When the Body of Christ Works Together...

 Just as a body, though one, has many parts, 

but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ.

 For we were all baptized by one Spirit 

so as to form one body

— whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—

and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.

 Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many.

I Corinthians 12:12-14

Several months ago, while perusing Pinterest, I had a crazy idea. It's pure lunacy, really. So much room for error and/or failure. But, and this is unlike me, I decided to do it anyway.

I felt led to do a service project with the youth but something that would really require work of them. I know that 30 Hour Famines are popular, and the old raking the leaves thing is good, and canned food drives are always useful but in my personal experience, not much is really required of the kids. They don't do that much. And in a society where we're doing less and less, I wanted something that required work, effort, thought, and maybe even getting coaxed out of a comfort zone.

So I came up with a Santa Shop idea where we would make the gifts and sell them. Then, in a flash of divine intervention I changed it to Three Kings Gift Shop. After all, Santa's great but he wasn't at the manger (well, neither were the wisemen really but that's a whole other issue...). I suppose we could've gone St. Nicholas but I'm just now realizing that so oh, well! Anyway, I digress...

I spent hours combing Pinterest, reading directions, and carefully selecting gift ideas that fit a couple important criteria.
1) It had to be something people would actually want.
2) It had to be something we could make at minimal cost so I could keep our prices low.
3) It had to be something simple enough for even non-crafty people to make.

I found ten things which met those criteria. I put together a little catalogue and order forms. I ordered some literature from Samaritan's Purse and talked to the teens about raising money to purchase items that would go to people in third world countries. Items like goats, donkeys, honeybees, and fishing boats. Items that would profoundly change their lives, not just their day or week. Their lives. 

Then, I prayed. I prayed for moderate success because I was afraid of failure. Oh, ye of little faith. What if Peter or Paul had prayed for moderate success just in case they couldn't really lead all those people? What if Moses had only wanted moderate success? What if Abraham? Joshua? Gideon? Deborah?

And I think the teens only expected moderate success. They set a low goal for themselves of only $200. And for a minute there, it looked like that was going to be it. But then....

God didn't answer my prayer. He had His own agenda He was pushing and my potential for failure was not a deciding factor for Him. It never is.

The project exploded. We had over-whelming success. We raised $870, more than quadrupling our goal. I was humbled, the teens surprised, and the church family energized. God is good.

Then, I had to figure out how to make over 350 items. Egads. But this wasn't really my job. God had a plan. He'd had it worked out from the very beginning. All the way back to when He first planted this crazy idea in my brain and in my heart.

He planned on using this project to bring our church family together. You see, we've been hurting. It's a long story and quite ugly and this post is about celebration so I won't elaborate. It suffices to say, we've been hurting. We've been in need of something to make all of us feel connected and alive again. But I never imagined it would be this and that I would be part of it.

Last night 28 people, 14 adults and 14 kids (an all time high for youth attendance, actually) came together at house to make crafts. And it was busier than Santa's workshop. After several runs to houses for extra olive oil, after re-making several items because my measurements were off, after figuring out the best way to roll a square piece of paper into a cone, after deciding the perfect way to make a scarf for a snowman and turn a book into a tree...we had completed 5 projects and made well over 250 items. In just three hours. With no complaining and with lots of laughter.

And I noticed something. Everyone naturally found their place. Leaders took charge. Crafters used their experience and artistry to help others in this new area. People tried new things. Everyone pitched in. This is the Body of Christ in motion. Working as one. Glorifying God with our actions. So this is what Paul meant, this is what James wrote about. Faith in action, the Body together.

One boy collected a fistful of money to buy pizzas and breadsticks. A teenage girl prayed, one of my teens that always steps up to pray when everyone else feels tongue tied. She prayed for us, for our gifts, for the people we've loved and missed being able to come back and join us. She forgot to pray for the food, but ti didn't matter. God was there, He knew our thankfulness for His blessings. And this was the true breaking of bread...true communion, even if it was pizza and not a holy wafer.

I had set out to find a project that would bless other people, show the kids that they can make a difference, and help teach our youth how to work together with joyful spirits. But God had other plans. These things still happened but His plan was greater than mine, loftier than mine. He will bless the money we raised and the people whose lives it will help. But He blessed my life through this project and He blessed our humble, faithful church. He is truly the God who sees us, and He's been watching over us the whole time. And last night, He reached out and healed us. He was with us in the mess of olive oil on the counters, hot cocoa on the floor, and hot glue stuck on fingers. And that's what happens when the Body of Christ works together.

As the body without the spirit is dead, 

so faith without deeds is dead.

James 2:26

Chasing Joy

Psalm 100

A psalm. For giving grateful praise.

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.

Worship the Lord with gladness;

    come before him with joyful songs.

Know that the Lord is God.

    It is he who made us, and we are his;

    we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving

    and his courts with praise;

    give thanks to him and praise his name.

For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;

    his faithfulness continues through all generations.

My son thinks our dog is hilarious. Dayton's first true giggle was at Bode jumping around the yard and barking. And this Indian summer when we would walk around and around the pond, just to escape the claustrophobia of our house, we would watch Bode chase butterflies. I'd never actually seen a dog chase butterflies before but leave it to our dog to do it. And then Dayton wasn't the only one giggling. It was hilarious. Our enthusiastic border collie would bound and leap after the butterflies leading him on an erratic chase around the pond. But eventually Bode would lose sight of the butterfly...or interest. Something else interesting would catch his attention or it just wasn't that much fun anymore to chase something so elusive as a butterfly.

I chase joy in the same way. Around and around in circles, bounding and leaping with no methodology to straighten my course, no plan to ensure success. And always, inevitably, I lose interest. Something more interesting and easier to catch steals my attention. Or I just give up all together. It's too hard, this joy thing. It's a nice idea but it's just not me. I wasn't made that way. Some people just can't be joyous...or joyful...whichever.

But that just isn't so. It can't be so. 

First, because the Bible says otherwise. And second, because if that's true then I'm doomed. I'm stuck in my Eeyore to Tigger to Eeyore cycle of my own nature. 

A drama queen since birth, I see the world through a dramatic lens. Gloom! Doom! Stress! Worry! Anxiety!!

EVERYBODY PANIC!!!

But I'm the only one squawking. My mother once said my brother is a duck, the rain waters just roll off his feathers, it doesn't rattle him. I, however, am a trumpeter swan...graceful and peaceful when the weather's just right, but when the rain starts to fall it's time to panic. A swan having a cow. A lovely sight.

And while Christmas is supposed to be all peace on Earth, good will to men, and joy to the world...I'm over here wringing my hands and biting my fingernails. I'm a Scrooge in Nephew Fred's clothing. I seem to embrace Christmas but underneath I'm really fretting and fussing and bah-humbugging about plans and people and people who get in the way of my plans. My plans, my plans, my precious plans. Like Scrooge and his gold, no one better interfere with my plans. Or else the squawking begins. This is not joy. This is not Christmas.

I could list you a thousand reasons excuses for this irritating behavior. I could get all Dr.Phil on you and explain from a psychological point of view why Christmas is now wrapped up with anxiety, why my tinsel is perpetually in a tangle. But there's no real point in it. Talking about what's wrong, doesn't do one blessed thing to move toward what is right. Or perhaps more importantly...righteous. 

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, 

by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, 

present your requests to God.

Philippians 4:6

So recently convicted of this ridiculous, self-centered behavior I've started chasing joy again.. But not in an erratic chase of circles where I'll eventually just get bored or tired or both and give up. This time I have a plan. And I have some tools.

1) I'm reading Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts. It's a book I've been avoiding for almost two years because I knew it would blast me from my comfort zone. And while I hate my comfort zone because it's stinks...I'm comfortable there. But I'm embracing the uncomfortable to move toward God and His joy.

2) I'm starting my own list of one thousand gifts. One thousand blessings from God, one thousand things I'm thankful for, one thousand things to celebrate. And the thing is...now that I've started counting, I see them everywhere. I would like to share this list on here because it may inspire somebody else, but I just can't commit to that. I don't have time to log into this blog as often as I'd like and I'm afraid that I will use that ask an excuse. Can't write in the blog, not worth writing down at all! (I know, because I did that before two years ago...)

3) Instead of asking God for things, even the right/rightoues things, I am choosing to only thank Him instead for the next two weeks. A friend of mine did this and she said it changed her life. I believe her. Because it's been a mere 24 hours and I already feel a change. I think this must be what detoxing feels like.

4) In a similar vein, when my instinct is to complain, grumble, nag, or otherwise squawk, I'm choosing to thank God for that very circumstance instead. This is hard but it is the very re-training and re-shaping that I need. It is taking every thought captive and making it submit. It is choosing to be thankful in all situations. Because the fact of the matter is, I am one of those people who will cry (ah-hem, flip my lid) over spilled milk. And that doesn't honor God, draw me nearer to God, or bringing me any closer to catching that butterfly.

5) Last, I have community and this means some accountability. I've always shied away from accountability because I like to hide. But I won't succeed and I'll never change unless I bare my soul and all my ugly and ask for some help. We are communal creatures, especially women, especially me. So here I am, ready to accept some love and help and prayers from my own community. And my community is pieced together through Facebook and emails and blogs and text and face-to-face friendships. This is community for a postmodern mom chasing joy.

And this time I'm not just chasing joy, but choosing joy. It goes hand in hand. When we choose joy, we catch it and then we give it away. I must choose to be thankful, to celebrate, to wear joy on my lips and harbor it in my heart. And then I will have caught it. It will be mine, no longer an elusive butterfly.

This blog started out being my journey towards a merry heart. And if you've followed me from the beginning, despite my long periods of silence, you know that I've wrestled with this. One minute I'm chasing the butterfly and the next I've seemingly given up and moved on with life. And I have no delusions of conquering this once and for all, I will always struggle. But this feels more like a real change. The real re-wiring of my heart that I have craved for so, so long. And what better time than Christmas?

I imagine that the shepherds, feeling a bit foolish, were chasing joy when they went from stable to stable in search of a babe in swaddling clothes. The wise men were chasing joy as they followed that mysterious star toward the child savior. Mary and Joseph must've been chasing joy as her belly grew swollen with the life of the King inside her. They couldn't have been the type to fuss and fret and squawk so they must've been chasing joy. Anna and Simeon caught their joy at the temple when Jesus came to be dedicated to God. Elizabeth and Zechaeriah caught their joy with the birth of their son, the prelude of the Messiah. These people didn't only chase joy but they chose it in their obedience. Joy is everywhere in the Christmas story, from the lips of Mary in her magnificat, to the returning of Zechariah's voice, to the alleulia of angels. Joy abounds at Christmas time.

And this Christmas, I am choosing joy.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, 

and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: 

and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, 

Fear not: for, behold, I bring you 

good tidings of great joy, 

which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day 

in the city of David a Saviour, 

which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; 

Ye shall find the babe 

wrapped in swaddling clothes, 

lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel 

a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, 

and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Luke 2:9-13

Because Of The Baby

I haven't written in ages. Sometimes I lose my voice and it doesn't always mean that I can't talk. Sometimes I just can't write. I have nothing to say, or what I do have to say comes out all garbled. I promised myself I wouldn't clutter up this blog with meaningless chatter (do you really care what I had for breakfast this morning? Wildberry poptarts, if you do...and they're making me nauseous).

That being said, something profound should follow...right? Well, I got nothin'. But I have that urge in my heart to write again. To express, to communicate, to emote, to be heard, or at least put something out there in the world. Silence is golden sometimes, this is a hard lesson for a chatterbox like me. But there are times for sharing, too. Even if I'm not sure yet what it is I'll share.

Christmas is fast approaching. There's far too much on my to-do list. I don't see how it will possibly all get done. But it will. Presents will be wrapped, the tree will be decorated, I might even manage to make a few sweet treats. This is one of the miracles of Christmas--it somehow comes together with too little time. At least this year I'm determined to stay joyful. Mostly I meltdown around the holidays. But the baby has me focused this year on what matters. The baby has helped a lot in this area.

Truth be told, a lot of people in my life are angry about other people and other things that they can't control. I listen, I sympathize, sometimes I agree, sometimes I try to gently suggest something else. I used to get all whipped up into a frenzy, sometimes I still do, but I realized last week: I don't have the extra energy to spend on anger. It's a natural emotion, a reaction, and at times I find it downright biblical. But I can't stay in anger, it takes up far more energy than I have to spare. This is a huge lesson to learn for a girl who has wrestled with anger issues and bitterness. Frankly, it takes a lot less energy to just cry it out and move on...and even less energy to let it go. But it is draining to dwell in anger. The baby has brought this lesson to the forefront. I think I learned it a long time ago, but being pregnant has taught me to spend my energy wisely. This is how I realized that spending it on anger is a bad investment.

The same is true for worry. Yes, I get nervous every time I go to the doctor and they listen for that heartbeat. And when I sneeze and my entire abdomen seizes with violent pain, I get a little nervous. But I don't have the extra energy to spin my wheels in worry. This was a monumental lesson for a compulsive worrier. The baby has taught me so much and hasn't even take his or her first breath.

No wonder they say parenthood changes everything...

The real reason I started writing today is because my heart is feeling a little more heavy and a little less merry. My grandparents' health is failing, first one, then the other, then the other one again. It's hard on them, it's hard on we who love them. And sometimes I catch myself just whispering over and over again, hold on until Spring.

I never thought that they would live long enough to see me get married, let alone have a child. Especially when we discovered our infertility issues. As the baby seemed farther and farther away, it seemed more and more certain that I'd never even have one photo, one memory, of my beloved grandparents with my much longed-for child. But I worship the God of Impossibilities, and He made a miracle inside me. I have to trust His timing and His goodness. But it just seems like this winter is going to be so hard on these dear souls...Winter is always hard for old folks.

This is where all those lessons I've been learning, or realizing, because of the baby help me. I can't be angry with the diagnoses or changes. It won't change anything. I can't spin my wheels in worry. It won't help anything. There's nothing I can say now that I haven't said in the last five years (woulda, coulda, shoulda, what ifs and maybes). All I can do is trust in God, love them as hard as I can, and take care of this little budding life inside me.

Christmas celebrates the birth of a baby. Not just any baby, but a real miracle baby. The miracle baby that trumps all other miracle babies. God wrapped in flesh, God among us, God born in a barn (what were you born in a barn? well, it was good enough for our Lord and Savior). Christmas is a time of great celebration and joy because Christmas was Heaven reaching out to us. Four-hundred years of silence shattered with two babies--a prophet to prepare the way and the Messiah who would save us all. This is not a time for anger, for worry, or for senseless chatter. This is a time for gratitude and celebration. Exuberance.

This is the time to consider what a baby has taught us. Not just me and my baby. But the Baby. The Baby who would grow into the man who would change the world with His words and return us to God with His sacrifice. So many lessons can be taken from the manger, if we're only quiet and listen.

Humility. Gentleness. Simplicity.

Peace. 

And the angel said unto them, 

"Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

 "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Luke 2:10-14 

When Life Gets In the Way of Living

The novel I'm writing is in two sections; the first book about Gideon and Magdalene; the second book about their children. One theme that runs through both halves is the struggle between living life and having a living, or sometimes just living at all. The main characters of the second half, Justice, Cherish, and Truth, struggle with this the most. Because of his charismatic personality and keen intellect Justice is pressured into running for political office, ultimately becoming the King; Bookish and free-spirited Cherish is swept into the world of Academia, moving from the research and teaching that she loves into the frustrating politics of leadership; in childhood it became clear that Truth is a 'seer', meaning that he can only speak the truth and he can see the truth in any situation, the perfect leader for the Church except that his gift has made him painfully shy. All three wrestle with wanting to have a 'normal' life, out of the spotlight, free to make decisions without wondering how the whole country may be impacted by their choices. This struggle becomes especially intense for Cherish when she falls in love with someone incredibly unexpected and rather inconvenient.

I didn't set out to write a novel about this struggle. I just started writing and I haven't stopped. It has morphed several times but this theme has been apparent throughout. The character I love the most is Cherish, she is the me that I want to be. She's witty, charming, incredibly learned, sophisticated, and graceful. But most of all she is determined. There is a breaking point in the book that causes Cherish to finally rise to the occasion and take her life back. She defines her life in her own terms and she stops letting the powers that be direct her life.

I, like Cherish, feel that I've been swept into a life that isn't one of my choosing. I let life happen to me rather than intentionally choosing the path I would take. Now the great thing is that God has been leading me through the paths of His choosing--paths which led me to my husband, ministry opportunities, and friendships. But I have to wonder--if I'd joined Him in the front seat rather than napping in the back seat, would there have been more opportunities, more blessings, a more rewarding path? But because I was just cruising, disengaged from taking responsibility for my life, I settled for the path that seemed easy, convenient, or 'only temporary'. God's not going to throw a sleeping person into an adventure.

Cherish seems to wake up one day and realize indignantly that she didn't choose her life. I have that same feeling every now and then. I wonder how I got here, like driving from home to work and not remembering the drive. I've gotten from Cuyahoga Falls to Wayne but I don't remember how I got here. This isn't about regret, but the realization that I've been sleeping through life. Or perhaps that life has gotten in the way of living.

Take a job because you need one, not because you love it. Before you know it life has slipped through your fingers and you haven't been living. Put off starting a family because there isn't money or time, and before you know, life has slipped through your fingers and you haven't been living. When we shelf our dreams and settle for less, even if we believe it's only temporary, before long life has slipped through our fingers and we haven't been living. That life has gotten in the way of living. e.e. cummings once said, 'being undead isn't the same as being alive'. Boy, ain't that the truth?

One reason I've kept writing the novel throughout the years is because it seems that if I can work out their issues, I can work out mine. That's how the whole thing started. A writing assignment in 11th grade. I made up a distopian world where the characters couldn't be together because he was too different from the accepted norm. At the time I was dating a boy my family wasn't a big fan of because he was older than me and quite different from what they wanted for me. In my story it all worked out...so I kept writing, writing, writing. But it never worked out in real life...so I kept writing. The story changed. I changed. As I've grown up, the story has grown up with me. But I still write to work out my own life on the page. I'm no longer Magdalene of the first story, the story I wrote at seventeen...I'm Cherish, the story I'm writing as a young woman.

In the story, Cherish doesn't change very much externally when she takes her life back, unlike her mother in the first book. She doesn't run away, quit her job, or change the world. But she makes it clear that now her job is of her choosing. She will love and be with the one of her choosing. She lives a life of her choosing, even if it looks very similar to the life that was chosen for her. She wakes up from her existence and begins an adventure. An adventure that doesn't take her any farther from home, but an adventure of the heart.

I'm tired of life getting in the way of living. I'm tired of realizing that life is slipping through my fingers and I haven't really been living. And I think the change comes in choosing something everyday. Choosing to sit in the sunshine, to go to the park and swing, to teach the dogs how to go down a sliding board. Choosing to color instead of clean, to sing instead of sigh. Choosing to write, to read, to dream. Choosing to take an opportunity when it comes.Choosing to make the most of my life in every circumstance.Choosing to find the adventure in the ordinary. Choosing to find the thread of my life that God has always been holding onto and follow it passionately, instead of mindlessly being woven in and out of other people's adventures.

I'm still working on the book. Like a coloring page, I've got an outline but I need to color it in. And as I color it in Cherish and her brothers will find their adventures...and I think I will, too.

~*~*~Believe~*~*~

I used to live life with a voracious appetite for living. I was once told--it must be exhausting to be you. I used to crave making the most of each day. Doing as much as I can with as much passion as I can and as much joy as I can. It was exhausting, but in a really good way. But somewhere along the line I got jaded and cynical, and the passion fizzled away to nothingness. Now life is just a daily grind, and most of the time I ponder how I got here. I feel so disconnected from the way things should be.

I used to indulge in the simplicities of childhood. When a friend once asked how old I feel inside I readily replied 6 or 7. Stressed out? Bust out of the coloring books and crayons. Frustrated? Mash up some play-doh. Bored? Blow some bubbles. Fly a kite. Sing a song. That is actually how my favorite word became 'believe'. I wanted to believe in everything. Now, I don't mean everything. I mean believing in Santa Claus, Fairies, and that stuffed animals and doll babies become real if you love them. Believe that animals can talk at midnight on Christmas Eve. Believe in magic, in possibilities, in dreams. By embracing the impossible, the world comes alive with color and wonder. That's why children see endless possibilities, and adults can't get anything done. They have a belief system that allows them to believe in the fantastical. That's why I love the word 'believe'. It speaks to all of that. The wonder of it all.

But the impossible that I believe in, truly believe in, is the biggest impossibility of all. And it is the only one that can give me a sustainable source of passion and joy. This is the impossibility of a God revoking His God-given rights. The Creator. The Omniscient-Omnipotent-Omnipresent becoming flesh, becoming contained in a body with aches, pains, and limitations. It's impossible to suggest. It seems fantastical, but that's what I believe.

And even more impossible is the wonder of the Cross. What kind of God allows Himself to be taken prisoner, questioned, beaten, flogged, spat upon, mocked, stripped naked, and nailed to beams of wood for all to see His shame? There is no God in all of mythology that would do such a thing...but this is what I believe.

Perhaps it is the love of God that is the most wonder-ful. I can't quite wrap my mind around such love, but when I get close I feel over-whelmed by it. It seems unreal--a love so passionate, so determined, so good as to move heaven and earth to be with me for now and always and forever. As far as I know there is no other religion or belief system that claims such a wondrous thing. A God that loves His creation, His people so much that He came up with a way to remove their sin. Not with thunder and lightening, not with endless tasks and works, but with self-sacrifice. He gave Himself so that I might live and know His love. Impossible.

This is the word the White Witch murmurs upon Aslan's appearance after His Resurrection. Impossible. But I believe it. More assuredly than I believe in Santa and Fairies and all that other stuff. Those things are silly and fun, keeping me grounded in youthfulness, in the joy of childhood, in the simplicity of childhood. But what I believe in Jesus Christ keeps me grounded in eternity, and should keep me rooted and established in love--in joy.

And it's this joy that I'm missing. I've lost the wonder of the Cross. The extraordinary has become ordinary. The impossible has become commonplace. The unfathomable has become familiar. And with that all the passion has fizzled out, like throwing water on a flame.

I'm called to live life abundantly--that's why He came. Eternity doesn't begin in the grave, it begins with grace. And to live any other way is to squander what I've been given. To walk around with a somber face and melancholy is to extinguish the flame of wonder. Sometimes a misguided sense of religion and righteousness makes me want to be serious and all-knowing about my Savior, but this isn't right. The resurrection shouldn't produce a serious, well-measured amount of thanksgiving but uncontainable joy in celebrating the impossible becoming possible.

My favorite scene in the book The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe is just after Aslan has come back from death and the Stone Table has been cracked. Lucy and Susan are in awe, speechless, overjoyed. And after Aslan briefly explains how it is possible (deeper magic from before the dawn of time) there is wild celebration. He is just as exuberant as Susan and Lucy. But they don't just watch Him revel in what He's done, they join with Him in the celebration. Aslan plays with the girls, chasing them, throwing them up in the air, as a father might with his daughters.

It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia; and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind.

He romps, he plays, he rejoices in being alive....and he invites Susan and Lucy to join with him. And I am extended the same invitation from our Aslan. I can play and rejoice, dance and celebrate with Jesus. I am invited to believe in the impossible and when I truly believe I have no choice but to celebrate. My world comes alive with color and wonder.

Now, I know that not every day can be a wild dance--life can be immensely hard some days. But I have to think that maybe it should be. What I mean is perhaps that's what we were designed for. Because of our fallen state and our fallen world things will get in the way, suffering happens, stress happens and gets in the way of the exuberant celebration. But we were made for celebrating, for rejoicing, for dancing. And I think if I can keep that in the middle of my beliefs I can find a way to live life with enthusiasm. Even in the hard days there is still a moment to embrace the impossible. Maybe the hard days are the ones when I need to impossible the most.  After all, Susan and Lucy had just lost all hope...Peter, John, and Mary had lost all hope...but then in an impossible, wondrous, fantastical moment the impossible was broken and made possible.

I think this is the beginning of that appetite for living--taking of the Bread of Life. From the Cross comes all color and wonder to bring my world alive. And from God--the creator of all things good, including passion and abundant life--can come the wellspring of enthusiasm for living life as I was created to. I was made for the wild dance, I was made to live my life in color, I was made to live life exhaustingly.

An Honest Place

It occurred to me today that the name of this blog is 'my MERRY heart' and I'm not exactly sure how merry my posts have been. By nature I am analytical and a bit melancholy so it only make since that my posts lean on the pensive side. I wouldn't say they've been negative...just not...merry. Joyous. Celebratory. Merry.

I don't want to feign emotions I don't feel, or write something I think I'm supposed to write. I'm committed to being sincere, authentic, and honest. My writing becomes ridiculous contrived and not worth reading when I try to write from any other place than an honest one. A writer said once... that writing is cutting open a vein and bleeding on the page. I have to agree with him. Why would I want to write it if it's not really of me? And why one Earth would anyone want to read it?

So what to do? This blog is the journey to a goal--a merry heart. But I keep getting stuck in the ruts. And sometimes I just want to smack my head against something--where is the joy, where is the celebration? Because even if all else is mediocre, I still have one thing to always celebrate--Grace.

Immeasurable grace. Grace I could never pay back, could never even begin to put a down payment on. Grace like sinking into a deep feather bed. Grace like a long drink of cool water. Grace like a being held in safe and loving arms upon coming home. Grace indescribable, unfathomable, unbelievable.

Grace. I tell people my favorite word is believe but that's not really true. Because the word which liberates me, the word that sets my heart on wings like eagles, the word that picks up me up when I've fallen, and fuels me when I'm all burned out....is Grace. Amazing grace. Sweet grace. Undeserved grace.

Grace, as my grandmother defines it is, God Revealed At Christ's Expense. G-R-A-C-E. Christ gave all that He had so that I don't have to waste away in this life and spend all of eternally separated from the Creator of Goodness and Love. Grace redeemed me from my brokeness and mess. Grace made me new, gave me hope, gave me a reason to keep going. Inconceivable grace.

Grace is what allowed Paul and Silas to sing while in a Roman jail. Grace is what sustained John in his exile on the Island of Patmos. Grace is what brought many saints and believers through the desert land of disappointment or despair. Grace.

I have to be honest with you...writing this...I'm not feeling it. I'm wrestling with that honest place. Because the honest place is feeling depressed but I know that's not truly me. That's just my emotions' way of dealing with what has been an immensely stressful last few days. And oddly enough, it's always the first good day that opens the floodgates. When the adrenaline subsides every emotion that was being kept at bay comes flowing in. And I don't want to indulge that. I want to combat it with joy. With insisting that I choose freedom in Christ, rather than bondage in my emotions. Emotions. They can be so good and they can be so bad. Fickle as they are.

I'm writing this to remind myself that I have much to celebrate. Even when my day-to-day facts of life are mediocre, stressful, or a let down. Even when I'm feeling stalled out and that I can't do with my life what I want. Even when I'm feeling that my gifts would be best used elsewhere...I have a reason to embrace and insist upon joy. Because the bi-product of grace must always be joy or I am simply taking it for granted. I don't have to pretend to be happy and blow sunshine and bubbles out of my ears. But I do have to wade in the undercurrent of joy or I've forgotten the magnitude of GRACE (God Revealed At Christ's Expense).

And I'm writing this so you can hold me accountable. I have a propensity for negativity and a predisposition for depression/anxiety. I'm much more likely to indulge in a good pity party--balloons and noisemakers and confetti--than to celebrate Christ.

So what to do with 'my merry heart'? Fill it with the confessions of an honest person wrestling with fickle emotions and confused dreams, but always and forever return to the reality of grace and celebrate Christ. The psalmists were real in the anger, sorrow, and strife but always and forever returned to the goodness of God. They praised Him anyway. I love that idea. Praise Him anyway. Even when I just want to feel sorry for myself, I will choose to praise Him anyway. Praise Him for Grace, for what He chose to do for me. If Jesus chose to die for me, the least I can do is choose to celebrate the Life I've been given. I can't promise to keep all sadness and sorrow from these pages--that would be inauthentic--but I can promise to always praise Him anyway and forever celebrate Grace. And maybe in the end, that's the way to a merry heart.

Swept Away

"And life is beautiful in spite of all its sorrow and care. I seem to realize the truth of this afresh every day and to see its beauty more clearly. There is so much in the world for us all, if we only have the eyes to see it and the heart to love it and the hand to gather it to ourselves--so much in men and women, so much in art and literature, so much everywhere in the narrowest, most circumscribed life--so much to enjoy and delight in and be thankful for."--L.M Montgomery

My days when I manage to not be totally self-absorbed, I feel the vibrancy of this quote. I agree with Maud (Lucy Maud Montgomery's preferred name...and yes, we are on a first-name basis:) ) and her passionate view of the human experience. Yes, I know. It isn't always sunshine and rainbows. So did she. So do you, I would hazard to guess. And so does God. But there is still a powerful undercurrent of beauty in life, and the wisest people allow themselves to be swept away.

But I am not one of the wise and I am beginning to understand this is an essential step part in having a merry heart. A joyful and thankful heart is in its very nature merry. It's hard to admit, shameful really, but I am not a joyful or thankful person. In spite of all I've been given I seem to be hardwired to radiate a signal of negativity. I am grateful to God but I don't show it. I complain. I whine. I criticize. I complain some more. Whenever I read about the Ancient Israelites my ears burn because they're talking about me. I'm just as bad as they were.

I've seen miracles--in ordinary days and in extraordinary moments--and yet lose my joy at the first twinge of irritation. I suppose it was one thing to be negative before falling in love with Him, but to stay this way? True love inspires change. And a life which reflects God's grace requires change. A shift from self to Savior.

And this change requires commitment. My word again. A commitment to gratitude which will bear the fruit of joy and...merriness. My merry heart.

Ann Voskamp has inspired me, and countless others, to notice God's gifts and be grateful. She's written a book I intend to purchase and read which covers this idea (and so much more from what I can tell from reviews). And on her blog there is an invitation to join her. I put the button on my blog to show my commitment to this new lifestyle of gratitude and joy.

So here I go. I'm jumping in to be swept away in that undercurrent of beauty which is God's awesome love.

The start of my gift list...hoping to reach 1000 by the first day of Summer?
1. Getting up a half hour before the alarm to start my day with Him
2. Having a few spare mintures to just scratch Bode's tummy
3. Being greeted with a thousand slobbery kisses from Shiloh and Bode
4. My husband's smiling eyes even when he's had a hard day
5. A sunset with clouds that make the sky look like an ocean. I. Love. That.
6. Quiet moments at work making Valentine's crafts with a kindergartner.
7. Felix's (our kitty) fascination with water & watching him drink from the tap.
8. A string of really good songs on the radio.
9. That tingly feeling of knowing you've found Him again, or been found by Him again.
10. Being a little lamb held in His arms.