Born Identity

Whenever I talk to women, I find that most of them are battling an issue that I believe has been trying to beat women down for a long time. I find that most of us are confused about who we really are, what our role in society is supposed to be, and how our lives can have significance. I think the women of America are in an Identity Crisis.

Starting at a very early age, we are inundated with messages about what it means to be a girl. At first these messages seem simple and clear – girls wear pink, girls play with dolls, girls cry, girls wear dresses, girls are pretty, girls will be moms someday. I know when my granddaughters were pre-school age, they had a simple answer to the question of how boys and girls are different. They would simply say, “Boys are stinky!”

 Once we start school, however, that picture starts to blur a little. The lines become less defined. The rules seem to bend a little more. We become a little less sure exactly what our role in life is supposed to be, but we are pretty sure what we want it to be. I have 7 granddaughters and although they are all more grown-up now than I’d like them to be, there was a time when everyone of them would get all starry-eyed when the princess in the movie got married to the prince and they embraced in a kiss.

Then adolescence hits. The hormones are telling us one thing; society is telling us another thing; our parents’ voices are ringing in our heads, as well as the voices of our friends. Who should we listen to? Who has the truth? From this point on, the confusion of who we are as females, what is expected of us and why we are here becomes almost overwhelming. I pray for my granddaughters in this stage of life, because I remember how difficult my own life was in those years.

As we pass through each season of life, we can all find reasons to be angry. As we focus on ourselves, it will always seem that someone else has the life we want, or the body we want, or the job we want, or the family we want, or the spouse we want. We will be filled with discontent. We will no longer know who we are outside the context of all the roles that define us.

We live out this lack of identity in great insecurity, feeling that around each corner disaster awaits because we are unable to be what others need us to be. We will surely fail because we are not pretty enough, not smart enough, not good enough. We feel a growing sense of fear about what the future holds for us, knowing that we are only growing older, weaker and less pretty. Each day we have less to offer to our families and to society. What if we completely lose our usefulness?

We also live out our lack of identity in an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. We feel unable to measure up to those around us. As we compare the beauty or the skills of others to our own, we feel inferior. As we witness the accomplishments of others, we feel insignificant in the big picture of life. As our sense of worth deteriorates, we fear we will be rejected.

As our insecurity and inadequacy threaten to drive us to despair, we find that there is one way to survive. We become insensitive. We pretend it doesn’t matter. We become driven to learn new skills that will help us stay competitive. We do whatever we have to do to preserve an appearance of youth. We become overly-focused on self improvement, which serves to further highlight our inadequacies and insecurities, and the whole process feeds off itself, as we sink deeper and deeper into the question of “Who am I really, and why am I here?”

We can all relate to at least some part of this downward spiral. Women seem to have a universal bent for seeing the worst in themselves and dwelling on their weaknesses. Unfortunately we tend to compensate for those feelings by also noticing and pointing out the weaknesses of others.

Women are losing their grip on who they were created to be. I think this is greatly due to the changing perception of who Mom really is and what she should look like. Over the years of my life I have watched a steady stream of motherhood role models march across my TV screen. Thinking back on my childhood, I grew up in a time when most people believed that moms should be home with their kids and not out in the marketplace. We saw this perceived role portrayed on “Leave it to Beaver”. Hopefully there are at least a few people out there who are old enough to remember the Cleaver family. Each day when Wally and Beaver came home from school, June Cleaver would be waiting in the kitchen, ready to greet them with an after school snack, and hear about their day.  Women of that era found some identity with what they saw in June Cleaver, and yet, I don’t think it answered all their questions about their role in society.

Another TV Mom that came into our living rooms, shaping our ideas of motherhood, was Marion Cunningham. How many people remember Mrs C from the TV show “Happy Days?” Mrs. C wasn’t quite as serious a mom as June Cleaver. She gave us the feeling that moms should be fun and maybe just a little crazy – after all, what normal mom would allow a hoodlum like “The Fonz” to live over the family garage? This mom made us laugh at times, but she also gave us the feeling that most of the time she was somewhat clueless about what was really going on with Richie and Joanie. She was entertaining, but I don’t think most women really identified with Mrs. C as a role model for motherhood.

Then before long we had “The Brady Bunch.” Carole Brady seemed ready to solve any problem the kids might be facing, but, of course, she had help. Alice, the faithful housekeeper, was also there to pick up where mom left off. Watching Carole and Alice in their sort of “tag-team mothering” must have given some women the subconscious thought that moms deserve hired help. It was almost as if there were two moms in the house.

Then a new TV mom appeared on the scene and looking back at that time in our society, it seems to me that a shift in our perception of motherhood began to take place. We began to get messages that moms can have it all. Being a mom didn’t necessarily mean you had to give up being something else. It was possible to be a mom and still have a successful career. This was played out perfectly in front of our eyes on “The Bill Cosby Show” as Clair Huxtable skillfully directed her household, nurtured her children, built a successful law practice, and met the needs of her doctor husband. She was perfect --perhaps a little too perfect. She opened up a whole new world. The question is: was it a real world or a TV fantasy world?

Today we see magazines filled with stories and photos of celebrity moms and our confusion about the role of a mom grows even greater. Our country is facing an identity crisis among women. Where can we find our true identity?  Of course, we are intelligent enough to know that what we see played out in television sit-coms is not reality, and yet, often those shows contain just enough reality to make us wonder. What if? What if I had a husband who made lots of money? What if my children always listened to my good advice? What if I had a home with a spacious kitchen and a housekeeper to keep it spotless? But then we compare the what-if’s to the reality of life and we tend to lose hope that we will ever have the kind of success we expect to have.

Perhaps this is why we are so fascinated with the so-called reality shows that seem to dominate our TV screens today. We watch the “real life” scenarios on the tube and somehow find some sense of relief in knowing that we aren’t the only messed up people in the world.

So how do we climb out of this abyss of insecurity, inadequacy and insensitivity? How do we gain a healthy perspective of what a successful woman really is? Where are we to find our true identity?
We have to start with reality. Not the kind of reality we see on reality TV, but the kind of reality that’s real. The reality that teaches us that our value comes from being created in God’s image. The reality that our significance is evident in the fact that when we separated ourselves from Him in sin, He was willing to sacrifice His Son, a part of Himself, to make it possible for us to be reconciled to Him . The reality that we leave behind a legacy as we use the life He’s given us to serve His purpose, and that purpose has no dependency on whether we are a mother, a career woman, or some combination of both. He created us to serve Him by making a difference in the lives of other people.

What does all that really mean? How can we, as women, live lives that have value and significance and also leave a legacy beyond our lifetime -- because isn’t that really what gives us identity? Isn’t that what helps us define who we are and what our purpose is?

 I think God gave us the perfect formula for answering these questions by including in His Word a letter from a mother to her son. Some woman are intimidated by Proverbs 31, but what we have to keep in mind is that this is not a description of an actual woman, but rather a list of attributes that the mother of King Lemuel wanted him to refer to in his search for a wife of noble character. These verses are a formula this mother gave her son to help him move past his hormones and his chemistry to look for a woman with true value. I believe it is God’s intent that as we become women of noble character as outlined in these verses, we will also display our true identity in Him! Below is the Sue Wilson paraphrased version of the Proverbs 31 woman:

 A woman of value is trustworthy, generous and kind. She looks out for the best interests of others. She is a woman who makes the best use she can of the talents God has given her. She works hard at whatever task she’s been given. She wants to make her home a place that welcomes others. She reaches out to those in need. She does all she can to prepare for the future. She ages gracefully, not in bitterness. She speaks with kindness and wisdom. She lives in a way that earns respect. She is humble.

I think we would all agree that a woman like this is one we could admire and appreciate. A woman like this has no reason to feel insecure, inadequate or be insensitive. A woman who displays these characteristics is a woman of value, who has significance and who will leave a legacy for future generations. But you may be thinking, “Yeah, right! I could never be all that!” Well --me neither, which is why we are going to try and simplify the whole thing a little more.

Look at Titus 2. This passage is part of a letter from Paul to Titus outlining his leadership role in the church. I think it also speaks to us as it begins in verse 3 by saying , “Similarly, teach the older women to live in a way that honors God. They must not slander others or be heavy drinkers. Instead, they should teach others what is good. These older women must train the younger women to love their husbands and their children, to live wisely and be pure, to work in their homes, to do good, and to be submissive to their husbands. Then they will not bring shame on the word of God.”

Although this verse refers to “older women,” keep in mind that no matter what your age, you are older than someone. What you have to ask yourself is whether or not younger women can look at you and see the attributes it talks about here. Is the church body respected because of what they see in you, or do you give Christianity a bad name?

I have always been fascinated, but also dismayed at the ability of women to smile at someone in their presence and then rip them to shreds behind their back. I love being a woman, but I hate this part of us. This type of behavior does not display the identity of Christ. As we scrutinize our behavior, we find so many clues that we are still searching for significance in the eyes of the world instead of recognizing that we already have significance simply in being daughters of the Creator of the Universe. The way we look, the things we do, the places we go – everything about us should be a reflection of who we are in Christ, not who the world thinks we should be.

Look at 1 Peter 3, starting with verse 4: “Cultivate inner beauty, the gentle, gracious kind that God delights in.”  Then let’s skip down to verses 10-11, “Whoever wants to embrace life and see the day fill up with good, here’s what you do: Say nothing evil or hurtful; snub evil and cultivate good; run after peace for all you’re worth.”

Isn’t that truly what we want – to embrace life and see the day fill up with good? We can have that by cultivating good instead of evil. We can have that by following the example of the life of Jesus. We can have that by finding our true identity in Him.

Once we have accepted the reality that our true identity comes from living in the humility of being simple, genuine and unpretentious, we can find freedom from insecurity. As we live out God’s purpose for our lives by making a difference in the lives of others, we will be filled with a sense of worth. We will know that we are valued by the Creator of the Universe and that no matter what anyone else thinks of us, His opinion is all that matters.

We will also find that, in this true source of identity, we will be completely adequate to meet whatever may come our way, because the Bible tells us that when we are weak, He is strong. His strength is sufficient for all that we will face. He will be our wisdom when we don’t know what to do. He will help us take the next step when we feel paralyzed to move ahead. 

As each of us learns to embrace the uniqueness of who we are in Christ, we will no longer find ourselves insensitive to those around us, but we will instead be filled with a desire to reach out to them; to share the love of God with them and to embrace the many ways He will show Himself in them; to rejoice with them in victory and to weep with them in times of trouble. But even more than that, we will recognize that this IS our identity; this is what we were created to do — love others with the love of Jesus and share with them the Good News of our forever life in Him.

Sue's Saga of the Day

Well, I was going to make a Facebook post, but I decided this was more of a saga and would be more appropriately presented in a blog, so here goes:

I decided I needed to convert a dress into a long top and was halfway into that project when I realized I didn't like where my sewing machine was located. So I stopped the Dress Conversion Project to move my sewing machine to a different wall in the same room.

This, of course, also meant the relocation of where some things were plugged into the wall. 

As I assessed that issue, I determined that all my electronics, which are located in the same room as my sewing machine, would be much more aesthetically pleasing if they were inside of my desk drawer, so as to hide all the cords a little better. So I began making those changes, which is no easy task -- it requires a fair amount of rolling around on the floor with my head under the desk.(And then, of course, there is the issue of getting back up off the floor...) 

In the middle of that task, there was a knock on the door, and I was elated to see that the new wheels for my small carry-on bag had arrived from Amazon. I had spent some time a couple days ago figuring out how to replace them and what to order. Normally, these parts would be ordered from the luggage manufacturer, but my bag is an older model and they no longer sell the parts, which is not just the wheels, but the wheel housing as well. I knew, after researching online, that I could replace just the wheels, but it would require drilling out the wheel axle, which was riveted into the wheel housing. I had spent a few hours trying to do that and was close to getting one wheel done, when my friend, Mike Pape, stopped by to deliver a table he made for us.(He is a master with wood, by the way!) I noticed He actually had a manly drill, unlike my little girly one, which prompted me to ask him if he would be so kind as to help me with the Drilling Out of the Riveted Axle Project. He graciously agreed and was able to complete the drilling in no time. Of course, I am now fraught with drill envy..... Anyway, that all happened a couple days ago and I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of my new wheels so that I could reassemble the wheel housing with the new wheels and axle. Let me just say here, that in case you have ever wondered, like I have, why your luggage lining has all kinds of zippers and velcro in it, I now know the answer to that question. You have to get under the lining to remove important screws when you replace things like wheels. Okay, that's just a side note for those inquiring minds out there. 

When the wheels arrived at my door, I completely forgot that I was ever doing anything else and went right to work on the Install New Wheels Project. That turned out to be a bigger job that I expected because the new axle had a bigger head than would fit into the recessed hole it needed to go into. I knew ahead of time that this might be a possibility, and that if necessary, I may need to drill out the hole a little bigger to accommodate the axle head. So I promptly began to do just that. Again with the drill envy (maybe Santa will take note...) ! Anyway, it took a long time to get the hole big enough, but eventually I was able to drill out the hole, insert the new axle and wheel into the wheel housing and reattach the housing to the suitcase, reinserting all the screws I had removed. Yay! It worked and the suitcase rolls like a new bag! I am beaming with pride!

Then as I walked back to my office, I noticed the Dress Conversion Project that was still waiting on my new table in the living room where I left it when I decided to move my sewing machine.

And then I remembered that I was also in the middle of moving all the plugs for the electronics as well. That's when I started to laugh. I had actually had three projects going at the same time! 

And of course before I could finish either the Plug Moving Project or the Dress Conversion Project, I was now compelled to tell someone about it, which as everyone knows, is best done in a blog. So, there you have it. Sue's Saga of the Day is born, and you are lucky enough to get to read all about it!

The Wart Family's 2017 Christmas Saga

The Wart family have moved to a new home, so they are still getting used to the place. Today when Grandma Sue started putting up Christmas lights, Angelina got so excited she began to run around and around until she became hopelessly entangled in little strings of lights! Mama Wart was concerned that little Angelina might fall and hurt herself and tried her best to untangle her daughter, 
but unfortunately, it was not so easy, and soon Mama found herself just as tangled up as Angelina. By this time the boys, Hiram and Harold, had noticed that being tangled up in light strings actually looked like a lot of fun, so they started rooting through the lights and rolled around on them until they were both tangled together in lights. They were snorting and laughing so loudly that Papa Wart woke up from his nap and came to see what all the noise was about. "What's going on here?" Papa snorted as he took in the sight of his entire family wrapped up in little white lights. "For heaven's sake, what is the matter with all of you? Hold still and let me get you out of this mess!" To Papa's dismay, the more he tried to untangle his wife and children, the more the light strings worked their way around him as well, and soon he stood there, staring at what had happened. Mama was about to cry, because she was just sure that Papa was going to be angry and snort loudly at them all. Little Angelina began to inch her way a little closer to Mama, and the boys were eerily quiet, which almost never happened. But then, the strangest thing happened! Papa did begin to snort, but they were laughing snorts! Quiet and slowly at first, but then working up into full-blown hog-sized laugh snorts that could be heard all over the neighborhood. His family stared at him in shock, as he was able to squeeze out a few words, "You should see yourselves! You look ridiculous! I have never seen anything so funny in my life! And look at me! I look as ridiculous as you do!" The boys began to giggle and soon they were snorting kid-sized laughs to match Papa's. The next thing they knew, the whole family was heard laugh-snorting by everyone within ear-shot, and as people stopped to listen, they could hear Papa Wart shouting, "Merry Christmas to all and to all a de-LIGHT-ful night!"

Lead On!

I have to preface what I'm about to say by assuring you that I am not a theologian. I don't know Greek and cannot tell you the detailed history of what was happening when the pages that became The Holy Bible were written. But I am a reader of the Bible and a believer that it is the inspired Word of God. I believe that The Bible is one of the ways that God communicates with us and reveals to us who He is.

As hard as it is for our finite minds to fathom, I think the Bible is pretty clear that God is God -- but Jesus is also God; and the Holy Spirit is also God. God is three in one, and yet, when I arrive in Heaven, I don't expect to see a three-headed creature sitting on a throne. I believe that God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit will each be there entirely individual, and yet entirely one. Don't ask me to explain how that is possible, because I can't. I just know that the book I believe to be the Word of God says that is nothing is impossible for God.

So when the Bible says, "In the beginning was God," then surely in the beginning were also Jesus and the Holy Spirit. As I said, I am not a theologian, but my simple logic tells me this must be so. I can imagine that Jesus was happy in Heaven. He was one with His Father, He had community with beings who adored and praised Him. But there came a time when the Father knew He must make a difficult choice. He must ask His Son to sacrifice all that He was and all that He knew for the sake of beings who were unworthy of that very sacrifice. The beings the Father had created on earth to love and adore Him would be lost to Him for all time unless the Son was willing to make this sacrifice.

Of course, the love of the Father was also in the Son, so that love compelled the Son to be the sacrifice that would build a bridge between God and man -- the bridge that man had broken in the very infancy of his existence. But it was not just love that compelled the Son to descend from His rightful place beside the Father, it was also obedience. He was obedient because He trusted His Father.

So here I go: What is it in my life that seems unfair or is hard, or that I don't understand, or that I don't want to do because it hurts? Why do I often find myself face to face with the confusion of pain and sorrow? If God is the God of the impossible, then why doesn't He take this away from me? Why doesn't He put me where I want to be, or do what makes me happy, or remove whatever is causing my pain? Doesn't He care about me? Perhaps we should also ask, "Did He, does He, care about Jesus? Couldn't He have found another way for His plan to be accomplished without the pain that Jesus was forced to suffer?" I don't know the answer to that. All I know is that He did what He did because it served His Plan. Therefore, I choose to assume that He also does what He does in my life because it serves His Plan. He sometimes allows me to suffer and He sometimes gives me victory. It doesn't matter which way I go because I trust Him. I know He loves me. I know that whatever path I find myself on, whether or not I chose that path willingly, I am there because God has allowed it. If God has allowed it, He has a reason for it. In His time that reason will be revealed to me. Until then I am compelled to walk on in faith and believe He will give me the same victory that He gave to Jesus. Until then I must find a way to love even those who would do evil to me. I must see the world and the people in the world through His eyes and recognize that even in their imperfection, they are reflections of the same God that is reflected through me, in spite of my own imperfection.

The Bible compels me to strive for a life that reflects Christ; a life that is sometimes filled with pain and confusion and a lack of understanding. But it also compels me to live a life of faith. Faith that God is, was, and always will be in control, and that I can trust the promises of His Word to be true when they tell me He loves me, He will use all things for my good, and that He was willing to let His Son suffer to prove it to me. So when there are times I must walk through where I am to get to where He wants me to be, then so be it. Lead on. I know a victory awaits at the other end.

The Beauty of Community

Recently I had the humbling experience of receiving a ceremonial footwashing by more than 100 women. As each one knelt in front of me and offered words of love and encouragement, they handed me a single long-stemmed rose. I was overwhelmed and moved to tears by this outpouring of their hearts. I was also left with a beautiful arrangement of roses in varied colors! When I got to my home and began to sort and arrange the roses in a huge vase that had been provided, I found that in the process of transporting them, a few stems had broken. I was determined that no matter what the condition, each rose would be proudly displayed in my home, so I carefully cut a few more stems to the length of the broken ones and gave these shorter stems their very own vase, where they could be a thing of beauty on their own.

As I often do, I saw God showing me a lesson in something as simple as a bouquet of roses. I began to think how like those roses women are. Each of us beautiful as individuals, but gathered together, we are a sight to behold! Some of us are strong and healthy, standing boldly for what we believe in and supporting one another. Some of us are broken and feeling lonely and worthless. But that is when the miracle of love is strongest, as a few of the strong reach down to the broken, surround them, and once again make them strong in the beauty of community.

Why Bother With Christmas?

As we approach mid-October, I am reminded that the days between October 1 and Christmas Day always seem to pass by like the blink of an eye. Below is an article that I wrote a few years ago to remind myself not to let the stress of the holiday season blind me to the joy of what it is really all about.

Why Bother With Christmas?


“What night are we going to get together with the kids to have our family Christmas?” My husband asked as he walked through the room, barely stopping to hear my reply. Staring at the ink-filled squares representing my life for the coming month, I tried to formulate a reply, which came out more like a desperate plea for help. “From the looks of the calendar, I think we’ll be waiting until New Year’s. We have something going on every night in December. There are all the church group parties, our friend’s parties, our small group caroling, the ladies’ cookie exchange, the elders’ and wives party, the staff party, and then of course, the 12 Christmas Eve services. I don’t see any way we can get together with the kids in the middle of all this. For one thing, I haven’t had time to do any shopping, and after I find time to do that, I have to wrap everything. Somehow I have to get the decorations up before the pastors’ wives party, which reminds me – when can you put the lights on the outside of the house? And I need you to assemble the tree so I can decorate it!”


For families in ministry, this conversation may ring a familiar bell. For most people Christmas is a time for family, perhaps attending a Christmas Eve service together before gathering around the Christmas tree. For a pastor’s family, celebrating Christmas can hold a unique challenge as family time must compete with a myriad of church obligations. Our family has celebrated Christmas on Thanksgiving, on New Year’s, or anywhere in-between, but rarely do we have the time – or the energy – to celebrate on Christmas Eve.


As our church has grown, so have the number of Christmas Eve services. In our household, Christmas Eve has come to be synonymous with multiple services and spending Christmas at the church building. A few years ago, my husband discovered that many people were torn between attending Christmas Eve service and being with family. In an effort to allow them to do both, he began to offer Christmas Eve services on December 23rd, as well as December 24th. This addition has been surprisingly well-received and it seems every year the services for both evenings are packed with those who feel a special need to reconnect with the Christmas story and still have time to be with family. For us, it’s a time of great blessing to see so many people gather, knowing that many only have this one chance to hear of God’s amazing love. But finding time – and energy -- for a family celebration in the midst of all this has become an annual challenge, especially now that all three of our grown children are also in ministry, with families of their own -- and in-laws to factor in! Each year we juggle our schedules to try and find time to make it happen.


In spite of what could easily be termed “a hassle” by some, our family has found that the joy of Christmas is always there, waiting for us, no matter when we celebrate it. It may not be on Christmas Eve, or Christmas morning, or even on Christmas evening, as it is for many families. But the moment we gather together we are reminded why we make the effort as the real meaning of Christmas finds its way into our hearts.


I’ll never forget one special Christmas, as our family carved out some time to share in the Christmas celebration. We decided to dig out some costumes from the church props closet and prevail upon the children to perform a reenactment of the first Christmas. As you can probably imagine, a gathering of our three children, their spouses, and our 11 grandchildren is often accompanied by what borders on chaos, and this night was no different. It was an effort to corral squirming kids to decide which costume best fit whom, and referee arguments over who would play which part. When at last we found ourselves ready for the big event, my husband read the Christmas story from the Bible. As parents and grandparents we gathered around, watching the transformation of rowdy little boys into regal wise men and a dignified Joseph. Excited and giggly little girls suddenly became curious shepherds, glorious angels, and an extremely maternal Mary. One wiggly little baby was surprisingly willing to be still long enough to be the baby that brought the purest of all love into the world.

Amidst much flashing of cameras and parental pride, we were all struck by the importance of what really took place, not just on this make-shift stage, but on that long ago night. A night when another Father watched as His Son was cradled by humanity. These children whom we love were acting out a love of another kind, a love that brings us to our knees as we try to grasp the meaning of the words of the angel, “For unto us a Son is born.” As we watched our children in their rag-tag costumes posed before us, we were reminded once again that Christmas is not about a day on the calendar – it’s about a living God and a love that transcends our understanding.

This was the Christmas card we sent out in 2005. That little baby "Jesus" is now 11 years old and nearly every one of these children are taller than me! But this image will always be one of my all time favorites and hopefully these children, many of whom are already young adults, will never forget the time they were transformed into a living reminder that Jesus is the Reason for the Season!

Why I Decided Not to Host My Own Cooking Show

Today, as I was trying to make several different recipes at once for a special celebration of our family, I began to get frustrated because things just weren't going well. Then I thought about how I came to the decision to give up cooking (obviously, I was having second thoughts about that decision, because here I was, frantically trying to chop, stir, and layer, all at the same time). I remembered that when my children left home I needed to make a decision about cooking and considered the pros of cooking in a home with no children:

1. I would get to lick all the bowls and spoons myself.
2. I wouldn't have to share any of the finished foods if I didn't want to.
3. I wouldn't have to listen to complaints about how it doesn't taste like so and so's mom makes it.

But then I had also weighed the cons:

1. I would gain a lot of weight.
2. I wouldn't have anyone I could force into cleaning up my mess (and I am a really messy cooker -- see photo).
3. Most of the time I mess up the recipe and it doesn't taste like I used to make it.

So then I thought about my options. My first option would be to have my own TV cooking show -- this would allow me to:

1. cook whatever I wanted, plus the ingredients would all be pre-measured and ready to pour into the bowl or pot or whatever..
2. be as messy as I want because someone else would get paid to clean up my mess.
3. not be stressed out about gaining weight because other people could eat part of whatever it was so that I wouldn't eat it all myself.

It didn't take long to rule out this first option on the mere fact that I am not that great a cook and probably even if someone agreed to let me go on the air, no one would actually watch the show.

So that left me with option #2 which was to give up cooking in any formal sort of way (hotdogs and grilled cheese sandwiches don't really count.). This would mean that:

1. I could spend more time making reservations at restaurants around town.
2. Someone else would get paid to clean up my mess.
3. I could invite someone to dinner and they can eat whatever they want.

This is obviously the choice I made -- it's a no-brainer! Why, oh why, do I keep second -guessing myself like I did today? It always ends up with me being really tired, the food being mostly so-so, and nobody really caring that I made it myself! Sigh. 

(And then there's that thing about gaining weight, which seems to be a factor no matter which choice you make....)

Tribute to Reba:
My Mother Lost Everything, But Gained What Really Matters....

My mother died yesterday, just a few days short of her 96th birthday. Three years ago, she moved from the home where I grew up. This was the home where she had raised her children; the home where she and my dad had lived for most of their married lives; the home where she thrived and made a difference in her community and served her Lord for over 60 years. The place where she waited to welcome her children home as they came to visit from the lives they had carved out for themselves after leaving her care. The place where she took joy in welcoming grandchildren and great-grandchildren as they stopped by on their travels across Kansas. She came to Arizona to start a new chapter in her life, knowing that it would be the last of many chapters she had lived. I was thrilled to know that for the first time in my adult life, I would have my mother living near me. My other siblings had all lived near her at some time after leaving home, but not me. She would often say things to me like, "you remember so and so or such and such, don't you?" I would have to remind her that I had not lived in my home town since I left for college, and no, I did not remember any of what she was referring to. The last three years I have grown in a relationship with my mom that I never had before. As a child, I saw her as demanding and critical, and yet, I always knew I was loved -- that she simply wanted me to be the best I could be. As an adult, living far from her, she was often my place of refuge. I could run to be with her when I needed an escape from the demands of my life at home. She was always there to let me return to being a daughter, and I could briefly escape the expectations of all the other roles I had to fill. When she moved to Arizona, of course, she continued to be my mother, and at times that was difficult for both of us. She had her way of doing things and I had mine. Quite often, I would defer to her ways -- sometimes out of respect and sometimes out of frustration. She began her life in Arizona splitting her time between my house and my brother's house. She basically came to Arizona because my brother and his family were moving here, and my siblings and I all agreed that she could not remain in her current situation without one of us close by. We tried to fall into a pattern of sharing her, but it became more and more difficult for her to settle in when she had to pack a bag every week and move from one house to the other. She was feeling lost, partly because "her stuff" was split between two homes, and partly because she didn't really feel like she was AT home in either of our homes. She missed having her own home. It was difficult for us as we tried to meet her needed expectations to be comfortable here, and eventually we all just settled into the compromise of doing the best we could with the circumstances we were in. I loved that I was able to spend time with my mom regularly, but it was hard knowing that she wasn't really happy. We would talk about it and many times we laughed and cried in the same conversation, as she did her best to try and make someone else's home her home. She was a great help to me because she loved doing laundry and cleaning up minor messes around the house. Most days she would have my dishes cleaned up before I was even finished using them! My mom was a woman who loved to work. She loved house work and she loved yard work -- both of which she had spent her life doing and had taken great pride in doing it well. Somehow, that gene did not pass on to me, so I was only too happy to let her do whatever her aging body would allow her to do. At times it was annoying, because if she was not able to do it, she wanted me to do it, and she wanted me to do it NOW. But that was her creedo; do what needs to be done, do it immediately, and do it well. Not a bad precept by which to live, if you think about it. But then the stroke came. Not totally unexpected, but certainly unprepared for. Suddenly, everything changed. No longer could she tolerate the stress of splitting her time between my brother's home and my home. No longer could she fold laundry or do dishes or write notes to the dozens of people that she regularly communicated with through the U.S. postal service. Slowly she began to lose control of all the things in her life that she loved to do. Slowly she had to learn to depend on help from others to do even the simplest of things. We began to work at finding humor in stroke recovery. Things like "if you can't get your pajama bottoms off and there is no one in the immediate area to help you, just pull the scissors out of the bathroom drawer and cut them off!" Or things like, "beware that you don't try to eat your finger because you mistake it for part of your toast!"  As days turned into months, it became obvious to both she and I that she needed more help than I was physically or emotionally capable of providing. So once again, she had the burden of letting go of the "new normal" that had been so hard to accept. She stepped into the life of a group home where, although she was loved and well-cared for, it was not her home. She had good days and bad days, as we all do, but for her, the bad days became increasingly bad as her health declined and her spirits sagged. She found joy in the relationships of those with whom she shared the home and initiated the formation of a daily Bible study for those who wanted to participate. She encouraged the other residents to trust in God, and she worked at taking her own advice. Time became both an enemy and an ally as each day was a gift, but also something to be endured. Day after day, she would proclaim her readiness for God to send his golden chariot to take her to His throne. Yet our time is not God's time. She was living in a time of loss. Loss of possessions, loss of physical health, loss of loved ones who passed before her, loss of control of everything in her life. She had to depend on someone else for her every need and also be willing to submit to their timing in completing those needs. Watching this happen to my mother was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. Knowing that it will most likely happen to me sometime in my future is the next hardest thing. Accepting the fact that God designed humans to enter the world with nothing and leave the world with nothing has become clearly focused for me. When I think of all the things my mom struggled to let go of when she moved to Arizona, then all the things she struggled to let go of to move into her group home, and finally how she had to let go of everything to enter Heaven, I am slammed with the perspective of all my possessions. I now have in my home possessions that were my great-grandmother's, my grandmother's, my mother's and mine. That is a lot of stuff that will eventually belong to someone else when I make my final move to Heaven. Some of those possessions are so cherished that I find it hard to imagine ever not having them. But I am at the same time hit between the eyes with the realization that none of it will matter when I see Jesus face to face. He really and truly is all I need -- in this life and the next. All the time spent on this earth is given to me to teach me that truth. There is nothing I possess that will have any usefulness whatsoever when I step into the presence of the Almighty God. I don't say that because I plan to rid myself of all earthly possessions and live in a cave until He comes for me. I truly believe that God wants us to take joy in the earthly life He has given us. But I now have a more full understanding of what it means to live in the world without being of the world. I realize that clinging too tightly to the things of this world is a waste of time and effort. I have learned from my mother that, as hard as it is, loss truly becomes gain in the end.
1 Timothy 6:7 For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it.

P.S. I found the following notes that I had written at the time of Mom's move and thought it appropriate to add them as a post-script to the above tribute.

A few weeks ago I was driving across southwestern Kansas, something I've done many times in my lifetime, but this time it was different. Passing by town after town, each holding specific memories of people or events from my past, it suddenly occurred to me that I may never have a reason to pass that way again. I drove by the town that holds the graves of ancestors I never met and thought of stories about them that I have read in family history books. I passed by the town where my mother grew up; the town I knew as a child to be where my grandmothers both lived. I remembered days spent there as family members gathered for reunions. I passed the town where my cousins lived and remembered times I stayed at their home and met their friends.I passed by towns I traveled to as a teenager, cheering on our school teams in various sporting events. I passed by towns where boys lived that I met at church camp and remembered how it felt to have a crush on someone who never gave you a second glance. As I drove, the tears flowed freely down my cheeks. On each side of the road, I passed field after empty field, each one at rest for the winter. I marveled at the way the horizon stretched into the distance on each side of the road, remembering how we were always able to see the lights from a town 60 miles away on a clear night. Passing only an occasional pick-up truck and seeing the motorized sprinkler system that looked like mini-bridges spanning field after field, my mind was occupied with thoughts of change. Soon I would have nothing to draw me back to this place of memories. As I drew nearer to my childhood home and remembered that soon it would become the home of some other family, my heart was filled with emotion. The excitement of the coming transition, mingled with the anxiety of the change was nearly overwhelming.

I was on my way to help my mother with the final preparations to relocate to Arizona. She would be leaving behind a lifetime of memories and a home she had lived in since 1949. As hard as it was for me to face this challenge, I knew that her challenge was far greater. Her life was about to be reduced to a truckload of belongings. She was leaving behind the place she and my dad had spent their lives, building a business, raising a family, supporting a community and being part of a church family. She was leaving the graves of loved ones, including my dad, in a cemetery that she would no longer be able to visit when she felt the need to do so. This was a big deal. And yet, she was up for it. She faced it bravely and with few tears. Of course there were times of looking back with longing for what was lost forever, but still she marched into her new future with a strength that many women half her age would not possess.


I only hope that I can face my unknown future with that same strength and trust in God's plan for my life.

Been Thinking

When was the last time you set your mind free? By free, I don't mean you did something fun or relaxing, I mean you did something that was mindless -- something you can do without thinking about what you're doing, therefore leaving your mind free to go wherever it wants to go. In today's culture our minds are constantly engaged. We go from device to device, and our mind is constantly required to focus. Perhaps you're thinking, "but I play video games, that's pretty mindless." Really? Maybe so, if you have absolutely no intention of winning, but I think most of us play to win, which requires us to pay attention to what's going on. Let me illustrate. 

I have a condition called Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) which takes over my body when I get relaxed and requires me to get up and move. I won't take time to try and explain it, but if you really want to know more you can Google it and find tons of information. Anyway, sometimes I get to the end of my day and I realize I have forgotten to take my RLS medication during the day, which allows me to relax and go to sleep at bedtime. You see, it is when I start to relax that the evil RLS activates and requires me to get up and move around, so I need to take small amounts of medication all through the day, keeping my body from allowing the RLS to activate. It's on such days of forgetfulness, which is probably due to being "connected" on one of my devices, that I have to do something which will require me to engage my mind so that I will not relax. I have one particular computer game that does just that, and whenever I am plagued with insomnia due to this condition, I know that I can play that game and it will require a connection with my brain to keep it occupied until my medication kicks in and helps me settle down. So in other words, playing games is not really all that mindless. Our brain is engaged in what we will do next so that we can win. 

Today, I was cleaning my refrigerator. Why, you ask? I know, its not something most of us do frequently. But here is the story leading up to the "cleaning of the fridge." My fridge basically died -- well, the computer board in the fridge died, so it had to be removed and sent off to be repaired, which meant the fridge was unusable until the part can be reinstalled. So, I had to move every thing out of my fridge and into the "spare fridge" in the laundry room. That was when I noticed that my kitchen fridge was absolutely filthy. I don't even remember the last time I cleaned the inside of it. While it was full, I really didn't notice the sticky, gooey shelves and the crumbs that had fallen onto the shelves and into the drawers. Once empty, however, it was painfully apparent that I had neglected it. 

Cleaning the fridge is a mindless job. As I removed shelves and drawers and washed and dried them, and wiped down the entire inside of the appliance, I realized my brain felt free. My thoughts were just wandering from thing to thing and moving around in my brain like they haven't done in a long, long time. I started thinking about how differently I live than the way my mother lived. My mother never neglected to clean out her fridge. It was a part of her job as a homemaker. She took her job very seriously and it included making sure every inch of her home got cleaned on a regular basis, keeping all our clothing clean and in good repair so that we always had something ready to wear, making sure the children were disciplined and kept their things orderly, having meals prepared and served at regular times and being supportive of my dad as he provided the means for her to do all this. I began to wonder if I really take my job as a homemaker that seriously. I have piles of things to be done here and there around the house, and for some reason I never seem to get to them. I sometimes go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink. I don't always make my bed. My husband sometimes has to remind me that he needs clean underwear, and "would you please do laundry?"

Thinking about that, I wondered why I'm like that. I didn't start out that way. I started out doing things the way my mom did them and tried to follow her example to keep my home orderly and engage with my children and prepare meals. But, at some point, that began to change, and if I'm honest with myself, I think that change started creeping in about the time I got my first "device." I discovered the world of the internet and it seemed so much more fun than taking care of my home and my family. It was a whole new world where I could explore and connect and shop and learn and create, etc. But I can see now it's a world that keeps my brain constantly engaged so it is never free to just think whatever it wants to think. It doesn't get a chance to ponder. 

Instead of filing a stack of papers, or washing the dishes, or folding the laundry -- all jobs that I can do while my brain thinks about other things, I tend to sit at my computer and focus on things that require my brain to be fully engaged. I didn't realize how taxing that was until today. It was almost like I could hear my brain "sigh" with relief when I started to clean my fridge. "Finally, she's doing something that I don't have think about!" 

So, here I am, writing about something that my brain conceived while it was free to think. Imagine that.

Ever Feel Like a Bent Can?

This morning I was up way earlier than I wanted to be for reasons that are not necessary to share, but just let me say it was still dark outside. As usual, if my eyes are open, I'm feeling like I need to eat something, so I went on a search for some kind of protein source that would make my tummy stop growling at me. All I could come up with that didn't require cooking and a lot of noise that would wake up my husband, was a couple cans of tuna. So tuna salad for breakfast, sounds good! I've never believed that any food should be confined to being consumed at a certain time of the day -- I don't know whose idea it was to assume that we must eat cereal for breakfast or pot roast for dinner. For me, any food is fair game for any time of the day, so, today, tuna salad fit the bill just fine. Only one problem, both cans were significantly bent and I couldn't get my can opener - electric or manual - to make a connection long enough to get them open. I was finally able to pry open a big enough hole in each lid to slide a fork in and dig out the tuna, but not before spilling tuna water all over the counter and cutting my finger with the knife that cuts flesh but not tin. I finally got my tuna salad sandwich made, but for some reason, I started to think about how I was a little like those bent cans.

I have always felt I was just not quite like everyone else (well, really, who is?), but for some reason, today I was hit with the thought that there are times I feel a little bent -- just like those tuna cans. The device that was made to open a normal can wouldn't work on a bent can, Neither do the activities of society that are meant to "open up a person" work well on me. I don't really like to be open, nor do I feel comfortable in social settings. I hold on to my privacy the way a bent can holds onto its contents. The more one tries to "draw me out", the more I tighten my grip. I'm not sure why, really, except that I am concerned that once I am "drawn out", I just might not meet the expectations of those doing the drawing! We have expectations of the contents of a can, bent or not, we expect the contents to live up to what the label says is inside. If the label says it contains tuna fish, then we expect to find tuna fish inside.

Let's face it -- people have labels too! Usually more than one, and sometimes those labels change over the years. One of my labels is "Pastor's Wife." If that label had ingredients listed on it, what would they be? Here's just a few that have been expected of me over the years:

Friendly extrovert
Super-spirituality
Accomplished musician
Spontaneous pray-er
Bible verse quoter
Church member name recaller
Mother of well-behaved children
Always appropriate dresser
Perfect words for any situation
Habitual law abider
Complete honesty
Willingness to share husband endlessly

I can't say I have ever actually lived up to any of these expected ingredients with complete satisfaction. I wonder if any pastor's wife really can? I can say that I have more of some of these ingredients than I do of others, but overall, knowing that you can't be all that is expected of you, can, over time, make you begin to feel like a bent can. Like you just don't fit on the shelf properly. Like you can't be "opened up" the way others can be. Like maybe you are constantly being "dug out" of your comfort zone.

I have learned over the years that ultimately, my life is not really about what others expect of me or what they think of me. It is really about who I am in God's eyes. My life is about who God created me to be and the ingredients He used to make me who I am. His recipe is different for each person and there is no label that fits us all except the label "Child of God, imperfect in every way, but made perfect by the blood of Jesus." In reality, we are all just bent cans compared to the perfection of Jesus. But ironically, Jesus is the very can-opener that each of us needs to be opened and used in a world where perfection is always just out of our reach. It is only when we admit and embrace our own imperfections, that we are able to be made perfect by Him.

Ode to Dad

I actually wrote this a few years ago, but somehow it seems appropriate to re-post it for Father's Day. I miss my Dad so much!

When I feel like complaining, I think of my dad. Not because he was a complainer – quite the opposite! My dad suffered physically for most of his adult life and yet I can’t recall a single time when I heard him complain. As I think about the way my dad lived, I am reminded to take my focus off myself and my own personal pain and put it back where it belongs – on Jesus. Dad lived every day as an example of Christ’s love. As we saw his funeral flooded with more flowers than the front of the church could hold and the floral arrangements spilling over into the aisles along each side of the church auditorium, it became clear that our dad’s life had touched nearly everyone in the little town where he lived his life. Dad had been the hands and feet of Jesus to the people God put in his path every day. He gave what he didn’t have and trusted God to make it up.

I have a vivid memory of the bum who spent his days sitting in front of my dad’s store. Many were the times when Dad filled up a bag of groceries from his shelves and sent it home with a man most people ignored. Everyone who came into Dad’s store needing food left with that need met, whether they could pay or not. Each person was greeted with a smile and a handshake. Dad's Bible often lay open on his desk in the customer service center where he held watch over his business. Dad was a true Christ-follower in both word and deed.

As a child, I watched my father model self-sacrifice as he willingly gave of himself when he saw a need. He followed the example of Jesus as he showed a genuine love for people, even those others might not consider worthy. The cut of a man’s clothing or the size of his bank account meant nothing to my dad. He taught me by his actions that I must learn to see each person through God’s eyes. My dad lived the truth of Proverbs 22:1, “A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.”

Dad continually trusted God to provide for both the physical needs as well as the emotional needs of our family. He worked hard even on days when he was in pain and knew that God would honor his commitment to provide for his family. By his example, he taught us to work hard and play hard and trust God to be faithful to His promises. Galatians 6:9 says, “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” I learned from my dad that I never need to worry about my future. I grew up seeing God’s provision in my dad’s trust and have continued to see that provision to this very day.

Of course, as a typical human, I am often tempted to think I deserve more than I have or that my life is too hard. Sometimes I fall into self-pity and wonder why God does not intervene on my behalf. Sometimes I get frustrated with life and people and wonder why God doesn’t give me something better. It’s in those times of human failure that My Father reminds me of my father, and once again I understand that the life I live is not about me. Its about Him. Thanks, Dad, for teaching me that, and by the way, Happy Father’s Day! Can’t wait to see you when God calls me home.

Musing 30 Years

People often ask me if it’s hard being a pastor’s wife of a large church, and usually they are surprised if I don’t answer with a resounding, “yes!” After being asked this question a number of times, I sometimes am tempted to begin thinking that perhaps it IS hard. I start to focus on the many bumps in the road and the difficult circumstances that have come my way in a lifetime of serving God.  Then somehow, God finds a way to get me to take a look at the people around me. He gets me to thinking about where they were and where they are now. He reminds me of His life-changing power. I am humbled when I recognize that He took me serious when I offered to serve Him with my life. I am amazed to see the many ways he has worked in me and through me to make a difference for His Kingdom.

For instance, consider Terry and Cindy. When we first met them, they had been divorced, but were now remarried – to each other. They were in a neighborhood Bible study that we attended. As time passed their faith grew. He became part of the worship team at church. Some years later he joined the leadership of the church as an elder. Recently he gave up his secular job to join the church staff full-time as a neighborhood pastor.

As I look down the list of people who have given their lives to the ministry of CCV – I’m just talking about the ones who get paid, there’s a whole lot more who serve as lay leaders – I am so inspired and so convinced that just having the privilege of watching God change lives, and then watching those lives change other lives, makes any possible hardship of ministry so worth it.

Dustin was just a kid when we first met him. He came to the youth group and gave his life to Christ. He went to a Christian college and met Megan, who became his life partner in his call to ministry. He came back to CCV as a pastor, and together he and his wife mentor our youth to be all-in for Jesus.

We got to know Bill and Annette when they hosted our neighborhood Bible study. They were seeking to provide a strong foundation of faith for their family. They didn’t know the books of the Bible, but they knew that the Bible held the answers to the questions they had about God and about strengthening their marriage. Bill is now serving on our church staff after leaving a successful career in the marketplace. He brings his unique skills to the feet of Jesus and uses them to serve the church.

Sonny and Denise made their way from frills to faith, and have an exciting story of how God met them right where they were and taught them that making money cannot compare to making a difference. Sonny has also become a neighborhood pastor for our church and finds the fulfillment that can only come through following the call of God, no matter what the cost.

Larry and Sheila and Richard and Leslie are two couples who were founding members with us from the inception of CCV. Their faithful service to the church and to God has touched thousands of lives, not just in our valley, but around the world. Larrie left his secular career to serve full time at CCV and is now the leader of our missions outreach. He travels around the world, often with Sheila by his side, to encourage and assist missionaries who are changing lives in the places where God has placed them.  Richard and Leslie have ministered in nearly every conceivable way at CCV, all the way from administrative duties to teaching kids. It’s impossible to count the thousands of lives these two couples have touched with the message of God’s love.

I could keep going right down the roster of people who are now paid staff at CCV. They each have a unique story of how God took them from where they were to where He wanted them to be and taught them that there is no joy like the joy of seeing lives changed by a God who loves to work through and in people. Person to person – that’s how the love of God spreads. When I think of all the lives that have touched mine because of Jesus, I am overwhelmed, but of all the lives that have been touched by the love of Christ, those that move me most are the ones in my own family.

Thirty years is the difference between childhood and adulthood. Thirty years ago, when we started CCV, we had children. Today our children have children. In another thirty years, their children will have children. I have no doubt that many of our descendants will feel the call of God to minister full-time. I am convinced they will come to know that getting paid to watch the Savior change lives and know that in some small way, He used you to help make it happen, could never be a burden. No matter how hard the road is along the way, there is no greater joy than that of seeing someone find his or her true purpose in life – the purpose of knowing, loving and serving the one who created them.

Why My Office is Messy

I decide to clean up my office. I begin by carrying a stack of books to my bedroom. When I get there, I realize I need to rearrange the bedroom table where I keep the books, so I do that before I return to my office.

Next I sort through some magazines and catalogs that I have been saving "just in case," throw a few of them away and carry the rest to the living room to add to the already huge pile that is stored there before I once again return to my office.

I consider a stack of antique textiles that belonged to my grandmother, and try to decide what to do with them. One piece in particular has some spots on it, so I decide I will try to clean the spots that have probably been there for 100 years. I leave the other things in a pile and take the spotted piece out to the laundry room and attempt to spot clean, then leave it to dry. I return to my office.

I find some tablecloths that I brought home from my mother's house and carry them to the kitchen, but can't put them away without cleaning and rearranging the cabinet where I keep the tablecloths, so I get that all done before I return to my office.

I see a broken necklace that I left there, thinking I could repair it someday, so I decide this is as good a day as any. Finally, I give up and take it to the kitchen, put it in a baggie and drop into my purse, so that someday if I remember, I can stop at a jewelers and have it repaired. I return to my office.

I find a stack of coupons that I've been collecting and decide to go online to see if there are any which have not expired. I throw away the expired ones and take the rest to the kitchen to drop them into my purse, just in case I happen to stop at any of the stores represented. I return to my office.

I find an empty cardboard box, which I had been saving, "just in case," and take it to the garage to save it there until my husband insists on throwing it away. I return to my office.

I find another necklace that I placed there because I found it in the guest room and don't know who it belongs to, so I decide to take it to my bedroom. Then I return to my office to send an email to some people to see if the necklace belongs to any of them, and decide I may as well check my email while I'm on the computer. Suddenly I remember that I haven't taken my medicine, so I go to the kitchen to do that, and decide to have a snack while I'm at it. I return to my office.

I try to read a letter from the Homeowner's Association and decide to just file it since I don't know what else to do with it. I see the piles of photographs that I have been sorting and decide to go to my bedroom and get some plastic bins to put them in. I return to my office and sort the photos into the bins.

I notice some cosmetics that I had ordered (hence the empty cardboard box) but never put them away so I go to put them in my bathroom. I return to my office.

I find some instruction books for the television, which I had in my office so I could look up something online that had to do with using the remote control, but had never returned them to the living room, so I go to put them away with all the other confusing instruction books for my audio visual equipment. I return to my office.

I find a tape measure that belongs in the kitchen so I take it there. I notice a pile of papers in the kitchen that belong in the office, so I pick them up to take back with me.

I decide to quit cleaning my office and play computer games.

Don't Blink

Sometimes I think I will get neck strain watching my life speed by. My granddaughter turned 16 this year -- some part of me thinks I'm still sixteen, so that really blows my mind. What I thought I knew at sixteen, and what I know she doesn't know leaves a gap big enough for an elephant brigade to walk through. Sometimes life just puzzles me. When our bodies have the energy and the flexibility to accomplish great things, our fledgling wisdom often falls short of getting us there. And yet, by the time we have accumulated the wisdom for our great task, our body seems to call us to "rest awhile." In days gone by I tackled the challenge of each day with confidence that nothing would stand in my way of adding of a checkmark next to each item on my "To Do" list. Lately I find that one checkmark per day suffices to be a productive day! I find myself thinking more and more like the heroine of the epic movie, Gone With the Wind: "After all, tomorrow's another day..."

Since I'm on this subject, umm, let's see, that was the subject of...... oh, yes! The runaway train of my life, that's it! I have to say that when I look at myself in the mirror, yes, I see a person of some age -- grayer hair (okay, it's white), pudgy midsection (okay, beyond pudgy), snores sometimes (okay, most of the time), etc, etc, etc. You get the picture. (If you don't, you will. Just wait.) However, I wonder if my view of myself is somewhat skewed? Maybe I'm in denial, but I'll deny that if you say I am. Anyway, here's the thing that initiated this line of thinking. My great-uncle, who was a bachelor most of his life, became smitten in his old age with a beautifully saucy little woman, and nothing would do but that she would become his wife. It just so happens that little woman was my grandmother (on the other side of the family -- really! What were you thinking?). To put it more plainly, my mother's uncle decided to marry my father's mother at a time of life that most people would have thought romance was dead. At least, anyone under the age of 30 probably would. In my mind, I always pictured this couple's wedded bliss to have taken place in their late 70's or even perhaps early 80's. I never really thought much about it as a child because it happened before I was born. But lately I've been thinking about it, probably because I have embarked on the overwhelming task of documenting my family's history through photographs and stories that have been passed down through the years. One said photograph is a wedding photo of my great-uncle and his bride, my grandmother. They made a lovely couple, even in their elderly-ness. But alas! What's this! The date does not lie! They were married at the tender age of 63! Oh my! Why, "oh my", you ask? Well, because! Sixty-three is my age, and I am far from elderly, am I not? (Don't answer that!) Sigh.

And so you see, not much has changed since I was sixteen after all. I thought I was  grown-up then. I
think I'm young now. It seems that self-deception does not go down easily.

Charm vs Clutter

I'm not sure how this happened, but I've noticed that all the Christmas decorations that added warmth and charm to my home before Christmas, have suddenly begun to feel like clutter! Actually, it happens every year, but I hadn't really stopped to think about it before. There is something about the anticipation of Christmas Day that compels us to prepare for it. We HAVE to decorate! We HAVE to shop! We HAVE to bake! Or do whatever other things that have become a tradition for us. It just wouldn't seem like Christmas if we didn't do all the things that have become a necessary part of the preparation for celebrating the season. And yet, once Christmas Day is past, suddenly there is an urgency to return to the norm. It's time to get back into our usual routine. it's time to return our home to it's usual "undecked" state. It's time to start eating sensibly. It's time to monitor the budget and stop spending wildly. Celebrating without restraint seems to be a universal, but short-lived, luxury. Our friends in Africa tell us that although they don't have much money to buy Christmas gifts, Christmas is the one time of year that everyone gets new clothes to wear to church and that there is enough food prepared for everyone to eat their fill.

Celebration of Christmas has become a tradition that has it's own unique meaning for each family or individual. It has become an annual "thing" that we do. For some people, it's simply a time to do things they don't ordinarily do, ie -- shop, eat, decorate, etc.But for others, it's also a time to focus on the birth of Christ and give thanks for the gift of his life. I know that Jesus is the reason for the season -- but I find myself asking, "isn't Jesus the reason for every day of my life?" There would be no Christmas if Jesus hadn't come -- I don't think some people really know or believe that. To some people, Christmas has nothing to do with Christ. I don't get that. Even if you have exchanged your "Merry Christmas" for "Happy Holidays", there's still the fact that the day is called Christmas. You just can't take the Christ out of Christmas without taking all the meaning out of the day! But for those who do embrace the gift of Christ, our celebration should not end on December 26th, should it? Okay, yes, maybe it's time to put away the decorations and start eating right, but the spirit of giving that we so freely embrace at Christmas time should continue 365 days a year, shouldn't it? The gift that we have been given through the life of Jesus is a gift that blesses us every day of our lives. It is a gift that must be shared with others, not just at Christmas, but every day.

So maybe the feeling that my Christmas charm has become Christmas clutter, comes from the fact that my celebration was not really about Jesus, but instead about me. Maybe I was celebrating a vacation from the norm, when in fact the norm should be an everyday celebration of the gift of Jesus. It's a thought to ponder as I put away my Christmas clutter and consider how to make this new year a year of celebration.

Christmas Day

It’s Christmas Day, that’s no surprise;
It comes around each year.
And yet, we worry, “Much to do!”
Our hearts seem full of fear.

But why? When such a joyous day;
And one so full of love!
Have we forgotten that great gift
God sent from up above?

With gifts to buy and food to cook
And halls that must be “decked”,
It’s easy to lose focus
As we do what folks expect.

But as we scurry here and there
Preparing for the day,
We must remind ourselves again
Of what the angels say:

We bring good tidings of great joy!
A child is born today!
The Father sends the Prince of Peace --
Hallelujah and Hooray!

It’s Christmas Day! A wondrous gift!
Let’s celebrate again.
A babe was born, a precious child;
Salvation for all men!


2010
Sue Wilson

Put it Away

I once heard a speaker say that the key to staying organized was simple: If you get it out, put it away. Simple, hmmmm, yeah. Simple to say. Not so simple to do. Especially in a houseful of people who think it's YOUR job to keep things organized. They just live there. And they're mostly kids, right? The job of kids is to be messy -- the job of parents is to clean up the messes, right? Well, I suppose that is the logical line of thinking for most kids. Unfortunately it's completely flawed, and the REAL job of parents is to remove flawed thinking from our children's minds. I hated having to clean up after myself as a kid. Every Saturday I had to dust around all those stupid little things that I had collected because they were so precious to me. I had to vacuum my floor, which meant I had to find a home for all the stuff that was "temporarily" residing in various corners and under the bed. There was no negotiating on this issue. I grew up in a house where everything had a place in which it "belonged," and if it wasn't in that place, it was out of place. My mother still has toys and games that my siblings and I played with as children, and guess what? They are in pristine condition, because they always got picked up and put away when we were done playing with them. We hated that we had to do that! But, wow! What a lesson we learned! So when I heard that speaker say, "if you get it out, put it away," I had to look twice to see if my mother had become a public speaker :)

I hate to say that I don't always follow that mantra so well now that my mom isn't here to hold me accountible. Sometimes it just seems so easy to think that I don't need to put it away right now -- I'll just put it in this stack of other stuff that I didn't put away and then "someday" I'll do it all at once. Sound familiar? Funny how that stack begins to grow into a pile and then it becomes a mountain and pretty soon it takes over an entire room. By that time, the thought of putting all that stuff away has grown into what feels like an insurmountable task. Then the thinking moves to a whole new train of thought: "Someday I will set aside a day to sort through this stuff and put it all away." Which is completely ridiculous because we all know very well that "someday" is just a figment of our imagination -- it never really shows up. And even if it did, who has a whole day free anymore? Our days are full with email, texting, surfing the web, playing on Facebook, etc, etc, etc.

I suppose it's no different on the inside as it is on the outside, really. If I pick up a judgmental attitude toward someone I don't really know, I should just put it back where it belongs -- in the garbage. If I get out my ego and wear it for all to see, I should just take it off and put it back in the center of humility, where it won't make such a scene, If I pull out that old grudge that I thought I had thrown out, I need to make sure it gets a proper burial this time, with lots of prayer.

So much of the life we live for all to see is a cover-up for the life we live when no one is around, isn't it? When company comes, we stuff things out of sight, do some surface cleaning and pretend it's all good. It's true for our homes; it's true for our hearts.Problem is the only person to whom it really matters can see it all. No matter how well we hide it from the world, God sees it all. The amazing part is that, even though He sees our good, bad and ugly, He still loves us. Most people, even if they deny it, judge us as they observe our inability to achieve perfection (according the their standards). God simply presents the perfect standard (Jesus) and gives us space to work toward it. He doesn't love us any less or any more based on how well we measure up. He just says, "Well done. I love you. Let me help you with that." Hmmmm, I'm thinking maybe that should have been the approach I needed to use with my kids. It sounds so much better than, "If you don't have this mess cleaned up in 10 minutes, you are grounded for the rest of your life!" The bottom line is, we all need praise from those we love; we all need to know we are loved; we all need help with overwhelming tasks. Well, that's it! I've just talked myself into getting started on that mountain of paperwork in my office! Better get to it! Anyone want to help?