenting a daughter in the throes of adolescence and a son seeing life through Asperger eyes. And her husband, Otto. And her dog, Licorice. She is an incredibly funny writer. I never miss a post.

PostSecret - You probably know about this movement. Once a week, the Post Secret blog is full of secrets scrawled on postcards, sent in from around the world. It is sometimes raw and unfiltered - i.e. not appropriate for work. It is always compelling. The world is full of people carrying heavy burdens, distracted and distraught by hidden pain. Secrets bind anxiety, and these posts offer a release of a good deal of stress - and insight into the world in which we live. In my line of work, it helps to remember.

That's it. Have a blast!

Hammering

2011-10-17T23:33:00.001-04:00

My friend Angie has been posting a list of things for which she is grateful. Spurred on by a thought from my friend Lindsay, she is "hammering nails": replacing discontent with gratitude.

It is a good idea. I read Angie's posts - she is now up to #55 - and I am reminded of the things for which I am grateful. I shall make a short list of my own.

1. A home full of windows, raised tonight to let in the unique coolness of October.
2. Kids that wash the dishes with no complaints (David).
3. Kids that make blueberry struessel muffins (Sydni).
4. Sisters that love their sisters (Sydni. Sarah. Shannon.)
5. Kids that wrap their arms around their mom, say, "I love you" and mean it (Daniel).
6. Kids that love Jesus (all of them).
7. A husband who tells me to take a nap.
8. A husband who says, "I'm sorry" - to me and to the kids - and means it.
9. A job that allows time for ridiculosity, including making up words like 'ridiculosity'. And singing Elton John songs at the top of my lungs.
10. My friends Walter and Sally, who are kind and real.
11. Heated seats in my car. It is an indulgence, for sure.
12. A piano in my house.
13. A dryer and a washing machine that work.
14. A down comforter.
15. A wise and gifted brother.
16. Crickets at night.
17. My electric toothbrush.
18. Zyrtec.
19. Facebook. Really.
20. Coffee. Daily. Really.

Are you grateful? What's one thing? Or two, or even three?

Six Places

2011-10-15T23:19:00.002-04:00

Write, Eat, Post, Bathe prompt time again. Six places.

That's all the direction we got.


Me, standing at the bus stop of my elementary years in Franklin.

1. Franklin, Pennsylvania. I was born there and spent 13 formative years, five of which I lived "in town" until we became country folk and claimed five acres next to my aunt and uncle and grandparents. I always wanted to be a town kid. I loved the idea of walking to the grocery store, to school, to the library (o, the library: my favorite place in that town!) But I dearly loved running down the short hill to my grandmother's house.

2. Grand Prairie, Texas. Along came the bicentennial celebrations and our big move to a suburban lifestyle and a huge school system. The houses were close together. The summers were brutal. The culture was diverse. My dad acted like he'd been born a Texas; it suited him. I thrived there but it never felt like home. My bones ached for a northern country.

3. Lubbock, Texas. Go Red Raiders and thank God for third place in the Eva Browning Piano competition and a full ride to a music ed degree. I stretched my legs a good bit in Lubbock and grew some decent musical chops. I carried a good bit of regret home with me when I left, but I learned a lot along the way.

4. La Romana, Dominican Republic. Three years, the Abraham Lincoln School, Casa de Campo and a new appreciation of humanity. I fell down and I grew up in the DR. When I came home, I was a new Christ-follower; albeit one who still carried a fairly heavy bucket of crap.

5. Tolar, Hico, Joshua and Fort Worth; central Texas rugged life. All five of my kids were born in this era. Baptist blood was infused into my lifeline in these years, a particular sort of Southwestern Baptist theology that can be appealing and convincing, but one in which I too often fell painfully short of understanding and appreciation. These were the days of big hair, cotton jumpers and t-shirts I painted myself to sell at craft shows. Oh, yes, I did.

6. Chagrin Falls, Ohio. Home; I felt as though I finally made it home. Ohio sang to me, and after a two hour drive my bare feet could slip through the grass in a game of kickball at my grandmother's house - my old home - in Western Pennsylvania. My kids' feet traced the paths of my own, three decades earlier. It snowed and spring exploded and summers were too short and the accents and cadences of Eastern European influence was music to my ears. My bucket of crap finally tipped over in Ohio, and all hell broke loose. But there was some sort of safety in the tight connection of the rocks and rivers of the northeast that did not let me go.

You would think that there has to be a seventh place in this list. These days my home is in Virginia, and all is as well as can be expected. But these first six places are ones that I have left behind. And Virginia? As of yet, my memories and my future are tethered here, in this place where my roots run deep just a few generations past. I have some soul history here; I don't know it for a fact, other than knowing my mother's home place and family just southeast of here on the North Carolina coast. But something resonates, and I know I belong. I still carry my bucket, and it still contains a measure of crap within. But it doesn't spill out so much. Grace covers; there is a wideness in God's mercy, in what is left behind and in what we still lug around. No matter where we are.

Linky List And Dangerous Posts

2011-10-12T22:43:00.000-04:00

I've got a writing prompt to do for Write, Eat, Post, Bathe. I've got so much churning in my head regarding plans for the next few months - lots of good stuff. No time for a coherent post. Too many things swirling; time for a list.

There are links here; if they don't show up, click on over to the original post - start here.

I went to a training meeting tonight for small group facilitators who have signed up to be part of Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. Again, I am convinced: the next 90 days will be life-changing. It was a joy to sit next to people like Kelley Llewellyn and Randy Myers and Rachel Huff and consider just what is going to transpire in the weeks ahead. I'm facilitating a group on Monday nights, meeting at the church. You can sign up here; all are welcome, whether you are affiliated with PCC or not!
I read a very dangerous blog post today. I thought it was gutsy. What do you think?
I also read a very inspiring blog post today, one that made me think. Which the author most often always does. Still mulling over the challenges within.
I am getting an iPhone, God willing, on Friday morning. Yippee.
I am being mindful of my food intake, and my clothes fit better. Yippee.
I am grateful for friends who speak their minds.
I am grateful for friends and coworkers who have gone out of their way to encouragement with words lately. My love languages are words and physical touch. I am feeling loved this week.
Finished Jesus, My Father, The CIA and Me by Ian Morgan Cron. Heard him speak at STORY in Chicago a few weeks ago and was profoundly moved by his words. His book is staggering in moments, subtle in others. Highly recommended. Find it here; read more about Cron here.
We have a building permit for our home addition. Happy days. Let the fun begin.

Shut Up

2011-10-09T23:33:00.003-04:00

I could not sing this morning. Or last night.

Out of my inability came an opportunity for others to rise up, because we have Saturday and Sunday services to lead and it takes voices to do it.

Ironically, at around 1PM I felt something slip back into gear in my throat. Sounds crazy, but it's true. And I could sing.

It was as if I was forcibly silenced for a certain period of time, and then restored.

It was humbling. I don't claim to understand it, but there it is.

Do you think such things happen? Do you think God works like that? The Bible we read and follow offers countless stories of coincidental, miraculous occurrences. People were blinded, struck mute, afflicted and cured; all for some larger purpose.

I am pondering this tonight, humbled and wondering if I ever have a clue as to what's really going on. You know what I mean? All our striving and struggling to achieve and accomplish and get things done; and yet I wonder. What if the actual purposes are completely off our radar? What if all that we think we are doing is just chicken-scratching, compared to a larger, more complex Grand Design?

Hmmmm......

The Beginning Of Community

2011-10-06T16:42:00.001-04:00

There's a new movie out, called The Way. Directed by Emilio Estevez, starring Martin Sheen.

I read this quote regarding the genesis and meaning behind the film:

I think this story taps into something that’s clearly out there in the culture right now, but can be difficult to put into words without sounding dumb. We’re all stressed out and surrounded by electronic gizmos, we’re all facing economic hardship, and however we choose to articulate it, we’re looking for something more.

Martin Sheen: Everything’s being ripped away. You’re losing the house, you’re losing your job, and yeah, you’re right, people are beginning to focus on what’s really important. As Americans, we’ve been told, “You can do it.” We’re told to be macho and take responsibility and conquer the world and all this. We don’t give any support to community. Community is an afterthought, but when we get in touch with our loneliness and our guilt and all of these things that are so human, we begin to realize that until you start relating to other people’s brokenness, you can’t heal your own. That’s the beginning of community, I think.

I read things like this and am reminded of the thin veil that truly separates those who pursue spirituality on either side of the walls of our churches. From the smallest, pew-lined traditional Methodist church to the robust icons of the Catholic sanctuary and everything in between - which would include our very non-traditional, "let's-play-a-song-by-Pink" church - we're all broken. We all need to relate to one another. Religion is no respecter of this very human need. Spiritual or not, we are broken, one by one, and we need healing.

We cannot simply heal ourselves. But we can inch closer to healing when somebody's holding our hand or lifting our head, or when we are doing the same for someone else.

The crisis of faith that put me on my knees - truly broken, for the first time in my hard-hearted, independent life - ripped open something in me. When I tasted the dirt of sin in my mouth, when I realized - no, admitted - just how capable I was of doing Awful, Terrible, No-Good Things - I began to heal. Redemption is not cheap, but the painful cost is worth every moment of a life lived in grace. I had to admit to the darkness in my soul.

And then turn my face upward.

You cannot wallow in your circumstance or your despair. When you recognize who you are and of what you are capable, you must take some action. No one is stuck.

No one is beyond grace.

But you must look up.

Sometimes I wonder if, in the midst of all the turmoil in our country, we might find ourselves in the most unlikely sort of revival of spirit and reconnection of all that is "so human". I wonder if, more and more, we might be willing to look around, to relate to others' brokenness.

To look up.

I am going to see this movie.

Read the complete interview here.

Seven Wants

2011-10-03T22:13:00.001-04:00

Against my better judgement, I'm going to do this week's blog post prompt, chiming in with the crazy chicks from Write, Eat, Post, Bathe - my sort-of, so-called writer's group. I think we're really all just Friends With Words. We all like to write.

Anyway, this is against my better judgement because I have been home sick all day. Bad cold. Stuff head, can't breathe, lots of sneezing, watery eyes, etc. I am not alone in my suffering, such as it is; my eldest daughter has the same issues, although hers seem worse than mine. We have each claimed a spot in the living room, surrounded by used Kleenex, underneath heavy quilts, Dayquil and Mucinex tightly gripped in our fists. Hot tea occasionally and some great soup cooked and delivered by a kind and generous friend.

And we watched an entire season of Breaking Bad. I think. I stopped counting after six episodes.

So what do I want? What are my seven wants? I'm not sure that my current condition won't adversely affect my perspective, but I'll take a stab at it anyway. Keep in mind that I am medicated.

1. I want the long-awaited planned remodeling project on this house to begin. Although we are managing well with the fridge in the dining room, all six of us squeezing into a postage-stamp-sized bathroom and NOT ENOUGH COUNTER SPACE IN THE KITCHEN, I just wish we could see some progress and have some hope.

2. I want a grand piano for our church.

3. I want 2012 to see all three of my daughters happily studying at institutions of higher education.

4. I don't want to think about living in a house without my girls. Not quite ready for the emptying of the nest to that degree.

5. I want to figure out a way to reconcile the obvious paradox of what I want in #3 and #4.

6. I want to lose 20 pounds. And then 20 more.

7. I want to see Jesus.

Love The Poor And Serve The Needy

2011-10-02T17:50:00.000-04:00

My brother always makes me think. He posted this yesterday.

Does it make you think?

"If this is going to be a Christian nation that doesn’t help the poor, either we have to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we’ve got to acknowledge that He commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition and then admit that we just don’t want to do it."
Stephen Colbert

Sufficiency

2011-10-01T11:52:00.004-04:00

My church, PCC, is stepping into some exciting territory. We are inspired enough to believe that something amazing is going to happen in our community in the next few months.

We believe that it is no accident that we have been leaning in this direction.

We believe that lives are going to change. We believe that an entire community can be changed when a few individuals step forward and intentionally choose to live a different way. We believe that small steps can lead to radical changes - for the better.

Me? I am convinced that in the next few months I'm going to experience the "surprising truth of sufficiency" in a new and meaningful way. I can't wait.

This quote from Lynne Twist encapsulates where I am. And where I hope to be.

Hope you'll come along.

"For me, and for many of us, our first waking thought of the day is "I didn't get enough sleep." The next one is "I don't have enough time." Whether true or not, that thought of not enough occurs to us automatically before we even think to question or examine it. We spend most of the hours and the days of our lives hearing, explaining, complaining, or worrying that we don't have enough of. . .We don't have enough exercise. We don't have enough work. We don't have enough profits. We don't have enough power. We don't have enough wilderness. We don't have enough weekends. Of course, we don't have enough money--ever.

We're not thin enough, we're not smart enough, we're not pretty enough or fit enough or successful enough, or rich enough--ever. Before we even sit up in bed, before our feet touch the floor, we're already inadequate, already behind, already losing, already lacking something. And by the time we go to bed at night, our minds race with a litany of what we didn't get, or didn't get done, that day. We go to sleep burdened by those thoughts and wake up to the reverie of lack. . .What begins as a simple expression of the hurried life, or even the challenged life, grows into the great justification for an unfulfilled life. . .

We each have the choice in any setting to step back and let go of the mind-set of scarcity. Once we let go of scarcity, we discover the surprising truth of sufficiency. By sufficiency, I don't mean a quantity of anything. Sufficiency isn't two steps up from poverty or one step short of abundance. It isn't a measure of barely enough or more than enough. Sufficiency isn't an amount at all. It is an experience, a context we generate, a declaration, a knowing that there is enough, and that we are enough.

Sufficiency resides inside of each of us, and we can call it forward. It is a consciousness, an attention, an intentional choosing of the way we think about our circumstances." ---Lynne Twist

For more information, look here or contact the church at (804)598-1174.

Eight Fears

2011-09-29T23:19:00.002-04:00

The prompt from my groovy pals at Eat, Write, Post, Bathe - Eight Fears.

Hmmm.....

1. I seem to be afraid that the world is going to run out of ice cream, since I am compelled to eat ice cream more frequently than is prudent.

2. It may not qualify as a fear, but I really, really, REALLY don't like going over high bridges like the New River Gorge. or the entrance ramps from Interstate 20 to I-35 in Fort Worth. I watched those ramps being built and was completely freaked out by driving on them.

3. I'm afraid if my daughters DON'T STOP SCREAMING SO DRAMATICALLY ABOUT YOU TOOK MY ONLY JEANS WITHOUT HOLES IN THEM TO CHICAGO WITH YOU FOR TWO WEEKS that I might walk into the kitchen where they are studying for tests (Syd) and washing dishes (Sarah) and scream.

4. At some point, Frito Lay might decide to stop making Lime Tostitos. I fear this day.

5. When my kids are driving somewhere, I always fear The Other Guy.

6. I'm afraid I'll never lose this 20 pounds. See those posts about the ice cream and the Tostitos? There you go.

7. I fear cancer. I hate that I do, but I do.

8. I often have to make difficult decisions that involve people. I fear that sometimes, they don't get over it. But I am learning to let this go.

See You At The Pole: Remembering Shawn Brown

2011-09-27T23:21:00.002-04:00

A post from my blog archives commemorating this time last year. Tomorrow morning is "See You At The Pole". Sydni, Daniel and David will participate at their respective schools. I never completely relax on the Wednesday in September that is claimed for this event. And I will never forget.

Here is my post from 2010.

Today I dropped my kids off at the high school early. Some students and a few parents, including a local school board representative, were already gathering around the tall flagpole that stands in the center of the circular drive.

And I remembered.

September 15, 1999. The "See You At The Pole" movement had begun in Burleson, Texas, a few years earlier. As the school year began, the call went out for Christian students to meet at the flagpole on a certain Wednesday morning, taking a stand, praying for their school, their friends and teachers. "Standing up for Jesus". It had become a strong, well-attended event for Christian kids, especially in and around Fort Worth, where we lived. In the shadow of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, where my kids' dad was working on his Master's Degree, events like this one received strong support from the community, the parents and the kids.

As SYATP gained momentum, pre- and post-pole gatherings became popular. In 1999, local churches planned to gather on that Wednesday evening to celebrate at Wedgwood Baptist Church with a rally, a cool Christian band and some typical Texas youth ministry fun.

Sarah was eight years old that year. Her kindergarten teacher from a previous year, Kathy Brown, was active at Wedgwood Baptist and excited to come by early to pick up Sarah and Shannon so that they could participate in SYATP at our neighborhood elementary school. This was a bit unusual, as this was an older youth event, but Kathy's husband Shawn was a Southwestern student, a youth ministry leader at Wedgwood and crazy about his wife and her students. They babysat Sarah and Shannon for us on a few occasions (David was born in June of that year, and we had a full house, with five kids aged eight and under. We needed help!)

Shawn and Kathy took the girls to pray at the flagpole that morning. I was so proud of my kids, and they were excited to be part of something that the "big kids" did.

That night, we went to church as usual. For some reason, Lonnie had elected not to participate in the regional rally at Wedgwood. He led youth ministry at Southcliff Baptist church, and he decided to keep our students there rather than take them - and his wife and kids - to Wedgwood. I dropped off the older kids and ran a quick errand, since I had no Wednesday evening responsibilities at that time.

I heard the sirens, saw the fire trucks. Saw the mass confusion on the streets all around the neighborhood. I returned to our church and quickly began to hear news reports of a shooting.

In a church.

At Wedgwood.

Shawn Brown died that night, along with six other people. Our neighbors. Larry Gene Ashbrook went to Wedgwood with a hatred for Baptist churches and a desire to do harm, and he did so. He walked into the church and began shooting. Shawn was the first one he hit.

I remember staying up late, watching the chaos of the news reports, repeatedly calling Shawn and Kathy, trying to figure out if they were safe. Realizing, with numbing horror, that they were not.

To this day, Sarah keeps a snapshot of Shawn beside her bed. That event marked her in ways that she couldn't understand then. I'm not sure any of us understand today. It was my first brush with the pain wrought by evil and the shocking realization that church was not necessarily safe.

I was naive.

My "See You At The Pole" commemoration is not in front of a school. Today, I remember Shawn and six others who stood at their flagpoles eleven years ago, and then died at the hands of someone who hated everything they stood for.

O Say Can You Sing

2011-09-20T15:37:00.000-04:00

This past weekend before we sang in church, I talked about singing in church.

It's an odd thing, this notion of people singing together. If we believed in life Glee-style, every act would birth a musical moment. There would be singing and dancing and harmony and a hidden orchestra around every corner.

But unless you're creative and have a jukebox in your head (like my friend Lindsay Harris), there's probably not a lot of opportunities to sing out loud with other people. At ball games, we mumble along with the National Anthem. In a restaurant or around a cake with candles, we sing "Happy Birthday".

And then we come to church. The traditional approach to a religious gathering is that everybody sings: hymns, choruses, responses.

In church, we sing together.

But that's not necessarily true for everyone. I'm talking to people and asking questions and finding out that a whole bunch of people do not, in fact, sing in church. At all.

It's important. It's worth considering.

Here's a great quote from Chris Vacher regarding this very topic:

"Private, non-corporate elements of worship reinforce individualism and make the neighbor invisible to us.

But corporate singing, in which you can actually hear the voices of other human beings...there's power in that."

- Greg Thompson, from here.

Makes me think about what it is people expect when they walk into church. When the music starts, are you anxious to sing? Is it as meaningful to simply watch? Do you feel the power of which Thompson speaks?

Do you sing in church?

Nine Loves

2011-09-19T20:56:00.001-04:00

Here's the latest prompt from my Eat, Write, Post, Bathe group.

Let me just say I love these people in this group. But that's not one of my responses to the prompt.

Here we go:

1. Mitchells Ice Cream. Honestly, I love ice cream. And I particularly love ice cream because my husband loves ice cream, even more than I do. And so we share this thing, which makes it even better. Mitchells is the best ice cream I have ever eaten. We have some intense debates about whether or not Blue Bell could take Mitchell's in a taste test, but because we can only get our hands on "the best ice cream in the country" by dining at Carrabbas (which sort of irritates me), I vote Mitchells. It makes me swoon. It is delicious. And I've had a few very special moments over a carton of Mitchells. And there was that time that Tony brought down about ten cartons of Mitchells on dry ice, because you can only get the stuff in Cleveland. How can you not love that?

2. The beach. Particularly Emerald Isle, North Carolina. It is steady, constant, consistent and the place where I have walked and walked and walked and asked questions - and received answers.

3. Jesus. It's not a religious thing, but an overwhelming appreciation for who he was, what he did, what he stood for and how he loved people. I do believe he was who he said he was, so there's all this savior/son of God aspect in that as well. But simply put, aside from religion and church and (for me) my job, I love Jesus.

(please note that these are not ranked in order of importance or preference. i do not love ice cream more than Jesus. this is a list, not in any particular order.)

4. My children, together. I love them individually; they are unique and wonderful people. I am often awestruck that I am their mother. But together, they create an incredible force. Like a comedy troupe with great timing, they react and play off of one another. There is a solid love and understanding amongst them that I hope will last throughout their lifetimes.

5. The Cleveland Plain Dealer; The Dallas Morning News; The Fort Worth Star Telegram; The Pittsburgh Press; The Richmond Times-Dispatch. One of my best memories is Sunday afternoons, post-church, when we'd come home to Mom cooking something for dinner, a Steelers game on tv and The Paper. I'd read and nap on the floor. To this day, I treasure getting the paper and finding an uninterrupted hour to read it. It doesn't always happen on Sunday, but the same principles apply on Monday. Or Tuesday.

6. Running. I do love it. I just don't do it much. I'm back on track and hoping to get back into a rhythm. And hoping my body will hold up.

7. Sleep. This seems sort of ridiculous, but there is a deep beauty in true rest. Sleep is underrated. I love waking up from a good sleep and realizing that I can stay a little longer. I love to sleep.

8. Beethoven. And Chopin. And Bach. Forgive me for lumping them together, but there is something so solid in returning to familiar notes and phrases that have endured the passing years and changing styles of music. I am challenged and comforted by the music of these composers. I go here, when I have time, and I play for me. I love that I can do this. (Thank you, Mom, for the lessons...)

9. My husband. Again, again and again. I love my husband.

(I also love The Jefferson Hotel, my brother Eric, my Uncle Dave and my car. I love my mother-in-law's piano and the comfy chair we bought from Ty & Co. I love Chic Fil A and Starbucks skinny vanilla lattes. I love pedicures. I love massages. I love cherry Jolly Ranchers. I love Tuesdays at my job.)

This is, by no means, an exhaustive list. But it's a start.

What are yours?

STORY In Chicago

2011-09-18T20:50:00.001-04:00

We went to Chicago. It was a conference called STORY but really, it was an experience. It was unlike anything I've experienced in the Christian conference realm. Rather than a brain dump of good information from great communicators, STORY was two days worth of moments. Some funny, some intense, some comfortable, some stretching. Some tasty - can you say Twinkies served on a silver tray? Moon pies and Cokes in glass bottles - served on silver trays. Awesome swag, from hand-sewn shoulder bags to Brennan Manning books. Amazing stories. Authentic lives.

Good information from great communicators, but so much more than that, really. I can say this, off the top of my head, before I have time to go through all my notes:

1. If you ever have the opportunity to hear Esther Havens, Ed Dobson, Ann Voskamp or Ian Cron speak - DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. GO.

2. I met Chris Vacher, aka @chrisfromcanada, another friend I'd never met. He was as nice and generous with his time in person as he is in the blog world.

3. All Sons and Daughters. Worship music. Brilliant.

4. Kyle Cooper. Scared the crap out of me. Brilliant, talented, amazingly creative.

I really, really liked my two days in Chicago. I went with great people and had memorable experience. It changed me. That's a good thing.

The set; tree branches. Awesome lighting. Brilliant graphics.

This would be a good time to tell you that all photos are courtesy of Sarah Brawley's amazing eye and camera.

Good sammiches at Snarfs. We ran into a friend of Katie's who just happened to be working at THAT restaurant. Weird.

Great Chicago-style pizza at Gino's. And a VERY intense conversation...

Friends. Incredibly talented people. Love them both.

In the van. Oh, the van ride. 14 hours of glorious fun and bonding.

Me. For a moment, I felt like a movie star.

Us. These are some of the people who make the services happen at PCC. We are creative, and we are not ashamed.

Again, thanks to the talented and generous Sarah Brawley, whose photography skills are brilliant.

#roadtripquotes

2011-09-15T01:51:00.001-04:00

If you follow me on twitter or are a friend on Facebook, you noticed our #roadtripquotes today. I am in Chicago tonight, after a grueling drive from Virgina through the Midwest to this grand city.Most of my creative team is here, along with our children's pastor (who is sleeping with the senior pastor) (which is appropriate) (because they are married). Several months ago we signed up to attend the Story conference, designed for creative types. We are hoping that the next two days will be inspiring, powerful and meaningful. So far we have had a good time. You get to know people while traveling in some unique ways. Brian, Susan, Lindsay, Sarah, Katie and I made the drive. We picked up Jackie at the airport; she flew in from Richmond this evening. Elijah took the train up from St Louis, and John will arrive by air in the morning.We are making a personal investment of time and money because we believe it will make a difference in the work we are called to do at PCC. we will be back for the weekend services; hopefully Brian will not have starved to death. And we won't get lost. Again.

Legal Aliens

2011-09-13T12:28:00.004-04:00

This is Natasha and Christine. They met last week at a programming meeting. Natasha has been around PCC for several years; Christine for a few months.

They connected and stepped up to work on the stage design installation for the 9/11 service. If you saw the large flag we used for the background in last week's service, you can thank Natasha and Christine, along with Jackie Heberle, Natasha's husband Terrance and Bonte Fugatt.

Essentially, somebody said, "Wouldn't it be cool if we had a huge flag?"

And then, we did.

After wrestling with chicken wire and hundreds of pieces of colored tissue paper, we had a flag. Thanks to a couple of women who connected through their church and have become friends.

The coolest thing?Last week's project was a bit of a challenge for these two women; they needed a diagram and a chart to make sure they got it right. See, Natasha is South African. Christine is English. Both ended up in a rural county in Virginia. Both made their way to PCC. The American flag is not their flag, but a symbol of their current home country.

There's a great verse in the Bible, in the New Testament book of Galations, that says, "In Christ's family there can be no division into Jew and non-Jew, slave and free, male and female. Among us you are all equal. That is, we are all in a common relationship with Jesus Christ. Also, since you are Christ's family, then you are Abraham's famous "descendant," heirs according to the covenant promises."

We like having these two girls around, with their weird accents and interesting vocabulary. That common relationship we share makes us friends, equals, heirs.It's very cool.

And we're glad to have them around.

If you are interested in helping out with our set installations or any other part of our creative work, let me know. We have fun. We'd love your help!

We Will Never Walk Alone

2011-09-11T12:01:00.002-04:00

I was so powerfully moved by the video artwork created for today's service. Katie Rusch and Josh Bartlam did an amazing job taking a borrowed idea (thank you, Passion City Church!) and making it work for our community.

The song is "Shelter" by Jars of Clay.

Here's the video. If anybody ever asks you what our church is about, this will give them a pretty good idea.

PCC Drawing Video from JB Media on Vimeo.

To all who are looking down holding on to hearts still wounding
For those who've yet to find it the place is near where love is moving
Cast off the robes you're wearing, set aside the names that you've been given
May this place of rest in the fold of your journey bind you to hope
You will never walk alone

In the shelter of each other we will live
We will live
In the shelter of each other we will live
We will live

If our hearts are turned to stone there is hope; we know the rocks will cry out
And the tears aren't ours alone; let them fall into the hands that hold us
Come away from where you're hiding, set aside the lies that you've been living
May this place of rest in the fold of your journey bind you to hope
We will never walk alone

If there is any peace, if there is any war
We must all believe our lives are not our own
We all belong
God has given us each other
And we will never walk alone

My Political Statement

2011-09-09T08:04:00.001-04:00

I don't do political blogging. I'm interested and aware, but not drawn to discourse or declarations about the process or the candidates.

I saw snippets of the president's speech last night. Based on my reaction to what I saw - not what I heard, mind you - I've decided to make a political statement. I've chosen a side and I'm going to be vocal about what I believe. And this has nothing to do with Republicans, Democrats or Tea Parties. I support the president of the United States, whatever his party affiliation. The office is deserving of respect.

Some things transcend political positions.

And let me say also that I know this isn't an original statement - I've heard or seen it before - but I will adopt it as my own today.

Okay. Here's my political statement.

Referring to Congress and politicians and those in positions of power and leadership:

Congress needs a mother.

I swear! Watching the reactions to the president's speech - the raised eyebrows, looks of derision, knowing smirks, the pouts and crossed arms refusing to stand ("YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!") - OR cheering madly for "their guy" regardless of the words coming out of his mouth and shooting snarky looks to the guys across the aisle - it reminded me of my kids during some of our more interesting family meetings.

When my kids disrespect one another, mock or make fun of or simply refuse to acknowledge the value of what is said by a sibling, they get the evil eye. Stern correction, sharp words.

That's not how we behave.

Call me simplistic, overly optimistic or naive, but I believe this: If, collectively, the mothers of the members of Congress walked in that room and straightened them out, we'd have a working democracy. A few well-spoken, well-timed words and that look (you know the one) and all the power plays, grand-standing, bad manners and selfishness would go out the window.

"I raised you better than this."

"Were you born in a barn?"

"Don't speak to your brother that way."

When common, basic respect goes out the window, nobody listens to anything anybody else says. When you tear down others with your words, compromise is impossible. If you don't listen, you don't understand.

"You listen when I am talking to you. And don't you roll your eyes at me."

"You know better."

Honestly - don't all of us know that it's important to be nice? Didn't our mothers raise us to be good people? Don't we know that we should respect others?

"Do what's right. Even if it hurts. Do what's right."

"Life's not fair. Get used to it."

Each of those statements carries a small amount of moral imperative - but coming from your mother, accompanied by the look, you tend to accept and acknowledge the importance and the truth of what otherwise might be easily brushed away and ignored.

Maternal power goes a long way. I think a little of it would go a long way towards redirecting our political process towards something that would make us proud and make our country better.

Before you even try to do the right thing - which, granted, may be different according to your perspective and political persuasion - you must learn how to treat others with respect. I just don't see much of that in our political process.

Every few months I dial in the local AM station and listen for a while to the afternoon radio show of a man who purportedly wields great influence in the arena of political opinion. After 5 minutes, I'm furious; not because of the political positions, but because of the sheer rudeness that passes for insight and political positions. I don't know why I do this; perhaps only to remind myself of what's going on out there. It's depressing.

Perhaps our next political movement should be away from tea and towards simply reminding political leaders of how they ought to behave. And maybe part of the process ought to be a Time Out corner for those who are unable to treat others with respect. And a mother or two to send them there as needed.

Then maybe we could get something done and quit all this ridiculous posturing and positioning.

The end.

It's That Time Of Year

2011-09-05T21:44:00.000-04:00

I am home.

I am listening to YoYo Ma play Bach's cello suites.

I am sitting in a sea of gratitude, knowing that Tropical Storm Lee spit his fury on my brother's house and sent a huge tree onto their PT Cruiser and through their bedroom. And they were not injured - not even home for the chaos. Spared, and safe. And I am grateful.

And I am at the cusp of an unblemished moment.

Tomorrow begins a new school year. As a teacher, I love this time of year. More so than January, this is a time of new beginnings. Fresh pencils, brand new socks and a chance to begin anew.

Three of my five kids return to school in the morning. My middle child begins her senior year. Something tells me this one is going to be hard. I foresee a lot of tears. Not because of her, but because of me, learning to let her go.

For six more years, I will do this. Buy notebook paper and binders and backpacks and make sure there is Lunch Food (which is very different from Real Food) in the house. Six more Septembers.

I cannot envision what my life might be like seven Septembers from now. But we'll get there, won't we?

The kids return to school and I return to work at PCC, after a restful and restorative three weeks away. It's been a great, refreshing time. Most of all, I have found myself. Most of all, I want to learn to keep track of myself during the normal course of time so that I keep from inching so close to the edge.

We ended August with a whirlwind road trip, just the husband and I. We headed to Winchester and had our first Bed & Breakfast experience in an amazing work of restoration. We stayed at the Nancy Shepherd House, and unbeknownst to us until we checked in and began to chat, the innkeeper is a musician of some renown. David and Tony had musician friends in common and it was the most beautiful of coincidences to realize how very small the world can be. We listened to David play banjo, had a cold drink and some great conversation and enjoyed a wonderful night's rest. I can't recommend this place strongly enough; I don't know if all B&B experiences are like this, but ours was wonderful.

We went on to Cleveland to say hello to Tony's parents and bring home the newest member of the family. It was a wonderful visit, if a little quick. We managed to have some time for conversation with everybody, loaded up Satchel II, made it to Mitchell's for some amazing, hands-down-best-in-the-world ice cream and slept. Then we crawled out of bed early this morning and headed south. After a very quick stop in Harrisonburg to hug Shannon, we managed to make it back home in time to prepare for everybody's first day of the rest of our lives.

This marks the end of many things, but with endings come beginnings. It is the nature of things.

The bones of the Nancy Shepherd House date back to the 18th century. Over 300 years have passed since it began its existence. Time has changed much of the house and its surroundings. Chimneys and stairs were walled up, floors were covered up. Many of the changes failed to endure; the house ended up in disrepair.

But the bones were good and sturdy and strong, and with enough time and focus, restoration brought out the beauty within.

I think maybe nothing ever really goes away completely. Things change, and some parts of all things and all people live on in some way. In us, in a foundation, in the huge piece of chestnut from a once proud tree that was part of Fort Loudon and then part of a small inn in Winchester. That bears the touch of us here, today, in the turning into fall of 2011. In a daughter full of show tunes who begins her final year of high school with determination and a challenging schedule. In family, strength and intelligence and character passed on from a father to a son.

I am getting close to a vapid, new-age sort of proclamation of goodness and light. I am tired. I will stop now and end this post with this best wishes to all for a wonderful beginning tomorrow. And a prayer of gratitude for the safety of my brother and his family.

And to all, a good night.

It Changed My Life!

2011-09-01T12:42:00.001-04:00

I did something incredibly smart.

I have decided to share it with the world.

Here goes:

I have a smart phone. I hate my phone, but that's another post for another day. In fact, I would encourage you to eagerly anticipate the upcoming post about my utter contempt for this phone, because it will be full of blood and guts, violence and gore.

(The plan is this: when the iPhone5 is released, I will purchase one for Tony as a late birthday gift, and I'll take his "old" iPhone to replace this phone, which will not hold a charge longer than four hours, which creeps along like an 89-year old man with arthritis when asked to do the simplest task - say, one like, "Hey, little black phone. Please look up this phone number in your contacts.')

(It chokes.)

(I used to beg, I used to plead and say nice things and treat it well. I've given up. It hates me, I hate it and we are breaking up as soon as something better comes along. Which is the iPhone 5.)

(Sorry, I lost my train of thought.)

(What I meant to say was that when we get a new phone, I'm going to pulverize this one. And take photos. Or maybe even video. And I'll post it here.)

(I'm sure you can't wait.)

Anyway, here is the smart thing I did with my smart (but hated) phone:

I turned off all email and Facebook notifications.

In fact, I deleted the FB app.

Now, I can still access any of this info (if the phone cooperates). But I do it on my time, at my request, when I make time to pay attention.

I cannot convey the way this has changed my life. I have regained some control; I don't feel constantly distracted and interrupted - which inevitably led to feelings of inadequacy and being overwhelmed by stuff-I-need-to-do-or-haven't-done-and-have-no-idea-how-I'll-get-done.

It's the little things, people.

Give it a try.

You're welcome.

How I Should Live

2011-08-31T10:42:00.000-04:00

My study break is beginning to wind down. It has been an interesting two weeks - three, if you count our vacation, which kicked off this short season for me.

I started this time - even the vacation - so wound up and stressed that it was barely possible to hope for rescue. Frankly, I was having serious thoughts about leaving my job. Struggling with doubt as to my purpose - not just in my career path, but in the larger context of what I believed, and why, and was it worth it. Was it even true?

I wondered, quite seriously, if I was depressed. It runs in the family. It is not beyond possibility.

I wrote pages in my journal about joy - specifically, about my lack thereof.

I cried.

I looked practically at my schedule, my responsibilities. I have been purposeful in seeking a new way to do what I must do on a daily basis; I've come to believe that it's not that there is too much, it is that I am unable to process and then respond to everything that comes across my path. I've tentatively and gingerly put into place a process of managing information and energy that I'm convinced will work. It's worked these two weeks, anyway; the key is to maintain priority and the discipline to filter what's in my head to the appropriate place, and then have room to breathe. And be creative.

Which makes me happy.

(I'll write more on this process later, when I have a longer track record and can testify to its worth with confidence.)

I have played the piano, and although it took about 10 days to get there, I am now sitting down and playing for fun. With joy. For me, that means Scarlatti and Mozart, along with a little Miles Davis and George Gershwin. Spontaneous songs of praise and worship.

I have walked and stretched muscles that haven't seen the light of day in a while. I have enjoyed my children.

In many respects, I have re-captured the essence of who I was for about 10 years - a mom, first and foremost, with a part-time job. For thirteen years, that's what I did and who I was - part-time employment, full-time mom.

Even on this break, I am well-aware of my responsibilities to my workplace. They are ever churning in me, and part of the work I have done daily is directed towards the future. Plans, ideas, staffing, etc....it's all in there (at the appropriate times). But my priority for these three weeks has been home and the kids and my relationship with my Creator.

If there's anything I do that feels like a mandate from God, that's it. I am the only mother my children have. They have a terrific, godly step-mother, and I am thankful for her influence - but I am the mother of my children. No one else can play that role in their lives.

And that's what I am contemplating today, as I look towards the slow crawl up and out of my study break. Designed to help me refresh, refocus, refuel, I have arrived at this new/old discovery of who I am and what is my purpose.

I am a mom.

This role feels much different than it did a few years ago, or 15 years ago. It's more complicated. I remember the days of having four kids under the age of five, two of them in diapers, and people saying, "Oh, treasure these days! These are the EASY days!" If you said that to me, I want to tell you: I thought you were insane.

But guess what? They were right. These days, being a mom is unbelievably complicated. The skill set required is a lot harder than providing food, keeping them bathed and clothed, settling quarrels and driving them places. It is complex, often a mine field of split second decisions about when and how to react, when to speak, when to listen, when to push, when to let go.

I am a mom.

I must confess; I began to write this post with a different ending in mind, one that would quote the words I read this morning in the Book of Common Prayer, one that would begin to tie together the loose ends of understanding and wisdom that have come during these few weeks off. I was going to offer spiritual guidance and insight about being a living sacrifice, about realizing that "in Christ, we who are many form one body and each member belongs to all the others". I was going to explain what I have learned about trusting in God being a by-product of acknowledging and praising God, in spite of doubt and unbelief.

But: I began to write, knowing that it is the primary means of processing for me, and to my surprise, what I have apparently learned from my study break is what I've known all along.

I am a mom. To five incredible children. I have a family. I am yoked together with a good, godly man who is my husband, who I have promised to love and honor and serve.

And yes, I have a job, and I am a minister, and it is worth pouring my life into those things. But in my daily living, to have work at the top of my priority list and allot the dregs to my family, I have not only dishonored them but also turned away from who I am. And, in doing so, I do a grave disservice to the One who has called and equipped me and given me these children.

It makes me happy to have my home and family first in my life. I feel at peace with God; I have a sense of joy and purpose. I feel creative. I feel an immense amount of positive energy.

This, then, is how I should live.

"In our words and in our lives, may your will be done."

Macaroni And Cheese And Chocolate, Oh My

2011-08-30T23:10:00.001-04:00

We had a great time tonight at the middle school band orientation. We rent instruments at the store and we have everything the new musician needs. Come see us for all your band needs!

End of commercial.

In other news, we came home to discover ANOTHER exceptionally delicious meal prepared by Sarah. London broil, perfectly prepared (though she said she didn't know how to cook it and had never done a London broil); HOMEMADE macaroni and cheese (we moaned in something just short of utter ecstasy); some sort of potato/mushroom/red pepper/yellow pepper/spinach roast thing. She had left the house for a quick run to the mall and kindly left this feast out for us.

I ate, and lo, it was very good.

So I grabbed a carton of ice cream for just a taste of dessert. I had a few spoonfuls down when she walked in the door and declared, "MOM. STOP EATING THAT RIGHT NOW."

Yes, I do need to lose a few pounds. But I had a great workout today....a little ice cream wouldn't hurt...why was she YELLING?

"I BROUGHT YOU SOMETHING."

Let me just say this: I have a daughter who not only cooks incredible food but ALSO goes to The Cheesecake Factory and brings her mom half a piece of the most decadent chocolate cheesecake ever.

You want to marry her. Admit it.

Aren't You Tired?

2011-08-28T20:53:00.000-04:00

What a week it's been. Earthquake and a hurricane.

Chaos.

We survived both, and today the sun shone bright and clear as the day dawned. It was a beautiful late summer day; the remnants of Hurricane Irene are to the right and left of us, as our road is still closed to thru traffic due to a power line that is laying across the road. Limbs still litter yards and power is still out in some places.

But I awoke this morning to an empty house, cleared out early today when everyone left early to serve at church. Except me. I'm still on my study break, and so I awoke later than usual. Had coffee, surveyed the yard and thanked God for sparing our trees, mostly. Showered and headed to church in time to sit with a friend and worship God.

It is a good thing, this going to church. I work at it so hard in my regular life that it always takes me by surprise when I just go. I sing the songs they sing and let them carry my heart. It was good today to sing these words: "Take this heart and make it new / make it true / make it like you / take my hands / I lift them high / they're yours, not mine so do / do what you will / do what you will...." And the song grew in power and the lyric cried, "I'm ready now / I'm ready now / I'm ready now / Do what you will..."

I sort of feel like that. So it was good to sing that song. Especially good to be led by my eldest daughter, back in town after a summer away. She sings beautifully and she worships with authenticity and she led her mom (and others) well today. The message was powerful, as well. Fresh and focused and one of those that will stick with me throughout the week. I'm glad I was able to simply go to church today.

(If you missed the service and would like to catch it, you can do so here. That particular song starts around the 19:30 mark.)

After church I took my girls to lunch. We shopped at Target and then met up with two other friends to see The Help.

What an incredible movie. I read the book last summer and had no idea I'd be so moved by the film. It brought up feelings of shame and pride, sometimes simultaneously. I think it's particularly moving as a woman, though I wouldn't classify this as a chick flick - it's a great history lesson and a well-written story, and I intend to ensure that my boys see it. But as a woman, it's shameful to see how we - as a gender - are capable of such horrible harm. In this movie, it's not just an issue of race, although that is the primary story. The depiction of the level of cruelty and just plain meanness of which we - as females - are capable is quite disturbing.

We have great power in us; power to lift up and encourage, power to harm and destroy. We can manipulate and scheme or we can be humble and vulnerable. I have seen women do terrible, deceitful things with apparent ease.

I have been such a woman. Most of us have.

This story contains brutal depictions of true-to-life "mean girls", while it also demonstrates incredible stories of redemption and courage. None of these characteristics - negative or positive - are limited by race.

In one of the most powerful scenes of the movie, Aibileen, a central character, confronts Hilly, who represents the worst of the movie's blatant racism. Hilly has just maligned Aibileen's character, accused her of thievery and cost her her job. In the midst of her righteous indignation, Aibileen gets in her face with a good bit of indignation of her own; and then, grace settles over the tense conflict with these words from Aibileen's lips:

"Aren't you tired? Aren't you just tired?"

We are called to walk in the light and to live in the truth. It can be a hard road, but the end result brings wholeness. Scarred, for sure - but people are better people when we can safely be who we are, tell the truth and be vulnerable. And it is true indeed; expending energy trying to be who you are not, or consistently maintain power at the expense of common decency, is tiring. Living a lie is exhausting.

Powerful, incredible movie that will make you think. Highly recommended.

And here are a few glimpses of the joy I carried with me today, hanging out with two beautiful young women:

Planning dinner recipes for the week with Chef Sarah...

Yeah, she's just awesome.

And we tell her so.

2011-08-26T00:41:00.000-04:00

My job is confusing sometimes. Officially, I am the Pastor of Creative Arts. But frankly, I made up my own title, and so sometimes it's been Director of Worship Arts. Or Arts Team Leader. Or Worship Leader.

Sometimes I feel like Resident Grouchy Person. At times, I've claimed the role of Person Most Likely To Make The Pastor Crazy. Sometimes I am Staff Member Most Likely To Cry In A Meeting. Other times, Person Who Sings In The Hallway.

My job is to make music, and lead worship, and organize and help and train others, and counsel people, and get people connected, and help develop strategy, and write dramas, and write songs, and sometimes preach, and be on call, and listen, and move chairs, and reach people, and help them become, and lead devotionals, and edit video, and edit messages, and....well, that's all I can think of right now. There are so many things that we want to do, so much that must be done; it all runs together.

And here's the thing: we work in a rapidly growing church and I find myself needing to function at a level of management and administration and leadership that is way beyond my schooling and experience. I never thought - never planned - never aimed to be in leadership at an organization of 1500+ people. There have been times during the past 9 months that I have felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. It's not just that there's a lot to do - it's that it's hard to know what not to do, because everything needs to be done. It's hard to say "no" and create a "stop-doing" list when you are well aware of the impact on those around you who will have to catch the things you drop.

It's been a tough season. It's been hard to know what to do; it feels like a major identity crisis. And in the midst of it, people have gotten hurt. And that wrecks me.

Most every day of the past six months, I woke up anxious. That leads to paralysis. And I don't know what to do about it.

And so I asked for input, and I got it. It was a little scary, and it felt awkward. "Hi! If you don't mind, tell me what you think about me! Okay, then! Thanks!"

But I really felt it was necessary. I'd lost perspective. I needed help.

Here's what I have learned: First of all, I keep trying to do too much. Secondly, I keep trying to do too much while neglecting the fact that in order to be a spiritual leader, one must have a healthy spiritual life. Which one cannot have if one is too busy to invest time and energy into a healthy spiritual life.

Thirdly, I don't like being in a bad mood every day. Fourthly (is that a word?), waking up anxious every day feels sort of like a heart attack, which might well be a natural result of too much stress and too little exercise and the utilization of Ben & Jerry's as a primary source of stress relief.

I don't want to have a heart attack.

I got great, honest feedback from folks who aren't afraid to tell me the truth. Some of it really made me feel good. Other parts - ouch. But all of it served to give me perspective. Which I need.

I'm grateful to those who took the time to tell me what they see. It's a reality check. And quite helpful.

Have you ever asked those around you for a reality check?

Hurricanes, Earthquakes, Study Breaks

2011-08-25T21:20:00.000-04:00

Study break update: Things are going relatively well, considering we've had an earthquake and are in the path of a monster hurricane.

These things don't happen every day.

I have had some great conversations and some interesting times of introspection. I have cried in the car listening to worship music.

I have cried in the car when the pharmacy was closed.

I have cried in the backyard when I realized how long it had been since I'd taken the time to sit down and really listen.

I cried playing the piano.

I cried on a walk.

See a common thread here?

I'm wondering if I can attribute a lot of my angst to hormones. That would be easy and helpful. But maybe cheating.

Me, not crying in Starbucks.

Here's one thing: I have not cried over dinner. My eldest daughter returned from her time in Germany with a strong desire and an undeniable ability to prepare meals. And to do so well, with joy. So every night this week, prompted by this blog and the inspiration of my cousin-in-law and her summer host Denise, she has cooked. Oh, has she cooked.

Munich pasta.

Pork chops with apples and wine sauce. Grits - GRITS! - with bacon and thick cheese and cream.

Homemade - HOMEMADE! - lasagna. Salad.

Most of all, she has taken this weight off my shoulders. When Syd asks, "What's for dinner?", I smile and say, "Ask your sister."

And everybody's happy.

Well, except me, in those crying moments. But you gotta walk through the crying to get to the happy endings, I know. I'm in a good place. Just wet. And waiting for the hurricane.

Here's another thing: Tony's monster skin cancer is gone and his dermatologist has commended him for his excellent granulation. That is a good thing. Now we are at the point where he gets a daily dressing change. That's me, honing my nursing skills. I've never dressed a wound quite like this one; it's big and raw and who knew your skin had so many definable layers? We've achieved a new level of intimacy, and he can now wash his hair. Yay.

So all in all, all is well. The wind blows where it will, and I'm considering the stories I heard of Hurricane Isabel years ago. The next few days should be interesting.

The Weaker I Get

2011-08-21T22:21:00.000-04:00

Last week was my vacation. Most everybody gets a vacation from their job. Most of us do something similar to what our family did; we spent some time at the beach, hanging out with one another and extended family.

I am fortunate - extremely fortunate - in that along with my vacation, I have the option of taking time for a study break. This is not uncommon for folks in a creative line of work. I don't always take all of my study break time, but I try to get some time away to focus each year.

That hasn't happened in a long while.

Since January - actually, more like since September of 2010 - I have done a poor job of maintaining a healthy schedule. I have not taken care of myself as well as I should have. I have neglected my own personal spiritual growth. I haven't had much break time.

I have tried to do more and more with less and less of my internal reserves. As my job and ministry responsibilities grew - as our church grew - I tried to shoulder more, all in my own strength.

Along with added responsibilities, changes and growth at church, we've had more than our share of transitions and changes within our family. Since September: Shannon left for JMU, Sydni did a major CYT show and a PHS production, Sarah went to Germany again, I had knee surgery, Tony was diagnosed with a large skin cancer, we lost a dear friend to cancer, we moved, we opened a business, we're planning a major remodeling project.

We're not the only busy people in the world. There are others who have had a challenging year, for similar or different circumstances. I don't claim any greater privilege.

But I know myself. I am responsible for my actions, or lack thereof.

And I am in need of a paradigm shift, a repositioning. I am fortunate that I can take advantage of my study break time to focus on doing just that.

So, this week, I'm going to be intentional about most every hour of every day. Sometimes, I will intentionally take a nap. Sometimes, I will be intentionally taking a walk. I might be reading, or just sitting and thinking. Or listening to music.

It might look like nothing. You might see me and think I am taking it easy, taking advantage of my church and just enjoying a few more days off work. Somebody reminded me last week that many people remain convinced that those of us who receive our paychecks from a local church don't work that much anyway. Show up on Sundays (now Saturdays as well) and sing or play or preach - how hard can it be? What do you have to do for the rest of the week but play golf and read the Bible? Why do you need a break from that?

I don't have time or energy to defend the work we do, but I'll say this: the staff at PCC includes the most dedicated people I know. Most of them give a minimum of 40 hours per week to their job - even those that are part-time. We do whatever it takes.

"Whatever it takes" on my part has not been managed well. I'm stepping back to reevaluate, refocus and let loose the grip I've had on my life. I read the following in the Bible, and it gives me pause. Makes me think. Gives me hope that I am not alone in this.

My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness.Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become. 2 Corinthians 12, The Message

Part of my time away will include a break from Facebook and Twitter. I may blog, because sometimes I just have to write. But then again, I may not. Either way, I'll be off of Facebook and Twitter, cautious with email and the telephone and seeking a good bit of silence.

And praying that strength will come from weakness.

We Read

2011-08-18T09:49:00.000-04:00

I come from a family of readers. When on vacation together, we do a lot of reading. This is a small sampling of books that were scattered around the house this morning.

Once, I brought my friend Gina to the beach. I had packed three or four books for the three or four days we would spend together with our kids. It wasn't until that trip that I realized that some people thought we were weird. Not everybody reads on vacation.

I'd rather read than play putt-putt or go out. So would most everybody in my family. When we get done reading our own books, we read each others'. We read from our books to one another. Which is why we all know a little bit about Keith Richards this time around.

Added to the mix this morning: a discussion of Isaiah 59 (brought to the table by one of the kids) and a search for which Led Zeppelin song reminded me of a witch (The Battle of Evermore, in case you're wondering. Don't ask me why.)

Looking at this photo one more time, I find it a very intriguing mix of tastes and styles. Some of these books are for school. Some are for discipline. Some are for fun.

The metaphor is too easily applied for my family. I wonder if anybody but us can match the book to the reader?

Roll With The Changes 2011

2011-08-16T09:16:00.000-04:00

Vacation, 2011. Emerald Isle.

The weather is perfect. A little rain now and then, blue sky and sunshine most of the time and bearable temperatures. Of course, I spent the entire first day in the house. Never left once. I forgot my swimsuit. All things considered, that's not a big deal. It is enough to be here in a spacious (though oddly decorated) house, surrounded by family.

My parents are in and out. They have their own place here, but they are currently challenged with a wide variety of broken things. Shower heads, door locks, awnings, air conditioners. Sadly, their vacation time is not so leisurely. But they can come whenever they want, so I don't feel too badly for them. They pop in and out of the rental house and hang with us here; napping, reading, snacking, talking.

Sarah is home, on American soil and (hopefully) snug in a comfortable bed at her dad's house after a long day of traveling yesterday. Her final flight was delayed three hours; not until my phone rang at 12:30AM could I truly relax. I'll take the final step when I see her later today.

The kids are older, their maturity and growth obvious when we sit together to play a game of Mexican train dominoes. Everybody is old enough to play now, and the dynamic they bring to the table changes who we are. When we are together like this - when the cousins are playing and laughing and interacting with us other and the adults - I have lots of those little moments of pleasure, what feels like a 400-level class of parenting. I am so much more aware of how our kids are growing up when I watch Levi, the youngest, turn to his mom as she coaches him through his first game of dominoes and says, "Mom - I hope you are not using me to your advantage." When David is able to wield the sword of sarcasm and irony as well as his sister. When Emily joins in with the rest of us in appreciation of a well-timed word.

They grow older and our family expands, takes in more air, rounds out the rough edges. It is a beautiful thing.

But is a constantly changing thing. I'm reminded today of the song we used to close Sunday's service at church - one of those "I never thought I'd hear THIS song in church" moments. It tied fairly well to the message but I'm not sure the takeaway isn't something broader for me. It must be, because the lyric keeps echoing through my head this week.

I knew it had to happen - felt the tables turning
Got me through my darkest hour...

So if you're tired of the same old story
Turn some pages
I will be here when you are ready
To roll with the changes...

The changes in our family are obvious this year. We are not all together; Shannon is with us only via Skype. Sarah is not here yet. Daniel is not here yet, due to his passionate (and honorable) commitment to band camp. Tony and I will leave today for a doctor's appointment; he'll stay home and I'll bring Daniel and Sarah back tomorrow.

Roll with the changes. That's sage advice. Never thought I'd be reflecting on an 80's pop song during a vacation in 2011 as the mother of five kids, but there you go.

It's been a good week so far. I've no doubt that if we simply keep on rolling, things will be great.

I Saw Tony's Pericranium

2011-08-11T00:37:00.000-04:00

I'm going to begin this post by wagging my finger in your face and nagging a bit. If you have any sort of odd spot on your skin - anywhere - GET IT CHECKED OUT. Don't wait. Don't put it off. Don't think it doesn't matter because it's small. DO IT NOW.

And if you love someone and you notice some unusual, red, rough spot on their skin - or just something that doesn't look like it belongs - NAG THEM. NAG, NAG, NAG UNTIL THEY SEE A DOCTOR.

No excuses.

Need more info? From Wikipedia:

"Patients can present with a shiny, pearly nodule. However, superficial basal-cell cancer can present as a red patch like eczema. Infiltrative or morpheaform basal-cell cancers can present as a skin thickening or scar tissue – making diagnosis difficult without using tactile sensation and a skin biopsy. It is often difficult to distinguish basal-cell cancer from acne scar, actinic elastosis, and recent cryodestruction inflammation."

There. You'd better do what I said. See a doctor. Or else.

Okay. Enough of that. Here's why: I spent about eight hours today in a bizarre sort of interval training for patience. We arrived at the doctor's office at 7:30; by 8:30, they were ready to begin a Mohs procedure to remove a cancerous spot from the top of Tony's head, which was about 1 1/2 inches in diameter. They cut, then they analyze to determine that all the cancer is gone. If some remains in the living tissue, the cut again. More. Deeper. Then they analyze...then, if necessary, they cut. Again. And so on. Until they get it all.

We went through three rounds of this process.

My husband now has a small crater in his head about 4 1/2 inches in diameter. It was too large to stitch, too complicated and disfiguring to do a graft - and so underneath the gauze and the bandages and the porcine temporary graft (yeah, look that one up), his head is raw and open, clear down to the pericranium. You can look that up, too, but let me save you the trouble and tell you that it's THE BOTTOM LAYER OF SKIN. The pericranium is what attaches to the skull. We achieved a new level of intimacy today; I saw Tony's pericranium!

And that's what is underneath the bandage on my husband's head. We are hoping, praying and behaving ourselves in a way that we hope will bring about rapid regeneration of tissue and a healthy, new skin growth; but it will take time. And it will be inconvenient. And it will leave a mark.

I didn't know better. I was ignorant. I saw the shiny spot on his head and just wondered what it was.

I never realized it would matter as much as it did today.

The consequences of my ignorance (and Tony's too, I'll admit) were lived out today in eight hours of painful surgery (under local anesthesia only, mind you) and will be part of our daily lives for several more weeks of healing. I'm not even including the part where he felt great and wanted to stop at Best Buy and then got hit with dehydration, "narcotic naivete" (Percocet had a bizarre delayed reaction) and nausea, which led to passing out in my arms, an ambulance ride and an evening enjoying the unique ambience of the MCV Emergency Room (where the doctors and nurses were great, I must say). I'm not even going there. Yet.

Just check your skin, people. And don't put it off. Don't think it's too small to matter.

It does.

In case words do not convince, here's a picture. It's a picture of a picture; what you see is the top of Tony's head, IN IT'S ENTIRETY, with wound covering the top with about one inch to spare before his hairline. It's big, it's ugly and it hurts. Avoid this AT ALL COSTS. Check your skin!!!!

The Nature Writing Prompt

2011-08-07T21:52:00.001-04:00

In many Eastern traditions, the world of nature is considered to be maya, or illusion, while in other Eastern and Global South traditions, nature is mother. Western tradition has often teetered between the assertion that nature is God’s good creation and that it has been “frustrated” by human sin. In more recent times, the world around us has been regarded as the expression of random selection and chance. Explore some aspect of nature (as in the non-human world) and write a short piece (fiction, poem, mini-essay) in which your descriptions reflect and reveal your philosophical understanding of nature..."without actually stating directly what your philosophical position is."

Tonight we ate our first family dinner in our new home. This has been Tony's home for several years, and after the wedding when he lived with us it was the cat's home for a while.

Can you imagine - the cat had an entire house to himself?

I think it was Tony's man cave for a time; probably a good thing to have for a guy in his 50's who marries a woman with five loud, energetic and talkative kids.

Then Lisa lived here for a time, and filled the place with peace.

And now we're here.

At the table we passed the meat, the rice, the gravy and squash. Banter back and forth was a little less than gracious tonight, with some of the stress of transition evident in the dialogue. We are still in a place that doesn't quite fit us, all the loud and boisterous and messy parts. We can't find our drinking glasses. We have too many forks. There are no lids for the pots.

Something caught my eye, and I looked out the window and caught my breath. From the table, I saw it.

Home.

This was our home, our property, our space. Our trees, out back, where we have already held a birthday party and a graduation party. Great, glorious old trees wrap a canopy over a picnic table and a blue beach table built by my dad.

The house is fine here; it's bones are good. We'll add on and we will fit better.

But the land, the nature - that is what calls to me. There is something about this place that holds the echo of eras gone by. From Lisa's most recent roots to those that go back much further. The ground, the grass, the foliage, the ancient trees - they hold some secret that I would be well to embrace.

They live; they have grown, they have endured for a generation (or two). And one day, they will pass away.

But in these days - and for my family, here and now - they are our shelter. This is our home. We shall put down roots, we shall be watered, we shall not be moved.

We are home.

Yeah, more of our Write, Eat, Post, Bathe stuff. We're cool like that, into nature and all.

I'm A Guest Poster!

2011-08-02T21:46:00.000-04:00

I've been busy - but I've got a guest post up over at Chris From Canada. Chris Vacher is a worship leader in Canada whose blog has inspired me and sparked all sorts of creative ideas.

He's on holiday and asked a few folks to fill in for him on his blog. I wrote about "Manifesto", the powerful tune we've been doing lately by The City Harmonic.

Hop on over to Chris's blog and check it out. I'd be honored if you read what I wrote, which includes a little personal history and a picture of a place my brother called "Fort God".

Be sure to check out some of Chris's posts as well. He's a good writer, songwriter and a powerful voice in worship. I'm grateful for the invitation he offered!

Chris Vacher's blog is here.

2011-07-28T00:15:00.000-04:00

I am taking a few vacation days in order to move.

I am moving households.

When I married, 19 months ago, he moved himself and the bare necessities into our house. I felt it was best for the kids.

And it was.

But now, a year and a half later, on the heels of launching a new business, sending kids off to college and everything else that is our mid-summer life, we are moving ourselves to HIS house.

I always wanted to live there, anyway.

I am happy. Seems like this is something that I've been waiting for since the day I said, "I do."

"I do want to live in your house and share your space."

"I do want to integrate all of us into your life."

"I do want to move past making room for you and move towards a new place that is ours - all of ours."

"I do want to design a new kitchen together."

"I do want to leave a lot of my stuff behind - literally and metaphorically - and start fresh, clean, simple."

Getting to the simple part seems littered with a LOT of work. My feet hurt, my shoulders hurt, my back hurts.

I am annoyed that I don't seem to be able to get enough sleep.

But I have absolutely nothing to complain about.

So I won't.

On Feet

2011-07-24T23:07:00.000-04:00

Daniel's feet in Tony's face, driving to Florida last year.

The writing prompt this week from my little group of Friends I've Never Met is on feet.

I've thought and thought. Frankly, this was an compelling topic for me, for I've always had a soft spot for feet. Not quite a fetish - nothing so weird as that - but an appreciation for the tender vulnerability of feet.

As a mother, my infant children's feet induced a strange, precious fascination. As they nursed, I would cup their tiny feet in my hands and marvel at the vulnerable life entrusted to me.

Those days are memories now, creeping into the nostalgic, sepia thoughts that begin with, "I remember when you were little...." and end in bewilderment, as I gaze upon young adults and wonder where the time went. My youngest - the one who just a few short years ago made a midnight trek to my bed every single night to cuddle and doze til morning - now wears shoes sized 10.5. His feet seem to be way past vulnerable, reflecting instead a gargantuan future and the sorrowful inability to share shoes with anybody else in the house.

My husband has feet that are unblemished, uncalloused. Tender. Oddly enough, his hands are rough and worn, with dirt and dust under his fingernails at the end of each day. He is a hard worker, and it has taken a toll on his body. But his feet are tender, more like those of a newborn than a 50-something man.

And they are sensitive. Diabetes has opened the door to a slight bit of neuropathy that causes just enough discomfort during the day to become pain by evening.

He crawls into bed at night and waits for me, as I check the kids, tidy up, wash my face, adjust the A/C. I walk into the room we share and my gaze falls to his long limbs stretched out across the bed, his eyes closed as he begins to drift towards sleep. His feet stick out; he is tall, lanky, and never quite enveloped into the bed until he gives in to an honest, deep sleep.

As I pass by, I cup his foot in my hand. It is the tender, protective desire I felt for my children as I watched them sleep. Innocent, vulnerable, open; I want to wrap myself around this soft underbelly, this soft skin.

He startles, every time.

Sometimes he speaks.

"Don't touch my feet, baby..."

And he drifts back to sleep.

Things change. All that we feel compelled to protect sometimes blows by on strength we never expected. What we see as necessary is often simply our own desire to reach out and touch, to reach back and grasp a time that hindsight has revealed to be of greater innocence than we ever imagined.

What is tender and exposed does not always welcome our touch.

This post is thrown out into the air thanks to the encouragement and random association I have with a group of FB/Blogging friends. We've never met, but we are like-minded souls. Together, we understand the value of life, in this order: Write, Eat, Post, Bathe. Thus far today, I have accomplished all but one of the stated goals of our self-titled group. If you would like to join our group, you probably can't.

Productivity: Or Not

2011-07-20T23:11:00.000-04:00

Today I kept an eye on Shannon Brawley as she recovered from losing her wisdom teeth, did some packing for our impending move, did service planning, had a great meeting with someone who will be serving at church, caught up on admin stuff for work, chased after email, had several PCC-related phone conversations, ran to Office Max and watched an interesting wrestling with the laminator, took two kids to Sweet Frog, wrote a blog post, taught a piano lesson, interviewed two prospective music teachers, hugged my parents, let my son drive me home in MY car (don't tell his stepdad), made rice bowls (with lime/cilantro rice - watch out, Chipotle!), figured out how to do cucumbers like they do at Asiana Bistro (good because somebody gave us about 25 cucumbers) and store them in the fridge for snacking - yum!, applied medicine to my son's infection, cleaned the kitchen (mostly) and watched an episode of CSI. And now I'm going to bed to read a bit more of "Unbroken" on my Kindle app for my iPad.

My favorite parts of the day are the ones with "Mom" all over them. And the moment that will come in about 30 minutes when I close my eyes and fall asleep.

I struggle with feeling "productive" on a day like today. I go and go and go, talking and thinking and encouraging and listening and just doing whatever is on the calendar that needs to be done. I check Facebook and read email and keep an eye on Twitter and watch the world fly by. There is NEVER a moment when I feel as though I am "done" when it comes to my job; every seven days, there it is again - SUNDAY - and it's hard to escape that constant pressure. I like it - I crave that adrenaline and that creative state. But days like today are necessary. I wasn't in the office and I don't necessarily feel "productive", but I've been on the go, doing lots of different things out of the different elements of my life and letting my mind sort of expand.

Writing about this tonight helps me recognize the value of the day. It will help me be creative and "productive" tomorrow.

But I'm thinking about those cucumbers and wondering if being productive is maybe overrated.

Shout Out To Mike Sessler

2011-07-20T18:18:00.000-04:00

This is Mike Sessler.

This blog post is a shout out to Mike Sessler.

Mike is the Technical Arts Director at a large church in California. At some point, I stumbled upon Mike's blog and have religiously read his posts in an attempt to have intelligent conversations about things completely unknown to me.

Techy things.

I'm amazed and astounded at what is doable in the digital media world, and I only appreciate about a tenth of all that's going on. From my vantage point in my role at PCC, I understand the basics of lights, audio, graphics and video - but these days a basic understanding will get you, basically, nowhere. In the church world, Technical Arts are just that - both artistic and technical. Add ministry and team leading to the mix and you've got a very interesting job description.

Mike writes in a way that helps me navigate the waters of unfamiliar seas. I get leadership and ministry and arts, but technical knowledge has flown way beyond me. Mike inspires and informs and writes like he's just a doggone nice guy; one that knows what he's talking about.

So shout out to the blog - check it out here - but also shout out to Mike for giving me 20 minutes of his time via telephone yesterday for an impromptu interview. He let me pick his brain for a few moments, which gave me a fresh perspective and some excellent insight.

He's a doggone nice guy. Smart, too. Smart, nice people who aren't afraid to help others make the world a better place.

Looking For Balance

2011-07-19T22:42:00.000-04:00

I've been busy. Oh, so busy.

Last week, a friend told me that by his count, I had five full-time jobs.

Mom.
Pastor.
Piano teacher.
Small business owner.
Something else, but I can't remember right now. (Is being a wife a job? No, I don't think so...)

Well, whatever it is, I'm probably doing it.

And lately, it's all been pretty overwhelming.

My husband opened a store. We're in the music business, and we've planted ourselves smack dab in the middle of Powhatan Village, which is a GREAT place to be.

We've opened a music store, and people are coming. And spending money. And signing up for lessons. And buying equipment. And asking questions.

I'm teaching there a few days each week, and supporting and encouraging Tony along the way. I'm proud of him and I'm excited.

And I'm exhausted.

Did I mention that we are also moving, in about 10 days, into a house that we'll be renovating in the next two months?

Life's a crazy ride right now. But honestly, it's not all bad. I just have to find balance.

I know I have it somewhere. It's buried up in my room, underneath a pile of laundry.

What we did today - organized (balanced!) a huge inventory of music. Woo hoo!

Why I Write

2011-07-11T21:56:00.000-04:00

Why I Write
At its purest, my efforts to write are more about processing than anything else. I'm all about that "an unexamined life is not worth living" business, and I use words to do most of my examination. When I blog, I do that work in public. Which is sort of weird, I guess. But it works for me. Odd as it sounds, it brings an element of "reality" to the process.

Sometimes I talk out loud. In fact, I do that a lot in the car; prepping for conversations, working through issues. Or just talking to myself. Verbal blogging; comes from the same place as the writing.

Maybe I'm a little weird....

Basically, I write to understand myself, mostly.

I also write to see what others think. When I first started blogging, I anxiously awaited the buzz of the comments. They were affirming. I felt better about myself when somebody said something nice about a post. I felt important. However, all that has faded. I like comments now - but I don't write for any reaction. I do find myself wondering what people think, and a negative comment will stick with me, but it's not a huge deal. Like it used to be.

But I still wonder.

I also write often from my real life role in as a creative woman in leadership. It's a unique perspective, a unique role and a unique church. Probably two-thirds of my posts are written with that audience in mind.

And I write to celebrate my kids. They are incredible stories in their own right. Sometimes I like to tell them.

What I Expect
I expect that I will understand myself a little better. Sometimes I think I don't do life and relationships very well, so I write about myself, throw it out there and see what sticks. The feedback I get often reassures me that I am not alone. Re-reading my own writing reminds me that I'm alive.

How It Makes Me Feel
Writing is cathartic for me. It's often incredibly healing and helps me move past things. it helps me process and cleanse emotional junk. It makes me feel healthy.

I also find it exciting to communicate about things that I feel are important or that might matter to others. I like to encourage and inform, and blogging is a good forum for that.

Doing It Professionally Or For Fun?
All my life, I have been a voracious reader. I love books. I'm getting pickier in my old age, but I'd rather read a book than see a movie any day. Good books have stayed with me for decades. I still remember reading John Iriving's The World According To Garp while in high school and being totally, completely smitten. I loved the characters and the story, but I was drawn to the author. I wanted to do that.

I've always wanted to be a writer; but only a good writer. Blogging is a small way of keeping my foot in the door while hiding from the fact that what I'd really like to do is write something of substance, something that made a difference in somebody's world.

I'd like to be somebody's John Irving. I'm not sure that's my calling, but I enjoy the exercise.

Do I Hide It From My Real Life?
I blogged through a divorce privately. That was my first venture into writing outside of diaries and journals. I do believe that if I had not written as I did (and found kind, supportive voices to read and encourage me), I would not have survived as I did.

One of the character flaws that led to my divorce was my propensity for leading a double life. I do my best to avoid living that way now. I blog in real life and its all connected to my online life as well. I've having second thoughts about all that, but only because I can't keep up with all the relationships.

This post was in response to a prompt. I am part of a group of writing friends who have never met. We call our group Write, Eat, Post, Bathe . We understand our priorities.

My Little Breakdown

2011-07-10T00:48:00.000-04:00

A picture of me.

I came as close to what I'd call a nervous breakdown today as I ever have.

It all just felt like too much. When the straw fell that broke the proverbial camel's back, I was at the kitchen table, hunched over my computer, trying to manipulate technology that I don't really understand in an attempt to complete a creative process that I fully comprehend.

As if that makes sense.

Anxiety, stress, a sense of everything tightening around me and no place to go. Difficulty breathing. And then tears leaking out of my eyes, morphing into sobbing. A "mom sob". What you do when you know the kids are in the next room, and you know that they'd freak out if they saw you crying. Especially when they ask, "What's wrong, Mom?" and you reply, "Nothing. EVERYTHING!"

I sat at the table and fell apart because I couldn't get a video converted. And the spiral of everything-that-is-wrong began in earnest. Things were named that have been lurking in my subconscious. All my fears and failures (that's in a song, isn't it? Points for the first one to name it...) All that was unknown. All that loomed before me; decisions and dilemmas.

A whole lot of stuff. Big stuff. Serious stuff.

I sent a text to a trusted friend. "I don't want to talk. I just need to say this, I need you to pray for me. I am overwhelmed...this is why...."

I named all that I could.

On Facebook, I jumped in on a conversation among a group of people - none of whom I have ever met in person. I asked them to pray for me.

They did.

My husband came home. So much of my fear and anxiety seemed to land on his head; it all had something to do with him, it seemed. It's not that he had done anything wrong or owned any blame - it's just that our lives are so intertwined, it's impossible to overlook the crossover.

And so, buoyed by prayer, tingling with tears, and shaking with anxiety, we started to talk. I was mad, pouty, snippy. And then I asked if we could go sit on the porch.

In the dark, snuggling in a wicker chair, I cried. I talked. I vented.

I just told him how scared I was, of all the things I couldn't manage, didn't understand, couldn't control, didn't know.

After a time, we sat together in the dark, and I reflected back on the message I heard at church tonight. God made us for companionship.

We are to carry each other.

I opened my mouth; my truth came out, along with fear and pain and hurt and anxiety. It came to rest and ascended on the prayers of friends known and unknown, and in the arms of somebody who promised for better or worse. Tonight might have been one of the worst, but the flip side is relatively easy to access.

Tonight, I am grateful.

Star-Spangled, Grace-Filled Independence

2011-07-04T22:21:00.001-04:00

Here's what we did in church yesterday to set up the message:

Hat tips to Billy Metzner on guitar, John Ivins on Independence and Dave Santella on the edit and upload.

I love my church.

Hello? - WE ARE MUSICIANS!

2011-07-02T10:31:00.000-04:00

1. I drove Syd and Shannon to Dulles yesterday for their flight to Macedonia. What should have been a quick five hour turn-around took 10 hours. Hello, Friday on a July 4th weekend in DC traffic!
2. David had his first shopping experience at IKEA, since we had to pull over somewhere to rest. And there it was - a huge blue box of comfort and joy and air conditioning! $300 later, our bellies were full of Swedish goodness (cheap, good food!) and we were ready for the next leg of the Never Ending Drive.
3. Did I mention that Big Red's A/C was only blowing hot air? And that it was 96 degrees yesterday? That'll wear you out.
4. We listened to Christmas music during the drive. For the first time in years, I am excited about Christmas at PCC! Planning ahead is good!
5. IKEA purchases were for the store, so when we hit Powhatan around 11PM, we went directly to Powhatan Music & Sound to have fun with allen wrenches. I love IKEA picture people.
6. Found Tony, Jim Wheeler and Daniel at the end of THEIR 14-hour day. They were as tired as we were, but they had A/C.
7. I put together three chairs and stocked reeds and strings. This took several hours.
8. At 2:30AM, David started saying, "Mom - are you sleepy? I'm not sleepy. Not at all. But we could go home. But if we do, I'm just gonna watch tv. I'm not sleepy. Are you sleepy? I'm not sleepy."
9. We came home around 3:30AM. My boys worked hard. I am so proud of them.
10. I spent another 30 minutes printing some materials for this morning.

This means that I went to sleep around 4AM, as did the proprietor of Powhatan Music. And yes, it's opening day - and you would think that we would be there at the break of dawn to be cleaning up and readying the place. But we are night owls - hello? - we are musicians!!! - and we did all that last night.

So, Mom and Dad - this is why, when you called at 8:30AM, we were indeed still asleep. But no worries: it's 10:30, the store is open and we're headed into another 20-hour day!

And life is good.

P.S. The Macedonia team arrived safely. Yay!

Time Flies - Macedonia 2011

2011-07-01T00:56:00.000-04:00

Syd with a Roma girl two years ago in Macedonia

Shannon and Syd leave for Macedonia tomorrow.

Sarah has been in Europe for two weeks already.

My, how time flies.

These girls - my babies - have grown up and embraced the opportunity to fly, literally. They are pouring parts of themselves into other people, across the globe, in places foreign to them.

I have set this aside and tried not to think about it, really, because if I think about it, I am overwhelmed. There is little fear or anxiety anymore -just a general, maternal, "Please be safe..." panic that ebbs and flows. I have learned that they will go, and that is that. I pray for protection and miracles and simply learn to lean into a trust that I've yet to develop, but one that is there when needed.

Seems these sorts of character issues grow out of necessity. You don't even realize it's there until you look back a recognize how it was pressured into existence.

Syd wrote this tonight:

God, you are good. So good. You have entrusted me, labeled me as one of your own, and sent me out into this world. You have honored me with a partnership with you and the Roma people. This week it is my prayer that you move through me. That your light shines through every pore in my body. That I become a ball of inextinguishable fire for you and your greater purpose. Let healing begin this week, eradicate all injustice and pain. Begin to blend the line between heaven and earth so that the Romani experience what true, unchanging, eternal love is. What your love is. This week give us the ability to soften Romani hearts so that you can mold them. See you in Skopje.

Shannon with a Roma friend in 2009

Parenting Tips

2011-06-25T00:06:00.000-04:00

I'm blown away tonight after looking at an array of photos that showed all of the teams serving in Chesapeake this week with World Changers. My kids have been part of a World Changers trip every year since we started coming to PCC.

I am convinced that their investment in these trips (and mine) has been one of the most formative experiences of their lives. They have learned things and experienced things that I never could have taught or shown them.

They are better people for it.

It's been tough. The first few years, especially, when I'd yet to experience that acquired parental ability to trust that they'd be safe (and alive) while they were out of my sight. See, as they have grown, so have I. Trust and patience and peace have grown in me as I let them slip out of my sight.

They have have transformative experiences on these trips, and it's made a huge difference in the young men and women they are becoming.

This year, only Syd and Daniel were able to go to the local trip; they served this week in Chesapeake, working 10-hour days to put on roofs and weed flowers and fix landscaping and whatever else needed doing. They served people who needed a hand. Next week Sydni will take another World Changers trip, accompanied this time by Shannon, going to Macedonia in Eastern Europe to serve the Roma people.

My kids are world changers, but they've been changed, too. And I firmly believe it's one of the best things I've done as a parent.

I looked at the pictures and was blown away; out of the 16 groups that served this week, you can find PCC faces in every group. We sent 90 people to Chesapeake this week, and they changed the world. But they're changed, too, and they're coming home.

I imagine they're bringing some change with them.

Daniel's World Changers Team

Syd's World Changers Team

Surprised By Grief

2011-06-24T14:32:00.000-04:00

I need to remember this
So give me one last kiss
And let me take a long last look
Before we say goodbye

I carried a basket of clean clothes into my bedroom and started to methodically pair up the socks. A familiar melody began to stream from the speakers in the corner, and my throat tightened.

Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn't have a care in the world...

I sat on the edge of the bed, a thin crew sock clutched in my hand, and the tears came. It seemed like such an awkward, unbidden moment; the tendons tightened in my neck as I fought against a wave of raw, naked sorrow.

I was folding socks. I'd just eaten lunch, worked on some financial aid forms with my daughter, started the washing machine. Where did this come from?

It's a beautiful, glorious day - the sky is, indeed, a deep blue, and I am busy, for sure, and a little stressed, for sure. But why this gut-wrenching grief that causes me to lean on the dresser while tears fall, because I hardly think I can stand? Why now? Why this moment?

No reason, I suppose, except the familiar strains of a melody and a surge of memory; a cd, a box set, lent to me with care. Friends sharing favorite music. A flashback to a concert and a song sung; a partnership, a singer and his accompanist, a struggling girl and a warrior.

And a raw, gaping wound of loss. What it means to be without.

The end of the innocence.

Hurt is deepest when the love has been strongest. It is this season, I suppose, where my years have caught up with some of what I thought I already knew, and now I know things in my soul to which I have, up til now, only given intellectual assent.

I know that missing somebody is a pain indescribable.

I know that joy can live with sorrow, two sides of the same coin. Two chords in the same song.

I know that one day, I will grieve again. I cannot escape.

I know the love of a man strong and true, and I know that the future will bring a day when one of us will be left to mourn. And it will tear a ragged edge in the heart of that one, while the other soars to eternity. Part of the daily grace is bound in the knowledge that this is, indeed, until death do us part.

I know this loss, an acquaintance that I did not know prior to this great friendship. I am friends with this pain. My tears flow hot and humid, and I cannot swallow, and the clothes remain in a jumbled pile on the bed.

I know this loss, because I have also known this love, the friendship of a good man with a strong arms, good taste and the voice of a well-lived life. I would not trade that for any such happy-ever-after.

After Midnight We Gonna Let It All Sweat Out

2011-06-22T00:51:00.000-04:00

It's after midnight - oops, make that closer to 1AM and I'm still up. So much going on - and I'm working until exhaustion and then starting all over again.

But I feel good. I miss my kids, the majority of whom are out of town (except for one who is diligently working). Life is so quiet without them. But (and don't tell them), I sure am being productive.

I am giving the message this weekend. I am really excited about it - it's very creative, in a way that suits me perfectly. Our teaching team has worked hard to coach and encourage one another and I got some great constructive criticism from them this week. I'm excited about kicking off our new series; it feels like a team effort!

By the way: I hesitated to write that last paragraph, because there's always this fear that if people know in advance that Brian's not on the platform, they won't come. Please tell me you'll come anyway, even though I spilled the beans!

I'm doing the message, and as we brainstormed about the closing song, some creativity lit up in my brain and I wrote something, which I'll take to Lindsay tomorrow morning and we'll work together to finish it out. I'm excited about THAT, too. Creative people LOVE creativity!

The music store is about nine days away from opening. Schedules are changing, there's lots of final touches and organization. We're doing a summer lesson program at Kidzalat Child Care Center and that's keeping me hopping.

And it's hot, and I'm sweating. I'm not sure how that is important enough to get into this blog post, but it's 1AM, I'm sitting in the dining room and sweat is literally dripping down my back. Maybe if I sit here long enough, I'll lose ten pounds.

My Momentum Conference Experience

2011-06-18T15:08:00.000-04:00

Kent Singletary at MOMENTUM - great vision-caster!

I went to Nashville this week. Saw very little of the city - mostly sat in a conference room for three days. But there were some great benefits to this trip. In no particular order, here they are:

Road trip with Brian Hughes. All you need to know is this: donuts, crazy driving, several moments of purely hysterical laughter and constant starvation. Seriously, the guy is FUN.
Road trip with Susan Hughes. It's obvious that God is good, because he gave Susan to Brian. She is calm, cool, collected and incredibly wise. Also, tons of FUN - but without the donuts.
Road trip with Tony Stoddard. Serious, careful, maintainer of vehicles and lover of Dairy Queen. Seriously, the opportunity to spend over 10 hours in the car each way with my husband was a major win. Haven't seen much of him lately, so this was a nice second honeymoon. With Brian and Susan along for the ride.
Sneaking into Jon Acuff's office after a tour of The Lampo Group. I didn't touch anything, just breathed in the fumes of funny.
Being around a workplace that honors God and loves people as it does business. Brilliant and inspiring.
Hearing a message of hope and freedom centered on money - still rocking my world. I am fascinated and am starting to see that God has been setting me up for this. Still processing.

Jon Acuff, in his office. Sort of.

Walking in the room to see Michael Easley. He is a minor celebrity in the Christian world - former president of Moody Bible Institute, now a teaching pastor at a big church in the Nashville area. But to me, he's the former pastor of Grand Prairie Bible Church, a preacher who sat with me in his office about 25 years ago and asked me one hard question, three times. I lamented my circumstances at the time - confusion, some failed relationships, a lack of focus and purpose - and he said, "Let me ask you something: Is Jesus the Lord of your life?" I mumbled something about church attendance and singing in the choir, and he asked the same question again. I responded with the proud assertation that I didn't even work on Sundays before 1PM - and then he asked again: "Is Jesus the Lord of your life?" My life shifted that night when I surrendered my way to God's way, unable to shake the persistence and truth of his question. I traveled to Nashville in my role as a pastor - a leader - at my church, and I ran smack dab into the guy who pushed me towards Jesus way back when. There's been a lot of water under and over the bridge since then - but that moment - and that question - were pivotal in my life. I wouldn't have been there this week if Mike Easley hadn't been there in Grand Prairie 25 years ago, willing to ask a hard question and offend me. He did both, and I will be eternally grateful.

More about the trip, what we learned and what we'll be sharing in the future - but let me assure you of this: God has put us on a path towards something that will completely transform not only our church but our community. This is the thing; it's what we've been waiting for. It was confirmed for me several times, in several ways.

I'm ready.

Dave Ramsey on air

The entrance to The Lampo Group Office

Money And Momentum

2011-06-17T16:17:00.000-04:00

Flying down the highway through the hills of Tennesse; Brian is at the wheel, Susan is navigating, Tony is sleeping and I'm trying to adjust my attitude back towards the day-to-day routine of work and home. We'll be back to Powhatan this evening, full of inspiration and conviction, excitement and momentum.

We've been at a Dave Ramsey conference for three days. Brian and I sat through three days of teaching, all based on the principals of freedom. This was a "money" conference, but it wasn't about money, really. It was about bondage - which is a weird word - but it suits the idea.

Most of us feel like we're making it if we're making our payments. I feel that way. Financial success means you're getting the bills paid, right?

After this week, I'm wondering if I've settled far too easily, accepted that definition with little push back. Money is important; a good part of my life is focused on getting and using money. But I've not thought too much about how I control it.

Or if it controls me.

I'm not materialistic, really. It isn't difficult for me to be satisfied. I've been in debt, and I've gotten out.

But I confess, I don't have much of a plan. Don't really live with a budget. And though the bills get paid, I'm convinced that there's probably a better way. There are precepts and ideas about money and planning that I've ignored, brushed aside or assumed weren't really applicable to my life.

I was wrong.

I learned a lot over the past few days. Personally, I'm doing some hard thinking about my lack of attention to my financial life - even though there's no apparent problems. I know I can do better.

And as a church leader, the potential is huge. Because as I look around our community, I see so many people who are desperately trying to manage a huge amount of stress that is centered on money. Our spiritual lives are crippled when we are bound up with anxiety about money.

People can't live when they are in bondage to anything.

I am still processing all that I learned this week. However, I am fairly certain of this:

I will never be the same.

And I am fairly certain of this as well:

God is nudging us to bring these precepts to PCC in a big way.

And here's what I think: You are probably going to hear a lot more about this. And if you get on board, you will never be the same.

Tonight Was Interesting

2011-06-11T21:45:00.000-04:00

Well, tonight was interesting.

We met at 4PM this afternoon for our standard Saturday afternoon tech run. We prayed, ran through most of the service, got up to the point of the message - and then started paying attention to the rumbling thunder and the clatter on the roof.

Ivins came over and stood beside me.

"Is that rain?"

Brian ran up towards the stage from the tech booth and stopped halfway there. "Whoa!" And he looked up towards the ceiling.

Water was dripping steadily from the roof.

And then the lights began to flicker. Dustin dashed off to turn off the power before surges killed our equipment.

We walked into the atrium and saw a steady stream of cars turning into our parking lot; somebody informed us that a tree had gone done right in front of the church and the highway was blocked.

Shortly after that, strong winds and pressure sucked the atrium doors open briefly.

That was weird.

Without power, we started thinking outside the box. We pulled some chairs into the atrium, gathered around the folks already waiting out the storm on the couches and comfy chairs and started church. John and Walter played acoustic guitars, and Kevin and I helped with singing. We chose a few old praise and worship songs - those that knew them sang comfortably, and those who didn't were able to pick up the words fairly quickly.

It was an beautiful time. The acoustics in the atrium really ring, and we could hear one another singing. it was powerful.

Brian shared some words about the the true source of power; not so much preaching as simply talking to a room full of people.

We sang a little more.

And then we were done with "church".

The coolest part? We all jumped in and made it happen. No second guessing, no concerns.

And the best part? One of the couples who were headed towards Cartersville and ended up in our parking lot instead - due to a downed tree - they stayed. And stayed. And ended up staying for the entire time. They said that they were welcomed with open arms when they walked in the door, and they just thought they'd stay.

I love that. I love that we just hung out tonight, and that it was comfortable enough that a couple of strangers just wanted to hang out with us.

It was a good night. Very different, and not at all what we had planned - but it was a good night. One of our friends said it was absolutely the best "service" she'd ever been to at PCC.

Part of me argued (internally); it wasn't really a service! We didn't do what we had planned. We just sort of made it up as we went along.

We were just there. And we focused on spiritual things, and we prayed, and we spent about 45 minutes doing that.

And I made two new friends.

In terms of church, I guess that'll do.

It was a good night.

We're not exactly sure what to expect tomorrow morning. We do know that we'll adapt to whatever circumstances arise. Dustin is planning to spend the night at the church to ensure that the power company can do their work when they arrive. And we'll figure out what to do as we go along. Seems pretty obvious that God can deal with that.

A Unique Sunday

2011-06-06T08:29:00.000-04:00

Sitting down to write this post, I feel a weird tension between several of the primary hats I wear.

As a mom, I want to tell you about a couple of my kids - and a couple of their best friends.

As a musician, I want to tell you how awesome it is to experience the raw energy of passionate, young players who simply let music flow out of them. And let us watch.

As a leader, I want to tell you that NOTHING makes me prouder than witnessing the results of letting go. That would be MY release - letting go and letting people do their thing.

As a friend, I want to tell you about a great message I heard yesterday, one that addresses the level ground we all occupy and the ridiculous notion that any of us are better than the other when it comes to the proving ground of the Creator.

Bottom line is this: I went to church yesterday. It was a day off for me, but I went and witnessed some awesome stuff. I worshiped, but I also felt the undeniable joy of being intertwined with so much of what was going on in and around the place. It was extremely rich.

Above all, I have to wave the Mom flag highest. My daughter Sarah helped lead worship with her best buddy Elijah. They premiered a song that Elijah wrote, one that I heard whispered around the dining room table last week. Elijah sang, Sarah fished for some harmonies, and I said, "Dude. That is a great song. You should do that song this week." And they did. It was brilliant.

Travis helped Elijah lead worship. He is in and out of my house constantly, as the companion of my daughter Shannon. I admire and respect both of these young men. They've influenced my family in countless ways, and the mixture of emotions I feel when I watch them living out their faith with guitars and singing is vibrant and powerful.

Nathan played guitar - and RAPPED - and nailed every tune. Tony's protege and student, Nathan lives and breathes music and his passion for life is contagious. He loves it and he's unbelievably talented.

Sydni

My daughter Sydni engaged the crowd with her dead-on performance of the Penelope character from SNL. She wrote the script herself, worked through the editing process with grace and then used the character to set up the message perfectly. It was truly, absolutely funny - and fitting. I saw glimpses of an incredible talent in her performance yesterday, one that will propel her out and away over the next few years into what I imagine will be some amazing experiences.

All the while, my daughter Shannon was upstairs leading the kids' Power Jam ministry with the team of students going to Macedonia. Daniel prepared to lead worship at FOCUS last night, and David was just being David, which is enough.

All this stuff happens at my church. It's not a closed, members-only society. It's just a place where we get together on Sundays and celebrate. No matter my perspective, it's a place where I can be real and authentic. I can't help but think that the unique connection of my heart to the people I know who are living out their faith under the umbrella of what we call church is exactly what God calls us to do.

Love God. Love people.

Be the church.

Watch Sydni's skit here: it starts at about 23:15. Prior to that you can see Elijah's song and Nathan's rap and guitar solos. After the skit, you can hear Brian talk about what we have in common with Osama bin Laden.

A Friday Rant About Authenticity

2011-05-27T11:12:00.000-04:00

We've made it to FRIDAY FRIDAY and it feels great. However, I'm a little scarred this morning from discovering that the same folks who brought us FRIDAY FRIDAY have created another little gem called HOOKED ON YOU. It's surreal and bizarre and is another cultural indicator that we are, indeed, in the end times. It is disturbing. The kid looks cute, the video work is decent, the execution of the digital music tracks are spot on - but it is so fake that I find myself having visions of an Orwellian universe consisting of nothing but Hostess Cupcakes, frozen Bourbon Chicken in a Tyson's bag and instant coffee. And powdered coffee creamer. You know, fake stuff. Poor substitutes for the real thing.

I'm not sure why music like this becomes so popular - is there an element of our culture that really likes shallow lyrics and digital loops of meaningless chord movement? Or are we all just laughing at ourselves? Are we all in on the joke?

I hope so.

Along those lines, here's a piece of cultural observation that I think is brilliant. As disgusting as some of these photos and images are - and as much as I am embarrassed by and for some of these people - I can't help but watch this video and feel my heart swell with pride. Call me crazy, but only in America could you see this sort of thing in public.

I love this country.

And the reason why this video is entertaining and brilliant and gives me warm fuzzies, while Hooked On You and Friday make me want to barf?

It's real.

Reality works. No matter how ugly or embarrassing, what is will work.

Want to make a clever cultural statement? Want to create three minutes of 21st century contemporary art? Want to try to be cute and get my attention? Don't manufacture something sickly sweet and try to sell it to us as truth. You might catch my eye, provoke me to tell my friends and get 150 million hits on youtube, but it's empty and non-redemptive.

Show me a man in a skirt with a beer gut, passed out in the beer aisle at Walmart and write a repetitive, clever lyric about that.

I'm not sure it's redemptive - except to remind us all of our common, base humanity (which is the first step towards redemption, I think) - but brought into a rhythmic and melodic structure, it works. As art, it works. Nasty tattoos, a middle-aged man in a clown costume, women with insufficient fabric covering their rear - write a song about that.

Because that is real. It may not rhyme, it may be filthy, it may be beyond all comprehension, and you might not want The People of Walmart as dinner guests - but it's true.

And truth trumps all.

Behold, on this Friday, a special treat: The People of Walmart.

And if this isn't enough for you, check out the People of Walmart website. But don't overdo it on American authenticity....you might be overwhelmed...

Kids These Days

2011-05-26T00:04:00.000-04:00

It's midnight. I heard some noise from downstairs. I wasn't in bed yet, but I wasn't sure anyone else was still up.

I padded down the stairs to investigate.

I found Elijah and Sarah, crouched over a computer in the dining room.

"Hey. What are you doing?"

The glanced up, sheepishly.

"We're listening to the audio Bible."

They were.

I looked shocked, and perhaps a little annoyed (because it's midnight) (and I wanted some chocolate).

"What, Mom? You want us to smoke some pot or something?"

Those darn kids.

Don't Bring Me No More Bad News

2011-05-23T09:01:00.000-04:00

I can't quite find the right, compelling words to begin this post.

So I'll just say this: it is a heavy day.

Death and destruction in Joplin, Missouri.

Death here in our rural county, a friend of our church and a familiar sight all around this end of Powhatan as he rode his bicycle up and down Dorset Road - murdered yesterday, just a mile from where we live.

Sometimes I question the depth of the burden brought by news. Tornadoes in Joplin have wreaked tragedy, but I know no one who lives there. It's not personal.

I knew Robert in passing; the depth of our relationship extended to a wave on the road and conversations in the atrium on Sundays. Others will mourn his loss more deeply, and will feel his absence more intensely than me.

In light of my relative distance from both of these events today, it feels somewhat ridiculous to acknowledge that I feel so buried by sadness this morning. But I wonder if it is some indicator of maturity, advancing years, a marker of time gone by that causes me to feel such things as though they remind me of my very humanity.

We are all connected, in some way. We see our lives mirrored in the drama of others, and sometimes think, "There but for the grace of God..." Or we witness death and think, "My day is coming..." Or we just get a taste for how fleeting these days can be, how we are at the mercy of evil and nature, operating independently but wreaking similar havoc.

Or we are just sad, sympathy taking its natural course as we mourn and grieve our own or others' loss.

The end of our church service yesterday was powerful; Brian spoke of the gamble of faith undergirding the Christian belief in heaven. In the moment, we were reminded that our faith posits that one day we will see those who have gone before us. Brian called them by name: Randy, Bob, grandparents...and now Robert.

The strong foundation, the "YES!" I felt in that moment yesterday, is this morning replaced by the weight of the truth. Loss and pain and anger and frustration that life sometimes seems so ridiculously random. Two men shot down on a Sunday. A mile-wide tornado sinking down. Both brought destruction to what we see here on earth, and according to our faith, caught up these souls into the presence of Jesus.

The juxtaposition of such destruction and eternal life are not easy to reconcile. Not at the moment, anyway.

It is just a heavy, heavy day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This song lyric makes me think of Robert and every conversation I ever had with him, every time I roared past him in my Big Red Suburban as he pedaled his bicycle. He always waved, to everyone. His light shown brightly.

And we won't be afraid, we won't be afraid, and though the darkness may come our way
We won't be afraid to be alive anymore
And we'll grow kindness in our hearts for all the strangers among us
Till there are no strangers anymore

It Has Come To This

2011-05-20T22:13:00.000-04:00

Friday night, chillin' at home.

And I can't stop laughing.

I'm not sure if my life is amazing or utterly pitiful.

Oh, wait. that's not true.

My life is amazing. And this is funny. Maybe not for two minutes and forty seconds, but long enough to make it a good Friday night.

You're welcome.

Lights Will Guide You Home

2011-05-18T23:18:00.000-04:00

The slightest tweaks to my schedule can sometimes bring such life. We have moved band rehearsal to Thursday nights, and so for the first time in five years, I am free on Wednesdays. I had a meeting scheduled for tonight that fell through, so I ended up with an evening to myself.

It was so nice to pick up David from the music store, drive home, warm up dinner (generously and lovingly provided by a dear friend) and watch tv with my kids. We all scattered after the show ended; Travis went home, Sarah went to the piano to work out another Adele song, Shannon headed to bed, Syd is watching another episode of 'Criminal Minds'. The boys fell into bed early. Tony is spending another late night at the store.

Perhaps one day in the future I will remember this night. Something might trigger a taste of this family time, the easy way we are comfortable with one another. The way we tease and joke with familiarity, along with the tentative way my older daughters are testing their adult wings. It comes out now in the way they speak with me; sometimes I sense their protection, even. I can't really describe it but to say that I remember the season of my life when I thought I knew enough of the world to take over. I was probably more arrogant than my girls, who are strong and somewhat indulgent of me. But isn't it the duty of the young to rise up and take our places, to assert their own knowledge and energy and step into their inheritance?

Oh, I remember those days. And now, 30 years later, I occasionally taste true wisdom and discernment and recognize how truly naive I was. But that naive energy provides the fuel you need to change the world.

Listening to Coldplay's "Fix You", and remembering a small, silly but brilliant film of Nathan Lee and Stratton Glaze (of Maida Vale) lip synching to this tune in a car headed from Florida to Virginia. They were probably being silly, playing with iMovie; I doubt they even kept the snippet of digital creativity. But I will never forget it. Their intensity, as they wrapped their faces around the lyric. Two young men, traveling across the country with relatively few cares. "lights will guide you home/and ignite your bones /and I will try to fix you"

A song from the young to the old, from the strong to the weak. From the naive to the cynic. From the future to the past the dreamers to the doers.

Funny, the older I get, the more moments I have to delight in the staggering energy and life of my family, the deeper is my acceptance. I will be ready for that hand off.

But til then, I get to do a lot more dreaming of my own.

It's My Birthday

2011-05-16T11:23:00.000-04:00

Today is my birthday.

I am celebrating me.

That sounds so selfish, but I'm indulging myself. I'm doing what I want to do. I am enjoying every single one of the Facebook wall posts from people who only know it's my birthday because it came up on their news feed page.

It's 11AM and I am still in my pajamas, reclining in my bed, moving music from my computer to the iPad, reading, feeling the luxury of not having to do anything today unless I want to do it.

When people have wished me "happy birthday" in person, I have replied, "Thanks! You can get me a present if you want!"

My husband wrote me a two-page letter and left it for me. I'm a words girl, so that (and the fact that he turned off my alarm and let me sleep through the early morning get-up-for-school routine is a great gift) (although he lets me sleep in a few days a week) (which is like an ongoing birthday gift) (he's awesome).

Where was I?

Oh, the birthday letter. Love it. My brother and sister-in-law sent a great card with a gift card for yummy food.

Most interesting to me today: phone calls from my mom, my uncle Dave and my brother. These are people who have known me my entire life.

I'm just stuck there today. These people, among others in my family, have known me through every stage of who I am have been. Things that I have forgotten, they remember. In my very late 40's, trying to figure out what it means to be me in this season of life, my mom and my uncle and my brother know who I have always been.

And they called me today to remind me that they loved me, and that they thought I was cool (my interpretation, anyway). And I am taking that one step further to count on the fact that they'll stick with me, whatever comes.

At this point in the game, that's a pretty powerful thing. It's steadying and sure and it grounds me.

On this day - my birthday - I wish this for you: Remember who you are in the eyes of somebody who has known you forever, who is still rooting for you. And think about how powerful your support is to someone who you have known for all their days. Maybe let them know that you think they are pretty cool today, even if it isn't their birthday. Send them a message, pick up the phone.

Share the love.

And you can get me a present, if you want.

Me, as I am: un-adorned, un-washed, un-combed. Feels pretty good.

Guest Blogger Sydni Brawley

2011-05-10T22:12:00.000-04:00

Following is a post from guest blogger Sydni Brawley. Sydni is my daughter, the "middle child", a 16-year old student, actress, babysitter, singer, sister, daughter and all-around hard-working young woman. Her passion for life, music and helping others drives her daily. She is one of the most passionate, committed people I know. I love her, and not just because she's my daughter. She's just a compelling, charismatic arresting people you meet from time to time. I've no doubt Syd's going to impact her world in an important way.

Some people are pros at asking for money - and they become politicians. I am not one of those people. Which might explain why I am currently a week away from my Macedonia funds deadline with a $1,000 deficit.

Three summers ago I went to a national mission trip in Nashville, TN called M-Fuge. It was here that I learned about the Roma people for the first time and about the awful oppression they face in Eastern Europe. There are two sides of this story, on one a political struggle to obtain equality for the Romani people, and the other, a spiritual struggle. It was at M-Fuge that I was introduced to the Roma and in Belmont University’s auditorium that God broke my heart. Shattered is a better word. Never before had I heard God speak so clearly as that night He told me to serve the Roma people.

I returned to my tiny country town in Virginia with a massive passion. Every opportunity that I could find I told people about the Roma. I began researching their history and the possibility of a mission trip in Poland, where there are large communities of Romani people. One of the people I told was Jackie Heberle, a missions coordinator for PCC’s youth ministries and a missions leader for International World Changers. God moved through Jackie, and the next thing I knew a trip to Skopje, Macedonia was being planned for the summer of 2009 and I was going to work with the Roma.

Incredible spiritual and financial support made it possible for my older sisters and me to go to Skopje the first time. I will never forget this trip for as long as I live. It was my first plane ride and I was flying across the Atlantic Ocean! From a massive plane to Vienna, Austria and then to a miniature plane to Alexander the Great Airport in Skopje, Macedonia, we eventually arrived in a beautiful mountainous country.

For ten days I worked alongside nineteen other PCC team members running a day camp, which was on a simple fenced in blacktop. There we played Four-Square (that was a new game to the Roma, but they picked it up quickly!) traced each other in chalk, soaked one another in water relays, painted nails, presented puppet shows, taught dances, drew tattoos, and played guitar. We laughed and hugged. We got to love and be loved in return. And that was the point. In Macedonia, it is illegal to share about Jesus (which includes saying His name, handing out papers and Bibles and having conversations) without permission from parents. At the day camp we were running most children came alone without parents so getting that written permission was impossible. So my passion became to simply show the unconditional love Christ has for each and every one of those kids who had been treated like they were nothing by society. These beautiful children who because of their skin color and culture are refused equal opportunities in education, politics and other facets of life deserve to know what I take for granted everyday. That God loves them.

Two years ago I saw God working in the slums of Skopje, Macedonia without the 20 American missionaries ever saying His name. This summer we will be returning, working with families, speaking directly about God and His Son and I could not be more excited. Two years ago we were God’s hands we were able to plant seeds in the Roma people. This summer God has given us another opportunity to be his hands, this time to cultivate those seeds. If you can help, I'd be grateful.

Thanks for being part of my journey.

Sydni's life is a whirlwind. She trusts that things will work out somehow, and I invited her to share her story with my blog and FB readers. If you'd like to partner with her in this journey by contributing financially to her trip, she'd welcome your contributions. Mail to Powhatan Community Church, P.O. Box 834, Powhatan, VA 23139 with 'Sydni Brawley' in the memo line.

Resting In Grace: Mother's Day 2011

2011-05-08T22:38:00.000-04:00

What a day. Church was terrific this weekend. I always enjoy our weekend gatherings; good things happen when the church gathers. This weekend was extraordinary, as it saw the return of two of my favorite musicians. Sandy Moore, home from Delaware for the weekend, and Kevin Salyer, leading worship again thanks to a freer schedule and a new season in life.

We've been friends for many years. We know each other well. Making music with people you care for, you trust and you know is a unique experience. Personally, we gave all of ourselves as musicians and worshiper leaders today. In emptying, we are filled. I came home feeling full. And grateful.

And it's Mother's Day, of course. The blessings of this day were many. A son who grew in stature as he owned responsibility and managed a difficult conversation. A daughter who prepares an entire meal with ease - a delicious meal. Another daughter who manages the shopping and the prep work. Another who can clean and organize and did so with joy. A son who knows the value of Godiva chocolate.

I came by motherhood almost by accident, it seems. I never thought much about having children. I assumed I would one day, but I never planned it. But after marriage, it seemed that one of the things we were really good at was making babies. In hindsight, I'm not sure how I ever managed when they were younger. But here we are today, and they are simply amazing people. I look back at the woman I was before becoming pregnant with Sarah, and I see how the entire course of my life changed with her birth. Motherhood was the one thing that stopped me in my tracks. My tendencies towards selfishness and self-absorption were tempered by the needs of my babies. I thank God that he used such a beautiful gift for my good.

Becoming a mother changed my life for better, for always. I am ever grateful. Today is a day of gratitude for me. After a loud and energetic dinner conversation and a slow winding-down of the day, I am resting in the goodness of God and family and grace.

Every day.

The Quickest Path Between Two Points Is a Diagonal Line

2011-05-06T23:29:00.000-04:00

They're home. They're all here. They're all together.

My kids, under one roof. Gathered around one table at Italian Delight for the post-Alice In Wonderland celebration meal. Pizzas and water and incredible stories and conversation.

Tales of their experiences with Tony and his passion for rescuing (and releasing) turtles; they tell one another these stories while he watches and listens, his story being woven into the fabric of the family. They talk about "broccoli knots" and tell tales about their experiences at Italian Delight with their dad. They tell the truth about what happened while I was out of town and Tony took care of everything (hmmm...)

They talk on top of one another and interrupt one another constantly. They eat pizza and laugh and talk and laugh and laugh. And Shannon says, "No! Wait! Listen to THIS!", launching into some story about one of her best JMU friends and a moldy piece of bread. We laugh and finish the pizza and cram all seven of us into the five available seats in the Suburban, because we haven't had time to unpack Shannon's stuff from Harrisonburg. And then they laugh about my driving and Tony's driving and somebody asks about the quickest path between two points, and somebody answers, "Uh - a diagonal line?" and then the hooting starts up, with the weak defense being, "But you know I'm not good in math!!!"

I laugh, and deep inside wells up this mighty wave of something like joy and peace and happiness and delirium all at once. It's maternal and it's social. It's this awareness, this external observation, a still, small voice that notes, "Wow! These are just such amazing, funny people!"

Home, and Sarah's working out the chords for an Adele song on the piano. Daniel drums, and David watches a basketball game. Shannon calls Travis and Syd tries to wipe the red hearts off her face from the play. The house is full.

I can hardly get a word in edgewise when they are all together. They take on a life of their own, and the dynamic is incredible. It is like something living, active, morphing in and out of joy and sorrow and anxiety and compassion and astonishment, swirling around five distinct personalities. I sat in the restaurant tonight and just watched - and laughed - and watched, with this huge knot in my chest. Some mixture of pride and joy and even some sorrow, for the memories, the nostalgia...

I am never prouder of my kids than when they are together. They have done amazing things - terrific accomplishments and performances and efforts of artistic, scholastic and athletic brilliance. They've done good things. But when they are together, they are a family. They are for one another and with one another in a way that cannot be duplicated. They possess a rare and unique thing in the relationships they have with one another, and as they grow older, I think they begin to sense it and value it more and more.

I just sit back and watch. I am so grateful, and quite taken aback.

But most of all, content.