I'm Here...

If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. -1 Peter 4:11

Not counting speech classes or school presentations, the very first time I ever did any kind of actual public speaking was at our first ever Sonrise Women's Retreat in the fall of 2008. I did one session. I was so nervous I nearly vomited and I think my hands were shaking the entire time. From the fall of 2008 through Christmas of 2013, I spoke twelve times. Retreats, conferences, brunches, and teas. Then, the emails and the calls stopped coming. I assumed the Lord was moving me in another ministry direction. I felt sad but truly believed that any speaking ministry I might have had was over. It seemed like He'd given it to me for a season. 

2014 had hit and with it came personal extended family trauma. While our own family's day to day life wasn't directly impacted, we were reeling and, looking back, I wasn't in any shape to have been taking time away from my family to speak. 2015 dawned with the death of our unborn daughter. Our grief was real and raw and a lot of personal spiritual growth happened in the weeks and months that followed. In 2016, our third son was born and with him came the exhaustion of an infant and, then, an energetic and rambunctious toddler.

In 2017, the Lord provided me with an opportunity to speak at a tea. Then, last weekend, I was flown to California to share at a women's retreat. When I was asked to speak at that retreat, initially, everything in me screamed, "NO!" I felt unqualified, over committed, inadequate. And I hadn't prepared for a multiple session retreat in years. After my initial panic, however, I quickly felt invigorated and excited for the opportunity. For weeks, I poured over scripture and commentary. I wrote and wrote and practiced and changed things and then I flew to California.

A couple weeks before the retreat, I wrote this on Facebook...

In two weeks I'll be speaking at a retreat in CA. I've been praying and preparing for about a month now. Please join me in praying for the women I'll be spending the weekend with. Pray that the Lord would speak through me, for safe travels, and that lives would be positively impacted. You guys, there are so many women more qualified to do this, more knowledgeable, more influential, less loud. "But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong..." 1 Cor 1:27

A friend of mine commented on the post and said, "Very exciting to have your calling come to fruition."

I replied, "Did God tell you this was my calling? I wish He'd tell me! Thank you for your support!"

She said, "I think I've known for a very long time that this was your path."

Now, I'm not saying whether it is or isn't. (There was a time, in those first five years of speaking, when I might have thought God was opening doors to a speaking ministry. But then it felt like that door had closed. Of course, looking back, I wouldn't have been effective--in the least little bit--if I'd attempted public speaking in those days.) But I did have someone ask me if she could consider me as a speaker for an event next year and I did have someone ask me if I was going to write a book and I did feel very much that the weekend had been a wonderful celebration of our Savior and His amazing, redeeming love. And I GOT to be a part of that.

I've always struggled with whether or not to "put myself out there" and sort of announce that I'm available to speak. On the one hand, I believe that God will absolutely bring me opportunities if it is in His will. On the other hand, I believe that He wants us to partner with Him in the work He chooses to do in and through us. All of this to say, I'm not seeking to actually build some sort of ministry. I firmly believe that, if it is His will, the Lord will build that house. But I had a jolly good time preparing to meet with the women of Harbor Folsom and I had an even more amazing time sharing with them, fellowshipping with them, and breaking bread with them. If I might be afforded more opportunities to meet like-minded women and hang with them--this side of eternity--I would welcome the chance.

I believe that if this isn't the Lord's will, nothing will come of it. I also believe that I know a lot of people who attend a lot of churches in a lot of different places so, perhaps, the best place to start is just to say to the Lord and to you, "I'm available. Here I am. Use me."

I know my blog is in serious need of an update (and a blogger who is actually attentive to it) but there is a tab up there at the top that says "Invite Lori to Speak" and you can click on it. If you (or someone you know) are looking for a speaker, please check it out.

I desire to honor and glorify the Lord in whatever way I can. He gave me a mouth. He gave me a loud voice. He gave me a heart for women. He armed me with a degree in Theatre which just means that I paid a lot of money to be taught how to stand up in front of people. If I can somehow combine all those things to bring Him praise, may it be so.

Creed

A little over a week ago, on my birthday, we stood by as a woman lost her life. I only mention that it was my birthday because, even at 37, I suppose that a birthday is designed to be a celebration of life. We've turned it into a festival of cake and presents but, really, it's an acknowledgment that we've made it around the sun once more.

It was first thing in the morning. We were on our way to a baseball game. It was a Saturday and the roads were mostly clear. We'd gotten up, raced around the house, brushed our teeth, combed our hair, and loaded into the car a few minutes later than we'd intended to leave. If we'd left on time, we'd have been ahead of her and none of it would have touched us at all. If Troy hadn't run back in for one last thing, delaying us an additional twenty seconds, we may have been involved in the accident. Who's to say?

As we drove along, suddenly, ahead of us, we saw dirt billowing over the road. A huge cloud of dust. We had a few moments to voice our opinion on what it might be. Someone commented that it was very weird to have seen it so suddenly. Later, someone said he thought it was someone riding on a lawnmower, chopping weeds on the side of the road. Just as we prepared to drive through the massive dust fog, we saw the car.

It was flipped completely. And, as we slowed we could see a woman moving, flailing her arm. Troy pulled our car over just past hers--the first vehicle on the scene--and as I called 911, he rushed to her. I'd noticed the bike rider on the other side of the road. He reached 911 before I did. A nurse pulled up behind the scene and ran to the woman. As I approached, on hold with 911 and unaware that someone had gotten through, I could hear the woman moaning. The nurse kept telling her she was trying to help, trying to get an air way. Troy told me that someone had reached 911 already and that I needed to pull our van forward.

Shaking, I moved our van farther down the road. I told the boys to pray. And then I went back.

Troy walked toward me. He shook his head. No.

No. She won't be making it out of this alive.

The nurse said she was guppy breathing but her pupils were blown.

When we pulled up, she was moving. Moaning. Seemingly attempting to extricate her own self from the rolled Suburban. Somehow, despite the squashed upside down vehicle, I assumed the woman inside would be just fine if help could just hurry up and get there. I've always thought myself a pessimist. Maybe I'm "glass half full" after all. Because when my husband shook his head, I couldn't believe it.

She was alive. Moving. And then, she was dead. I erupted into tears as we walked toward our car.

When we ate our breakfast and brushed our teeth, she was alive. When we pulled out of our driveway, she was alive. When we parked our car on the other side of hers, she was alive--if only barely.

Life. Blink. Snap. Gone. While a nurse tried to save her. While my husband and another man searched the vehicle for other passengers. While I talked to a 911 dispatcher. While my children prayed.

I obsessed. Searched the internet for her name. Then searched for an obituary. I had to know who she was and what she'd left behind. Three children, it turns out. One of them grown. One of them, a teenage girl. One, a little boy. I waffled. Should I? Would I? Could I? Finally,  I sent a message to the girl.

In the end, I decided it probably wouldn't hurt much of anything. I chose my words carefully. I wanted her to know that people stopped. She responded. Overwhelmingly thankful that we'd pulled over. I then told her that many people had stopped, including a nurse who did all she could. I told her that her mother wasn't alone when she passed on.

I don't know anything about this woman or what happened to her soul when her body stopped moving and her pupils blew. I believe in a narrow road to Heaven. I wish I could make up some truth about a wide path to glorious eternity but I believe in God and in His Word. Jesus Himself says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." Salvation is free to anyone who would accept it, but it is a small and narrow road, passing only through Christ, who suffered, bled, died, and rose again. There is no room for wide views of eternity. Ask and you shall receive, but you must ask.

It sounds so unbelievable, a person raising from the dead and then ascending into Heaven. But my son told me that his friend believes we all came from germs. How is that any less ridiculous? We all have to ask the question, "Where did we come from?" Either we came from bitty materials that were somehow always there and eventually morphed into man, or we came from God who was somehow always there and who designed us with perfect precision. I simply cannot believe that we were ultimately created by something smaller than ourselves. Rather, it is infinitely more plausible to me that we were created by something so massive, our finite brains cannot even comprehend it.

I remember, in a profound way, a debate that took place in my high school English class. I don't know why we were talking about God and an afterlife but we were. Several students argued the insanity of a belief in God. Passionately, and with a lump forming in my throat, I said, "I simply have to believe in God. If there is nothing after this, what in the world is the point?"

I don't believe in a humanity formed by stardust because I don't even believe in the existence of stardust without first the existence of God.

I try not to be too vocal. So much of the world has already rejected my Savior, or walked away from Him, or outright denied His existence. I hate confrontation and I don't want to rock any boats. I'm terrible at sharing my faith--unless someone asks me. I've lived my life not hiding from my faith or my beliefs but not loudly proclaiming them to the masses either. But why? If I had the cure for cancer, I would most certainly give it to you. I wouldn't set it neatly on the table next to my bed--my own little secret. And so I will pray, now, boldly, for opportunities to share my faith.

A woman got up one morning, on my 37th birthday, and she started driving down the road. Something happened. A failure to negotiate a slight curve, is what the officer said. Her vehicle rolled. She wasn't wearing a seat belt and she was partially ejected from the car. A woman got up one morning. And it was the last time she ever rolled out of bed. The last time she brushed her teeth. The last time she climbed behind the wheel of a car.

YOU DO NOT KNOW WHEN YOUR LAST BREATH WILL BE.

If you don't know what's going to happen when you take that last breath, far be it for me to deny you the truth that I have in my Savior, Jesus Christ. I believe that an authentic relationship with the REAL person of Christ is the only way to Heaven.

I believe in God, the Father almighty creator of Heaven and earth.
I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord,
who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried;
he descended to the dead.
On the third day he rose again;
he ascended into Heaven,
he is seated at the right hand of the Father,
and he will come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit (and that the three are one),
one holy Church,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and I believe in a life that never ends.

If you want to know more, if the idea of being upside down in a Suburban on the side of the road guppy breathing your last breath has you as worked up as it has me, please ask me more about the Almighty God that I serve unashamed. I am not worked up because I'm afraid to take my last breath. I'm worked up because I'm afraid I'll take my last breath knowing there were people I needed to share my God with.

Don't wait. Don't shove life's deep questions to the back of your brain to be dealt with at another time. That time might never come...

In This Time of Desperation

I wake up with a general heaviness. It seems the world has turned upside down. Yes, there has nearly always been death and destruction and, yes, it has often been violent and ugly, but in the here and now, not a day goes by where I am not grieved by mass murder, kidnapping, sexual abuse, and a list of atrocities too long to mention.

Sometimes, it feels difficult to stand under the weight of these nightmares.

A theology professor (and pastor) from my university has been accused of sexual assault and rape. He admits to the relationship but says it was consensual. Regardless of the eventual verdict, he abused his position in the life of this young woman--whether criminally or not. Regardless, he betrayed his wife of several decades. Regardless, a community is reeling. A church is devastated. Countless pastors, religious leaders, and lay leaders, who studied under him for the years and years he taught as a professor, are questioning their education, reconciling the man they thought they knew with the man behind these allegations, moving forward after their world swiveled sharply off its axis.

I understand sin. I know that it is ever and always possible for me to make egregious error in both judgement and morals. I know that we are all sinners and fall short of God's glory and that we don't stop struggling with sin--on some level--until eternity. This is why I generally reject Wesley's notion of entire sanctification (this side of Heaven), much to the probable dismay of my alma mater and, I would assume, this professor. I don't know at what point one claims entire sanctification but, knowing my own mind, my own propensity for selfishness, and my own sinful desires, I have also always known that reaching, "...a state of perfect love, righteousness and true holiness which every regenerate believer may obtain by being delivered from the power of sin, by loving God with all the heart, soul, mind and strength and by loving one's neighbor as one's self," was pretty unlikely, for me, at least. That's ok. I still love my school and wouldn't trade my four years there. I'm grateful for an opportunity to have received an education where I could question a theological point, come up on the other side, and still be welcomed there.

I believe the words of 1 Timothy 1:15. "...Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners--of whom I am the worst."

So it is with a heavy heart that I am spending my waking moments. Because, most certainly, I am capable of evil. Most certainly, if a professor of theology and pastor can choose hideous sin (and many before this man have), I can too. Heck, if King David can choose sex and murder, are we not all capable of the same sin?

"We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way, and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all." Isaiah 53:6

I hope I run the race well. I hope it can one day be said of me that I was a good and faithful servant. I hope that I am never counted among those who fell away. I hope that I never stray beyond my own ability to hear the voice of the Good Shepherd and return. But if I do wander down a path twisted and hideous and lonely, and if I do wander so far that I cannot hear Him, I am grateful that He will come for me. In these days and hours of turmoil and destruction, I am so thankful to serve a Savior who sees me, loves me, and continues to rescue me.

"If a man has a hundred sheep and one of them wanders away, what will he do? Won't he leave the ninety-nine others on the hills and go out to search for the one that is lost? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he will rejoice over it more than over the ninety-nine that didn't wander away!" Matthew 18:12-13

In this time of desperation

When all we know is doubt and fear

There is only one foundation

We believe, we believe

In this broken generation

When all is dark, You help us see

There is only one salvation

We believe, we believe

We believe in God the Father

We believe in Jesus Christ

We believe in the Holy Spirit

And He's given us new life

We believe in the crucifixion

We believe that He conquered death

We believe in the resurrection
And he's coming back again, we believe
-Newsboys

The Reason

We took our children to see Santa. None of them believe in Santa Claus. Garrett and Matthew are too old for that these days and Will doesn't believe in much of anything yet. He believes that I'll feed him. Although, with the way he sometimes screams like a banshee for his next bottle, I'm not even sure he has complete faith in my follow through. One day, I assume his eyes will light up with the magical fairy tale of Santa Claus but, at the moment, we have no believers.

We had to twist Garrett's arm to sit on Santa's lap "one last time" because we wanted just one picture with all three boys together with him. When we got there, Santa was on his break. We waited forEVER. Will very nearly had an exhausted meltdown at the last moment but he rallied and we got this adorable picture which we paid way too much for.

This isn't a post about visiting Santa though.

I have something important to say.

We have never spent more than $100 dollars on each of our children for Christmas. I am not saying that so that you will feel sorry for them and think we're the poorest of the poor. I am not saying it because I want any kind of sympathy. Nor am I saying it to try to make anyone who spends less than that feel like I'm bragging. That is what we choose to spend. More or less. (Usually less.)

We taught our children from the moment they started believing in Santa that he would bring them ONE parent approved gift. Generally, we've limited this gift to roughly $20 or less. Christmas is a wonderful time of gift giving and receiving. It's magical and there are sparkly lights and pine trees erected inside our homes. Our favorite decorations come out and remind of us Christmases long, long ago. We sip hot cocoa and eat cookies. In our family, we focus on the Christ child, come to set us free. We teach our children that Christmas is in the manger, not in the packages under the tree.

Receiving gifts is a fun tradition. Receiving the Savior is a matter of life or death.

Yesterday, when we were just a few minutes away from meeting Santa, Garrett turned to me, his eyes WIDE as saucers. "What?" I exclaimed because, clearly, something was wrong.

"Did you hear what she's asking Santa for?" he whispered the sentence in one long exhale of air.

There was a girl, probably somewhere between my boys in age, standing just a few feet away with who I assume to be her father. I shook my head from side to side, I hadn't heard. He pulled me down closer to him and whispered, "She wants a hatchimal, an iPad, and a phone!" he paused. "She wants all that. SHE IS ASKING HIM FOR ALL THAT!"

When the boys were in preschool, I realized this was going to be an issue. I stood around and listened as parents told other parents what the red-suited man was bringing their children. I did mental math and gave up when I'd estimated the loot to be well over $500. FOR PRESCHOOLERS! I was getting my kid a couple of toys and some clothes. Long ago, we explained to our children that some kids receive a lot from Santa Claus but that the parents have to approve it all. We told them that we only wanted them getting something small. So as not to ruin what Christmas is all about. They understood and this has been our policy ever since.

"What is a hatchimal?" I asked. He gave me a look that shouted, "HEY, MOM, YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT!" What I was impressed with, in my ten-year-old who doesn't believe that Santa brings anything, was that he seemed not jealous but appalled. There was real concern in his eyes that someone would even dare to ask for ONE of those things, let alone all three.

"It's a thing. It...hatches. It's...well it's really expensive."

He wasn't joking. I searched Amazon. The cheapest one I can find is $150. It's true that it hatches. Once hatched, you can teach it to walk, talk, dance, and play games. Alright, but, for that price, I'd also better be able to teach it to do the dishes, fold the laundry, and change diapers. 

I have no idea if "Santa" is going to bring all of her requests but I'm willing to bet she also has stuff coming from mom and dad and grandparents. Perhaps even aunts and uncles. Maybe she knows the true meaning of Christmas and maybe she doesn't. She certainly knows the true meaning of consumerism. 

I know it sounds like I'm judging because...I am.

I'm judging a society that teaches children that asking for all three of those things isn't pure madness.

I think I was born in the wrong decade. Maybe I'm some kind of old school mom in a new school mom body. I don't know. What I know is that it made me sad. It isn't that we can't afford to spend more than $100. It's that I don't want to. I want them to understand that the stuff will break. The gifts will long go forgotten. 

What we remember about Christmas is the ham at Grandma and Grandpa's house, the way the family laughed when great grandma said she wanted some of every kind of dessert ("A little of each," she'd say.), the way the tinsel shined on Grandma's tree. We remember the roast and potatoes at the other grandparents house, the way their mobile home lit up with just the lights from their table top tree, the sound of my grandmother's laugh which still brings tears of joy to my eyes when I hear it ringing in my memory. We remember being five years old and moving the stuffed bear on the advent calendar. We remember daddy rolling sugar cookies and mommy tucking us in so that Santa could come. We remember Christmas Eve candle light services and carols. We remember Linus and what Christmas is really all about.

We remember Luke 2.

Teach your children to remember these things or, rather, their own versions of these things. Teach them that it is not about phones and iPads and hatchimals. Teach them to be thankful for what they get to give, not what they will receive.

Teach them about Jesus.

But, I mean, if someone knows about a hatchimal that DOES fold laundry, can you pass that info on to me? It's just that I could probably get on board with that.

Return of the King

My pastor is a wise sort of fellow. Don't tell him. It'll go to his head. In and of itself that would be no problem. But there is the little fact that I also happen to live with him.

He writes a monthly article for a church newsletter. I'm hijacking his musings and posting them here without permission. I don't really need permission. I always have the option to just kiss him and make up. Here are his words:

Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.                                               Hebrews 11:16

I don’t know if you heard but there was an election recently.  You might have missed it.  It was really hard to find any information on TV.  So few people were sharing their opinions on social media that it is easy to understand if it escaped your notice.

The truth, of course, is that unless you were living under a rock or just emerged from a year-long coma, you are well aware of the election that just transpired.  There were widely varied responses: shock, euphoria, anger, despair, ambivalence. 

Let me say this.  It is no secret that our nation is deeply divided and much variance exists, even within the body of Christ. So how do we respond?  What words do I have to say to all of us as we move forward?

First, let me break my longstanding pattern of not endorsing a party or political candidate.  I would like to tell you where my allegiance lies.  I am a monarchist.*

That’s right.  I’m done with democracy as the ideal, I long for a return of the King.  My advocacy, my hope, and allegiance is to Jesus Christ.

I’m not saying this as a cop-out or an attempt to be tongue –in-cheek.  I am reminded that it is God who raises nations and brings princes to naught.  Any success that our nation enjoys is not the result of our own gifting or cleverness but is a demonstration of God’s mercy toward us.  I realize that God smiles upon obedience but I also know that this principle extends to all peoples. I realize that God’s salvation plan is not based upon nation building but is to be the spread of the Gospel all across the globe.

I have come to learn that I am an American best when I am not an American first.  When I remember that I am an ambassador and a stranger in a foreign land, I realize it is my job to represent Christ, His love and His character.  I am called to live at peace, if it is possible, and to conduct myself in a respectable manner while I wait for Christ’s return.

So how should we respond?  What do we do until Christ’s comes back?

Do not despair if an election does not go your way.  Likewise, do not rejoice overmuch when your candidate wins.   Human beings will let us down.  Even the political parties that you have the greatest affinity with will disappoint you and break their promises.  Remember that God is in control.  He still holds this world securely in His hands.

Be a good citizen.  We are called to live at peace, if it is possible, and to conduct ourselves in a law abiding and respectable manner.

Exercise your right to vote.  It is a great privilege to be a part of our own governance. 

Pray for those in authority.  Scripture states, “I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for all people—for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. This is good, and pleases God our Savior.” 1 Timothy 2:1-3. 

Remember that God used pagan kings like Cyrus to accomplish His work.  He humbled rulers like Nebuchadnezzar to reveal His power and greatness.  And those words written to Timothy were written during the reign of one of the most notorious Emperors of Rome: Nero.

Finally, share the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  Remember why we are here.  North America could disappear like Atlantis under the waves of the Ocean but even if this happened, our calling would not change.  We are here to share Christ.  To live as His witnesses.

Like you, I enjoy living in a land of freedom, of opportunity, where I can raise my family in peace.  I will do what I can to preserve such blessings. But I need to remember that this is not my home.  I need to remember that elections and edicts do not determine the ultimate course of human events.  It is God Almighty, my King, who holds that power.

Then I praised the Most High; I honored and glorified him who lives forever.

His dominion is an eternal dominion; His kingdom endures from generation to generation. All the peoples of the earth are regarded as nothing. He does as he pleases with the powers of heaven and the peoples of the earth. No one can hold back his hand or say to him: “What have you done?”

                                                                                                                                                Daniel 4:34-35

*When I read the Bible, I am sadly reminded that the majority is often wrong.  From Babel to Kadesh Barnea, the majority of persons, time and again, walks in a manner contrary to God.  I, however, will side with the King, regardless which direction the crowd goes.

Sonrise Baptist Church

At church last week, my husband talked about how our "measurables" are down. You know, the way we check to see if "business" is thriving. Are we getting enough money to pay the bills? Are our seats filling up with bodies? We don't want bodies for the sake of numbers. We want them because they represent individuals growing in their knowledge of Christ. We don't want the people's money because the church wants to get rick quick. We want it so that we can pay our missionaries and put on Vacation Bible School in the summertime and purchase materials for Bible studies. We would also like to be able to run the air conditioner in the summer and I, for one, really enjoy the heater in the winter.

Numbers are down and God is calling people away from this valley in droves, but we will remain faithful. We will serve Him.

I'd really like for everyone to take a half hour out of their day to watch this video. If you live somewhere else--somewhere less mission fieldy--please lift our church up in prayer. Please remember that there are many Christians faithfully serving the triune God in the middle of Utah and pray for us. If you used to worship with us but have moved away, please pray for your former church. If you have never considered church on Sunday morning, please come and join us. We are a family of believers who desperately want to share our faith and our Savior with you. If you already worship with us, consider attending more regularly, becoming a member, and/or partnering with us in ministry. We are called not just to attend church, but to serve.

Church Is Not a Number

We work in a mission field. We knew that when we took the job. It's the reason that, when originally asked where we'd consider moving, we listed all the states surrounding this one. Utah was the black hole we never considered. Mission fields are hard. Domestic mission fields get the added bonus of people forgetting it's a mission at all.

It's incredibly difficult to grow a church here. Especially difficult if you stick to the truth of the Word of God. If you don't water down your theology, if you call sin by its name, and if your church isn't located in the hippest or richest part of town, church growth is slow and challenging.

Our ministry is eight and half years old. In those years, we have watched as amazing, godly family after amazing, godly family has been called away from this mission field. Leadership. Sunday school teachers. Ministry team members. Board members. If we could round them all up from their new homes in southern Utah, northern Utah, Washington, Oregon, Texas and the like, and put them back together under our roof, our church would be thriving--numerically. They, coupled with our newer families, would create a dynamic that would be an encouragement to both our community and my heart, alike.

The concern, though, is that when families leave for employment or retirement or health issues, they need to be replaced by another family. If another family doesn't join the church in their place, the numbers decrease and this becomes a great burden over time. Refer back to how difficult it is to grow a church in Utah.

Last summer, our attendance was up. Our giving was up. I was swimming through personal grief and the encouragement I received at church was incredible. And then a few families moved. Our numbers are down. It is not about a number. I know that. But eventually, decisions have to be made. Tough choices. How to balance the budget. What ministries to do away with if you don't have the manpower to run them.

We have enough regular attenders that if they all came on the same Sunday, our church would be full--or, at least, more full. So I've started to pray that our "regular attenders" would be convicted to get out of bed. Perhaps they'll put on clothes and drive to church and come and worship with us. "Lord, let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much more as we see the Day approaching (Hebrews 10:24-25). Lord, bring our regular attenders and bring new faces, that we might impact this community, this valley, this mission field, for your kingdom."

This morning was the same as many Sundays since the fall. I had great joy in looking out and seeing the familiar faces that I love. But I missed those who have gone and I missed those who have not yet come. I looked out over the congregation as I sang with the worship team. A curious thing happened. If I opened my eyes, all I saw were the empty chairs. The empty chairs felt like wind and waves. I saw ministries cut and needs not being met for lack of volunteers. Panic began to rise. Anxiety gripped my chest. If I closed my eyes and focused on worship, I felt the presence of the Lord and everything else faded away.

Matthew 14:25-31
Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. "It's a ghost," they said, and cried out in fear. 

But Jesus immediately said to them: "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."

"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."

"Come," he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?"

My Lord does not need me. He does not need my husband. He graciously allows us to be used. When I am afraid that somehow God doesn't see our need, He asks me why I have such little faith. We will offer ourselves as living sacrifices. We will not be conformed. We will endeavor to prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God (Romans 12). We long to reach this land with the gospel of Christ. We desire filled seats because it means that more are walking in the ways of the Lord with weekly conviction. But we know that where two or three are gathered together in His name, He is there in the midst of them (Matthew 18:20). We will continue to be a church that preaches the truth whether there are 500 people or 5 people.

To the amazing and godly men and women who were called out of this valley and into other ministries, we miss you more than we can adequately express. To the regular attenders and members of our church, we love you and your faithful service. Thank you for your partnership with us.

I Am the Reason

The cross.

I'm not going to lie. Sometimes, I forget about its magnitude. We can't exist in a place of deep sorrow for too terribly long. We can't dwell on the disaster and the beauty of the cross because it's too painful to confront the ugliness of our sin. 

I remember every Sunday when I look at it. But it's stunning and beautiful and reminds me of the hope I have, every day, in Christ.

Occasionally, I think of the horror. The cowardly arrest in a peaceful garden under the cloak of darkness. The unjust beating, the mocking. The mistrial. I think about the crowd calling for his death. The nails piercing his innocent hands. The blood flowing down. The final breath. The cry, "It is finished."

I'm angry at all the guilty parties who did such a horrible thing.

And then I see myself making the arrest. I betray Him with a kiss. I'm there, swinging the whip. I'm calling out insults. I slam the nail into His hand. I'm too far gone to even understand what I'm doing.

He says, "Father, forgive her. She knows not what she does."

I don't. 

And I do.

I sin without thinking about it. Nothing planned. Nothing premeditated. But, also, I sin on purpose. Because it's easier to lie. Or because there is twisted comfort in pride. Because I'll do anything to have people like me. 

I am the reason He is on the cross today.

The reality of that truth is crushing.

And I thank God for the victory of Sunday.

Revival

Hello. It's me, Lori. I used to blog here.

Now I take care of kindergartners all day and then shuttle my own children to their activities and help them with homework and try to dig my way out of never ending piles of laundry. There's no time for writing anymore.

Which is really sad.

But, also, because it used to be my children who provided me with endless writing material. Now they're older and, while still hilarious, they don't do things like leave blobs of poop on gas station floors or adorably mispronounce words.

Sigh. I miss my babies.

But I love the guys they're becoming. Today, our church held a day of prayer. I was there for two hours and, for the second hour, the boys joined me. The three of us were joined by an older couple and we all prayed together. Both of my boys joined in and prayed for things and it was amazing. My heart swelled up to a great big epic size because, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth." (3 John 1:4)

I recently read a quote by Andy Stanley that says, "Your greatest contribution to the kingdom of God might not be something you do but someone you raise." You guys. I'm pretty sure this revolutionized my entire life. I've always wanted to do something major. It's a restlessness inside of me. But then, think of all the men and women who are who they are because their parents raised them right.

I know that they may grow up and make a crapload of bad choices. But I sure don't want it to be because I was lame at parenting. If they make horrible decisions, I want them to have no choice but to say, "I don't know why I did that. My parents raised me to be better than that."

Today, my son prayed for revival. His words. He asked God for a revival. My nine-year-old recognizes stagnancy and inactivity and wants the absolute opposite.

In 1927, Baylus McKinney wrote a hymn. Its chorus:

Lord, send a revival,
Lord, send a revival,
Lord, send a revival,
and let it begin in me

This is my prayer as I raise these guys. Let the love of Christ bubble in me and through me and out of me in such a way that revival would begin here. In such a way that I would continue to teach my children to walk in truth. In such a way that my greatest contribution to the kingdom of God might be someone I raise.

Sonrise Haiti Trip

My husband went to Haiti.

Here's a short video about their experiences.


Sonrise Haiti 2015 from Hungry For Life USA on Vimeo.

Navigating a Life Interrupted

Interruptions. They come in all sizes and shapes. All colors and shades. Good and bad. Though we wish to avoid them, every season of life seems to include a few--sometimes on either end of the same day. As we're coming up for air from the devastation of one, a fresh and exciting interruption takes our breath away, challenging us with new responsibilities, leaving us feeling inadequate and outmatched. They shock us; they shake us; they compel us to change. -Priscilla Shirer

I just finished leading an evening Bible study by Priscilla Shirer called Jonah: Navigating a Life Interrupted. When the morning Bible study teacher handed me the book, back in the spring, I knew it was a study I could get on board with. I was still reeling from the abrupt turn our lives had taken. We'd painted over the samples of pink with a bluish gray color. We'd started referring to "Kate's room" as the library. We'd disassembled the crib. We were muddling through each day as best we could. But sometimes, the grief was overwhelming.

I couldn't understand it. I still can't explain where all this grief came from and I felt like I wasn't entitled to it. I couldn't imagine how people ever live through the death of a child they've raised or a spouse taken too soon because, some days, I wanted to pull the covers over my head and sleep forever. My plans had changed. How would I move on? What would come of this interrupted life?

It was easy to know what life experience I'd be drawing from with my answers to the personal questions. Early on, Priscilla asked us to consider the following equation:

Insignificant Person + Insignificant Task = Interruption

Significant Person + Significant Task = Divine Intervention

I pondered this and decided that I believed it to be true. Our God asking me to walk through the loss of my child equaled a divine intervention and not an interruption. But that didn't seem to provide me with any kind of comfort. Instead, if I'm being honest with myself, it made me angry. He'd brought a situation straight to us, pulled us out of obscurity, selected us to be Kate's parents with the omnipotent foreknowledge that, once we were blissfully and joyfully all in, He would intervene and she would be taken from us. It was the hand selection that I couldn't reconcile. I asked over and over again what I was supposed to be learning and why the lesson had to hurt so much. Initially, I knew it was to bring him glory through my response but when praising Him didn't soften the blow, I struggled. I wanted the lessening of pain to be directly correlated to the amount of praise I sang out and that simply wasn't what happened.

I always complete the studies that I lead before I start teaching them. As such, the answers I give to the questions are relative to that precise moment in time. Months later, when I teach that particular section, the answers might be different. I hoped this would be the case with this Jonah study. I longed to return to each section, months after first completing them, with a new perspective. But, as the study went on, I found my frustration building. I was loving what we were all learning about Jonah but relating it to my own life was increasingly difficult. I was swimming through grief and my perspective wasn't changing. I knew in my head that our sovereign God is Lord of all and that His plan is always the right one. My heart was just struggling to accept it all. And then my eyes would become exponentially angry with my head or my heart or both and volumes of emotion would drain from them in stinging sorrow.

Through October and November, I climbed through Scripture and focused on what we learning and not on how it could effect me personally. On Tuesday, I began preparing for Wednesday's study. Closed in to a closet not more than two and a half feet deep or wide, I sat with my book on my lap and prepared the lesson. I turned, eventually, to the very last day of the very last week of the study, titled, A Fabulous Ending.

Jonah's final verses offer us a peek into the heart of God. He spoke more in this passage than He did throughout the rest of the book to share His thoughts and perspectives with the surly prophet. Whenever God's words are concentrated in a compact portion of Scripture, I sit forward to listen. -Priscilla Shirer

But God said to Jonah, "Is it right for you to be angry about the plant?"

"It is," he said. "And I'm so angry I wish I were dead."

But the Lord said, "You have been concerned about this plant, though you did not tend it or make it grow. It sprang up overnight and died overnight. And should I not have concern for the great city of Ninevah..." Jonah 4:9-11a

In her commentary, Priscilla writes, "Jonah cared about a plant. God cared about people." Then she says the following. "Consider your divine intervention. What has it revealed to you about God's perspective, and what should be important to you right now?"

My answer from several months ago was simply: People. I remember writing it. I remember thinking that instead of being so inward focused on myself and my own pain, I needed to embrace the role I have within the church and the unique position I am in to pour into the lives of so many. More pouring. Less soaking. That's what I'd thought.

And that's a fine thought to have. It's a great goal and we should always be more outwardly focused than self centered. But I let the tears stream down my face in my tiny closet with the space heater and the post-it prayers on the walls. And, next to "People" I wrote her name...

Kate's mama. It was her body that held and lost Kate. It was her heart that broke. She was going to give Kate to us because she loved her and wanted the best life for her. After Kate was gone, Troy and I saw her. I fought my own grief for those brief moments and tried with all I had to minister to her. She just kept saying that she was sorry. Over and over again. I hugged her, held her, and shared Christ with her. I'm told that, in the months following Kate's death, she was lost in pain and despair and sorrow. I haven't had the opportunity to have any communication with her but I know that godly women have continued to pour into her life.

Two weeks ago, she surrendered to Christ and accepted Him as her Lord and Savior.

Thinking on this miracle in my prayer closet, it suddenly became clear. It was never about me. It was never about Jonah. It was always about the Ninevites. It was always about her. Her life has been one enormous example of why we need a heavenly Father who loves us so much bigger and better than anyone on earth ever can. I am convinced that it took the pain of losing Kate to realize how desperately she needed a Savior.

I don't know why God chose us to be involved and to walk this journey but I'd like to think He believed that we'd bring Him honor through it and that we'd help to point Kate's mama toward Him. I'm not comparing Kate to the plant in Jonah chapter 4. God loves Kate deeply and intimately. The miracle for Kate was that there is a Heaven to gain and she avoided the trials and terrors of this world completely. But she is the plant in that I have been completely focused on her and entirely consumed with what I was supposed to learn from the sudden blessing and then loss of her life. I was so busy clinging to my small space and grief and miracle given and taken that I forgot about the massive city behind me full of people--or at least a pair of them--who need the miracle maker.

God used Kate to bring her mama to Him. And maybe, in some teeny, tiny way, He used me.

On Tuesday, I sent the following message to our adoption coordinator:

"I just wanted to share something with you. Tomorrow, I will teach the final lesson in Priscilla Shirer's Jonah: Navigating a Life Interrupted Bible study. I started prepping for this study in June. At the beginning, we were asked to choose something in our life where we could clearly see that God had interrupted our plans. The goal was to begin seeing interruptions as divine interventions. Obviously, it was clear what situation I'd be using. What was a little harder was realizing that He brought a situation straight to us, knowing He would greatly interrupt or intervene once our hearts were all in. As I prepped for tomorrow and went over the lesson again, I realized that it's all so much bigger than me. I'd like to think He used us, in some small way, but all of this, all the hurt and pain, eventually led to the angels rejoicing in Heaven over another soul saved. Yes, I want Kate in my arms instead of the ground...but she is safe in the arms of her loving Savior...And for the soul of her mama, well, a year of pain is well worth a life saved."

She responded, "I love you, Kate's mom. You bless me and so many others for living the way you do..."

The repentance of the Ninevites was never about Jonah. Jonah just got to be a part of it. May I always remember, in my grief and my pain and my frustration, that maybe my life is being interrupted so that someone else can see the glory of the Lord.

Isn't There Anyone Who Knows What Christmas Is All About?

The following is an article written by my husband for our church newsletter. It's important. It's what I want my boys to remember. It's why we try never to have a "rip and tear" fest. It's why we don't get up before the sun to jump into our stuff. It's why our Christmas Eve service at church is the most important part of our Christmas.

Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about? --Charlie Brown

Christmas.

Trees and lights and shopping mall Santas. Family gatherings, exchanged gifts, frosted cookies and holiday dinner. There are so many things we associate with Christmas. But what is Christmas really about?

If you're reading this article, I'm sure you already know. You understand that Christmas is the celebration of Christ's birth. It is the day when we specifically remember the incarnation. We pause to reflect on the great gift of God to us. Himself.

But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, that we might receive the adoption as sons. --Galatians 3:4-5

Jesus came to deliver us from sin and bondage. He humbled Himself so that we might be exalted. He suffered and died so that we might receive life. Christmas should remind us of God's love. It should reaffirm how far God was willing to go to save us.

And yet, we realize that this most important truth is often lost during this season. Even if we remember what Christmas is really about, the truth can be quickly addressed and set aside. Quick! Read the Bible story so we can descend into a gift unwrapping frenzy!

I've often heard Christians complain about financial hardship during the holidays. Money is just so tight. I don't know how we're going to have Christmas this year. I am sympathetic to the situation but the actual statement is incorrect. Our paper wrapped tokens and trinkets do not determine whether or not we have Christmas. Christmas is based upon the one gift--the GREATEST GIFT--given so long ago.

Before the tradition of giving gifts became mainstream, before stockings and St. Nicholas, before the Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer special was created out of Claymation, there was Christmas. There was Christmas because Christ had come.

I don't want you to feel guilty about participating in your own family gatherings and traditions. Enjoy some fudge and spend time with your family. But I do hope that the true meaning of the holiday isn't lost in the clutter. The Grinch could come and steal both our gifts and the roast beast and we would still be a people most blessed. We would be blessed because of the Love that God sent. It would be a day to rejoice and sing and celebrate. Because Jesus has come. God with Us! He has redeemed His people from their sins.

So, Merry Christmas.

Thank you, Jesus.

Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is both to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. --Luke 2:10-11

The Promiscuous Wife

Have you any idea what it's like to be a senior pastor's wife? To mourn the loss of everyone who walks back through the doors because their experience wasn't enough or my husband wasn't enough or I wasn't enough. It's hard. My heart breaks every time.

I doubt that anyone who has left our church because of "not enough" hangs around reading my blog but, if they do, I want them to know that we never rejoice in their departure. We mourn. Every time.

My friend moved to Texas and is struggling to find a church that preaches the Word without wavering. This is so difficult in this day and age and culture. I am so thankful that my husband doesn't move from the truth. In part, I already knew, but I am learning that it is very rare to find a body of believers committed to the infallible word of God.

As my friend, Abi, struggles to find a church and hears of those who had one and gave it up, she writes. She writes this. The Promiscuous Wife: A Culture of Church Leavers and its importance cannot be measured.

If something isn't enough, bring it to light. Ask if there can be more. Examine yourself. See if you can be more. Get involved. Do what you can. And know that we are trying. And if we're failing, it is not because we want to be. We desire success. We desire to see people coming to Christ. We desire to see them studying the Word of God with an insatiable appetite. We desire friendships and fellowship.

We never want to see you walk out the door.

To those who stay through financial ups and downs, through growth and decline, through our own personal pain, thank you. We truly could never do this without you.

The Heart Wants What the Heart Wants

So.

I've been really confused about the direction God is leading us. For almost 10 months, we've been praying that He would bring us a daughter and that, if that isn't His will, He'd make it abundantly clear and He'd CHANGE ALL OUR HEARTS. Emphasis on the ALL. It was all just so evident with Kate. We'd ask, "Should we walk through this door?" and it would fly open. It seems like He prepared our hearts for more than this. It feels like He'd make it clear if He wanted us to be done. But feelings are fickle and sometimes He calls us to walk through a giant pile of muck because knowing Him more fully waits on the other side of the swamp.

I had an emotional breakdown a few weeks ago. Not an earth shattering breakdown, I just let the tears slide right on down my face, uncontrolled, IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.

I cry in front of Troy. And that's about it. I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you've seen me cry you can count yourself part of an elite group. The five of you are connected by the shared bond of my excessive eye water. You're welcome.

Anyway, I'd had these fleeting thoughts that...I might not want a newborn. I might not want to start this whole thing over again. I might not want to not sleep through the night. I might not want the poop everywhere and the diaper bills and the formula bills and the itty-bitty helpless bundle of depravity.

Maybe, I thought, God is changing my heart.

And I'm going to just be 100% frank here because I'm keepin' it real. That thought pissed me off. It started a good two weeks of me being irrationally angry that He might just change my heart after all. HOW DARE HE? How dare He answer my prayer?

I kept praying and trying to come to grips with what all that might mean. I entered into a time of deep grief because it also coincided with the anniversary of finding out that Kate existed and that we were actually going to get to be her parents and all kinds of things that happened to just be a lot of a lot of all the feelings.

But there I was, wondering if my desire for a baby had been taken away almost as quickly as it had been given to me which was, well, nearly instantaneous. And then two Sundays ago came. I was rehearsing with the praise team and, out in front of me, my friend followed her nine-month-old as she crawled around. That sweet little girl was born during the precise moment that I was holding Kate in the mortuary and something about that connection makes me love that little crawling baby even more. She kept trying to get toward the stage and her mama would herd her in a different direction. I stepped down, scooped her up, and took her up on the stage with me. Every baby I've ever met loves microphones. As I sang, the baby reached out for the microphone. She leaned her head against my own, her hair tickling my forehead. She smiled, big.

(There was also this one, in which I was doing something that I intended to be playful but which, in actuality, looks like I'm eating the baby.)

The honest truth is that I don't love the newborn stage. I never really have. Oh, of course I LOVE the baby. Who doesn't enjoy the brand new snuggles of the tiniest of humans? Who doesn't look at them and say, "You're never going to be this small ever, ever again?" Who isn't in awe of the miracle of life? But the zero to two month stage has never been my favorite. Not even when they were my own. At various times, I wanted to throw both of my children out the window when they were newborns because I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT. I HAVE FED AND CLEANED AND HUGGED YOU AND I HAVE EXHAUSTED ALL MY TRICKS AND WHY ARE YOU STILL CRYING? With Matthew, we added to that the fact that he slept ALL DAY and cried ALL NIGHT regardless of all my efforts to fix it.

But man, the smiley grins of a three month old. The way a five month old fits on the hip. The happy squeals of an eight month old. A nine month old trying to sing into a microphone. That's what I want. Still.

We've inquired on a couple other sibling sets. I've even done a little more research into international adoption (although financially, that one isn't really an option). I'm not trying to limit God. I also know He could very easily say, "Complete. Done. The end." But I definitely desire a baby on my hip.

I was reading a cyber friend's blog last week and I laughed until my sides ached. She has a preschooler. Any rational human being who has children in school all day does not want a toddler. Anyone who reads a blog about poop being anywhere BUT the toilet does not want a preschooler. However, I read this blog and wanted to do it all over again. I don't know why. It doesn't even make sense to me.

But babies singing into microphones and preschoolers having attitude problems and leaving patties of poop in places they don't belong is something my heart really does want. And my heart has a lot of changing to do if it isn't in the cards. So I'll keep waiting for clear direction and, one day, I will look back and see how God was clearly working through it all.

This I know is true.

The Lock Down

I was sitting at the desk, counting down the minutes until recess. First graders were cutting out nouns and adjectives and gluing them in the correct columns. "BEEP BEEP!" the intercom alert sounded. I thought it was just for my class. They'd tell me that someone was checking out and to send him to the office. I was just about to respond to the beep with a, "Yes?" But immediately following, a woman's voice, stern and strong, came over the speaker. "Teachers! We are on lock down. Lock down now!"

In the next two seconds my mind processed a handful of thoughts. The first was that the teacher had failed to inform me that we were having a lock down drill. The second was that the office staff had failed to inform me that we were having a lock down drill. The third was that the woman's voice had been so stern that I wasn't entirely sure we were having a lock down drill. I walked very quickly to the door, pulled the magnet and tugged the door closed quickly. In the couple moments it took to accomplish that particular task, I saw two teachers doing the same thing. They did not look like they knew anything about it. They looked...concerned.

I flicked the lights off.

A sea of six-year-olds stared at me. I glanced quickly around the room and then whispered, "Get against the wall." I ushered them over to the wall where their backpacks hung. It couldn't be seen from the window by the door.

"IS THIS REAL?"

"WHAT'S A LOCKDOWN?"

"IT MEANS THERE IS A REALLY BAD GUY IN THE SCHOOL!"

I put my finger to my lips. "You have to be quiet. I mean it. You can't talk." I whispered almost inaudibly.

"Is it real?" one child whispered back.

"I...I don't know," I replied.

I had no idea if it was real or not. And so I had no choice but to treat it like it was absolutely real. And I had no choice but to treat it as though it was the worst case scenario. "Our door doesn't lock," one boy said.

"What do you mean it doesn't lock?" I asked.

"It's broken. Even when we pull it closed, it doesn't lock," he said with panic painted into his eyes. So there was that piece of information gnawing at me as we sat still for ten minutes. The kids got bored and started giggling. I put my finger to my lips again and told them they had to stay quiet.

Suddenly, a shaky voice came over the speaker. "Teachers, you need to email me or text me.immediately. I repeat, email me or text me immediately." The voice sounded afraid, upset, only barely in control. And that's when I really began to believe that there was someone in the building. This person had reason to believe that there were teachers who were not okay, teachers who could not respond because they were hurt--or worse. They were taking inventory. Which teachers were able to respond?

I was not.

We were fine. But I didn't know who "me" even was. I don't have a district issued computer so I couldn't email. I could use my phone to text or email but it was across the room, past the window, and getting it was a risk I wasn't willing to take. If there was a psychopath standing at the window, waiting for sound or movement, I wasn't about to let him (or her) know that we were in there. Whoever "me" was, she was going to have to wait on the first graders in room 103.

The school was laid out exactly like the one my sons attend. Only the kindergartners stood between us and the front office. If someone went in through the front doors, it wouldn't be long before they reached us. I hadn't heard any confrontations or gun fire, but the upper grade levels are around the back and my first graders weren't being particularly quiet when the first announcement had come. If they'd opened fire on the opposite side of the school, I assumed it was possible that I hadn't heard it.

A few moments later, the handle on the door jiggled up and down several times. Several of the students gasped and I threw my finger over my lips again. Tears welled in kids' eyes. I was characterized by a calmness I'm still surprised by. I realized in that second that our door was, in fact, locked. I also firmly believed that someone was inside the school and they were trying doors.

As I tried to keep scared six-year-olds quiet, I had only a few thoughts.

If someone comes through that door or that window, I have to die trying to protect these kids.

PRAY! Ask for deliverance but also make sure you're ready to see Jesus today.

I MIGHT SEE JESUS TODAY!

My family will never see me again. 

Aside from these thoughts, I was numb. I prayed that God would spare me but I also asked that He would welcome me into His presence. I thought of how I would lunge from my place on the floor and slam myself into the gunman. I thought about how much the bullets would hurt. I thought about my husband and my children. Eventually, I thought that the longer we sat there, the better chance we had. Certainly the cops were taking care of it by that point--and I still hadn't heard gunfire.

Suddenly, another jiggle on the door handle. I swallowed hard. Then, the jingle of keys and a woman poked her head inside. She looked around the corner, made eye contact with me and said that I could resume teaching. However, we were still supposed to keep our door locked and no one was allowed to leave the classroom for any reason. Then she turned and walked out.

In that moment, assuming that any imminent danger had passed, I exhaled. Adrenaline flooded from my body at a rapid rate leaving me shaking violently. I'd remained calm. Apparently I'm alright in a crisis situation. It's just after the crisis is over that I fall apart.

The lock down was never really, officially, lifted. Teachers kept their doors closed and their lights out. When the bell rang about a half hour later, I waited until other children filled the halls before letting mine go.

Then I marched down to the office and asked what the heck had happened. "Oh, well, there was a suspicious individual in the neighborhood so we chose to lock down." I explained that I was unable to respond to the announcement about emailing because I had no idea who was speaking and no access to a computer. As I spoke about that being a problem, I got the sense that the office staff thought I was overreacting. Had I known that the threat was outside, I wouldn't have had to jump to "worst case scenario" in my mind and in how I handled the situation. But I had no idea and the best way to take care of a classroom of first graders is to treat the situation as though it could have the worst possible outcome.

I assumed that it was a "no big deal" situation since the office staff seemed none too worried. But this morning my friend sent me a message and an article. As it turns out, the individual was located less than a block away from the school and was being pursued on foot. He was one minute BY FOOT away from the school. He is one of Utah's most wanted. Apparently he was extremely armed and dangerous. You can click here for the story.

Having now been in a situation where nothing really happened and I still feel like years were taken off my life, I cannot imagine what it would be like to sit in a room, listening to gunfire. I cannot imagine witnessing mass murder. I cannot imagine being asked to state my faith and then killed.

When it was over, I looked down at my arm. As an after thought, I'd grabbed my favorite bracelet before I'd walked out the door. It has select phrases from Jeremiah 29:11. He always knows the end from the beginning. And I'm so thankful that yesterday He kept all of us safe.

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"

The Wing Girl

There is this fact of life.

People move.

School. Employment opportunities. Warmer weather. Cooler weather. To be closer to family. To be as far away from family as possible. Because Portland seemed like a fun place and New York was killing her dead. Because California is too bloody expensive. Because the south is a good place to raise a family. People move.

When we moved a fourth of the way across the country and left everything I'd ever known I was precisely 65% devastated and 35% eager for the adventure. It surprised me, that 35%, on account of all the deep roots I had and the fact that I did not like the idea of digging them up. I've determined, however, that the unknown adventure is what keeps us putting one foot in front of the other one as we trek to our new destination.

But when we're staying put and someone else is doing the trekking, well, then we're just kind of heartbroken. And 100% devastated. When it's clear that God is leading them away, it's even worse because we're 100% sure we shouldn't feel that way. Except it's also better because we know that the Author of every chapter is writing their story. We focus on rejoicing over the fact that we were allowed to be written into it at all.

My friend, Abi, is leaving.



Initially, we were more like acquaintances. There was the occasional shared meal. We were friendly with one another, said hello on Sunday mornings, engaged in small talk. I attended her wedding. But a deep friendship between us would have been unlikely. She is quiet and reserved. I am loud and intimidating. I couldn't invite her over because she is deathly allergic to cats and I make it a practice not to kill members of our congregation. She was busy with earning an MFA in Modern Dance and I was busy with raising toddlers.

But our paths began to cross more frequently than just Sunday mornings. We served together on the worship ministry team. I discovered that her writing skills, quick wit, and knack for the sarcastic far surpassed my own. I chose not to be overly jealous of these facts and realized that this woman was quickly becoming someone I really liked being around.

Later, we started to sing together on the praise team. Somewhere, in those Sunday morning rehearsals, where some notes were hit and some weren't, where coffee might have helped if either of us drank it, where we were the only women on a stage of men, the beginning of a friendship was forged.

I prayed in my prayer closet that God would provide me with a like-minded ministry partner, someone who would rise up next to me and, maybe, one day, take the reigns of Women's Ministry. I believe in constantly looking for people who will come up and position themselves to be able to take over if need be. At that point I was, quite actually, looking for a wing man. (Wing Girl?) Like Tom Cruise in Top Gun, I needed a Goose. God whispered, "Abi." At that point, she wasn't even on the women's ministry team. We were slowly becoming friends. I couldn't just walk up and ask her to be my Goose. It would have been weird.

But God is always right.

Abi joined the team. She had a baby. Then another one. We bonded over events, retreats, baby barf, mommy fails, and Sunday school classes. We've stood side by side on the stage, our voices lifted in praise. We've served together. We've laughed and cried (something neither of us used to do with any regularity because we are actually a robot and a cyborg) and prayed.

And then God called her family to Texas. He closed all the other doors and left one wide open. It's just that the open door is a job in Texas and her kids are going to speak with accents and she'll have big hair and live far away from me.

I've prayed for her family like they were my family. I love her children so much they could come live with me and I'm pretty sure I'd just instantly believe they were mine. I've come to love her a whole, heaping lot. Her heart has wrapped itself around my own in such a way that the thought of doing ministry without her is crushing.

That's not meant as a guilt trip. I don't have to like it to know that it's God's plan. I can solidly stand in the court of not wanting someone to leave and still solidly know that she has to, that leaving is obedience, that leaving must happen.

My friend, Abi, is hilarious, brilliant, kind, patient, loyal, godly and faithful. She's some things that I am and a lot of things that I'm not. I won't speak for her--this could be completely one sided for all I know--but I feel a lot like Jonathan did. "Now when he had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." 1 Samuel 18:1

When they left each other, "Jonathan said to David, 'Go in peace, for we have sworn friendship with each other in the name of the LORD, saying, 'The LORD is witness between you and me, and between your descendants and my descendants forever,' Then David left, and Jonathan went back to the town." 1 Samuel 20:42

Matthew Henry's commentary says, "The separation of two such faithful friends was grievous to both...Christians need not sorrow, as men without hope; but being one with Christ, they are one with each other, and will meet in his presence ere long, to part no more; to meet where all tears shall be wiped from their eyes."

I prayed for a wing girl and, for a short time, God gave me Goose. But, ever so much better than that, God gave me David.

A Tale of Two Stories

I have two stories to tell you. They both happened this week.

First, my birthday is on Tuesday. Troy has been asking and asking what I want but I can't really think of anything. I mean, I know what I really want but Troy can't rush the adoption process for me. So we wait. I started thinking and here's the thing. I am actually, like, an Idina Menzel groupie. I borderline on "stalker" meaning that the only reason I am not her stalker is that I have not had much opportunity. This makes me a bad candidate for an actual stalker because REAL STALKERS FIND A WAY! Anyway. I've already seen her World Tour once and I'm seeing it again in October and then I found out that she was performing in the first seven cities of the If/Then tour. So I told Troy that what I really wanted was to fly to one of those cities and see the show.

But even with flyer miles, that would require a hotel and a rental car and the tickets and...well, that's way out of my birthday budget. Still, Troy said we could do it. Because he loves me and he's awesome like that. But I am practical so I ultimately decided that the only real option was to see it in San Diego in January. In San Diego, if I'm really nice and play my daughter card just right, I have free lodging and access to a vehicle. Still, it would be a lot cheaper if I went with a friend and Troy stayed here with our children. Especially since Troy doesn't particularly care about seeing it.

I tried to think of which of my friends I could ask to join me. I remembered that my friend, Jenni, said she was seeing it and I texted her to find out which day. I knew she already had tickets but I figured if I went on the same day, I could at least say hi there and hello to her during intermission. It turns out that Jenni has two tickets and her husband didn't want to see the show either. So she said I could have the extra ticket. Specifically, her text said, "Would you like to come with me to the show? I have an extra ticket. They're front row on Saturday January 9 at 2:00pm. The matinee."

If you think I slapped myself and then pinched myself and then assured myself it was just a dream I was having trouble waking up from you, you would be correct. I ran around my room wearing the doofiest of doofy grins and then ran downstairs and said something about, "YOU'RE NOT EVER NEVER GONNA BELIEVE THIS...."

I wasn't even calm and collected in my response. Calm and collected would have been like, "Oh. Sure. That'd be cool. Thanks." But what I said was, "ARE YOU DEAD SERIOUS BECAUSE YES I WANT TO GO WITH YOU AND SIT IN THE FRONT ROW AND I'LL TOTALLY PAY YOU FOR THE TICKET..."

And then she said no and I replied with, "But I WANT TO pay you! I honestly feel like I can't accept such an enormous and amazing gift for free!"

Then she responded with something about how she understood but it wasn't necessary and I said something about how she didn't understand the magnitude of what she was giving me and that I was kind of a stalker and she said, "I know, that's why it's awesome that you have the opportunity to come out here for it. Although I would be embarrassed if you jump up on the stage and accost Idina. I'm not gonna lie." And then I promised not to do that which, in retrospect, was a pretty hasty promise to make but I'm a woman of my word so now I'm bound to NOT RUIN THE PLAY.

Here's the second story.

We've had a hand me down entertainment center since we got married. I've wanted a stand for awhile now but it just wasn't in the budget. I shopped around for one that we might be able to afford...if we had a successful yard sale (which was held yesterday) and if I used any birthday money I might get on Tuesday.

I found one on sale at RC Willey that I REALLY like. It was $299 (down from $399). The yard sale ended up being a bit of a bust. It was Labor Day weekend and the infamous wind we have in these parts was blowing everything all over the place and people stayed home and so we only made $118.

Then Troy found out that a check for $63 had been sent to our old address. We haven't lived there in nearly eight years. My sister-in-law lives down the street though and ended up with the check in her possession. She took a picture of it for me and it makes no earthly sense because the check is from USBank. We never banked with them in the entire time we lived at that house so...weird. But it's a legitimate check and it's on its way to us. So with that extra money, we were at $181.

We wanted to see it before we bought it but the closest store to us didn't have one on the floor. We didn't really want to drive to south Salt Lake to look at one but that was our only option. We loaded ourselves into the van and headed over. The boys were in heaven in such a huge furniture store and were acting like it was Christmas morning. Troy thought it would be fun to meander through the clearance section before heading upstairs. As we walked around, we spotted one TV stand, from the back, and started walking toward it. Maybe we'd like it?

As we turned around to see the front of it we discovered that it was almost identical to the one we'd gone to see. The clearance one was a slightly different color and just a tiny bit lower to the ground. Otherwise, it was the same piece of furniture. It was originally $399, marked down to $199. There's nothing wrong with it. It used to be a floor model. Bonus, no assembly required! I was overjoyed.

I'm telling both of these stories because sometimes we're so busy asking and waiting on God for the big stuff that we forget to praise Him in the smaller things. We want Him to cure someone's cancer, give someone else the job he wants, bring us another tiny human. We wait and pray and cry out and wonder when, if ever. He looks at us and says, "Hey, I'm in the big stuff. I'm going to prove it by being in these little things that you didn't even think to ask me about. You can see this show for whatever your friend will allow you to pay. You can sit in the front row, even, of a musical with this person you really enjoy. I'm gonna do that for you. Also, that TV stand you want, it's going to be $214 after tax. Do you think you can handle paying $33 out of pocket?"

We call it coincidence or luck. We smile and move on. But what if we chose to see God in ALL our good  fortune? We are blessed. We find His favor so much more often than we acknowledge. He uses people to bless us and we miss it. What blessings have you decided to call random chance, fate or luck?

Take a look around. I'll bet God shows up a lot more than you ever realize.

Mission

Ultimately, after revisiting it with fervor for approximately two and half days in which I vacillated between being almost sure that we were going to become parents again in September to being positive that we're never going to have another child, we decided not to have our profile shown. It was an agonizing decision and my thoughts swayed--pendulum style--roughly 1.7 million times in 60 hours. I imagined pulling the crib mattress out from under my bed and hanging girly pictures on the wall in the playroom turned nursery turned library, turning it back into a nursery once again. Just as quickly I would spin my mind's wheels trying to figure out loan options and how we would begin to accomplish the getting of such a large amount of money so fast and I would feel restless and without peace or direction.

My brother's baby was overdue. I knew we had to decide before that baby was born. I knew my judgement would be even cloudier once she was here. (Turns out THAT was a good call.) Every time I prayed I felt more confused than before. There just wasn't a clear answer. In the absence of direction, does one move forward when a little life is on the line? Or does one close her eyes and say, "I will wait on you, Lord."

When we said no, we agreed that our time may never come. I know that sounds pessimistic and negative--defeatist, even. It isn't meant to. In February, we decided to move forward in anticipation of another adoption because, independently of each other, the Lord gave us her name very soon after we lost Kate. It's not a name we ever would have considered if God hadn't whispered it to both of us. He's never spoken any of our other children's names into our hearts. But that is a story for another time...perhaps. I won't share the name. I'm presently much too busy treasuring it in my own heart. Even then, though, holding her name on the tip of our tongues, we were never certain that He would bring us another child--much less that He would bring one we have the privilege of naming. We both trust that He told us. We just know that it could have been the dream He gave us to keep us moving. And so, we had to accept that there was an opportunity in front of us and another one might not come.

We decided to wait on the Lord.

For what is to come or what may not come.

It was not an easy choice. And, once made, I still wondered if we'd chosen wisely. One week later, through a strange set of circumstances, the Lord spoke clear and perfect confirmation to me. The details are not important. But the Lord works in utterly mysterious ways. He also began a convicting work in me.

While on earth, my job is to draw near to Him and make Him known to others. (For the record, I fail this mission every, single day.) I've been living in limbo since January. I suppose in some ways it's to be expected. The grief process has been real and encompassing and while I've tried to pick myself up and walk on in public, my husband can attest to the grittier side of things. (I'd be lost without him. He deserves some kind of medallion or a constellation in his honor for the way he has loved me in these past nine months. Truly, no one will ever know the way he has held this messy, grieving family together. But seriously. I should reward him with a belt buckle or something.) The back and forth between grieving and waiting has been exhausting. One minute it's excitement and longing. The next minute it's crying and pain.

The convicting work has been this. I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO DIE WAITING. Especially when no official promise was ever made. I'm supposed to draw near to Him and share Him and whatever He chooses to bless me with along the way is just a whole lot of icing on the cake. Don't get me wrong, we are still waiting with hope and eager anticipation for what He might have for us. I just don't want to waste my life wondering if the phone is going to ring.

Last night, Matthew woke up crying. He called out for me. He'd had a scary dream and wanted to stay with me on the couch. I pulled him onto me and he snuggled in. After he fell back into sleep, I thought about it. These two boys are (usually) a pretty intense delight. I don't know what earthly good I've done to deserve them. But I remember waiting for them and wondering if they'd ever live and breathe and grow up big enough to call me Mom.

I kissed his nose and ran my fingers over his back. Another one would be an amazing and welcomed addition. But the blessings He has bestowed upon me are more than enough.

Incomplete

I'm about to have a first grader and a third grader. I don't know how that happened. But, also, I'm supposed to have a three month old. And I really do use that word "supposed" loosely. My God knew that she'd never be here for her first trip to the pool or her first day at the beach. He knew she wouldn't celebrate a first birthday or get married. So I am not supposed to have a three month old, really. It just feels like I should.

When the boys dive into the pool, I wonder why I'm not splashing in the shallow end with my girl. When I tuck them in at night, I think about how she should be sleeping in the crib in the room next door. Her tiny feet should be kicking barefoot in the summer breeze. Because that's how I imagined it all.

I see babies and I think of her.

I see strollers and car seats and I think of her.

It is better. Summer has a way of making things better because the sun comes out and the weather turns hot and we distract ourselves with the vacation of it all. And time has a way of healing us. But though it be better, it is not complete.

We are amputated.

We choose joy. Sometimes we choose distraction and sometimes we choose tears but always we are trying to choose joy. Because whatever happens in this life, whatever comes our way, whatever challenges us or shifts us or changes us or terrifies us, it is all passing.

And, in a way, our discomfort now simply directs us to a deeper longing of the perfection that is to come. Our grief reminds us that one day our tears will be wiped away. We live. We leave. We come back. But we are not home yet. Home is where our Father is.

Home is where our daughter waits.

Falling in Love is the Easy Part...

Church leadership is a funny sort of business. You meet and fall in love with people. They move. Or you move. You meet and fall in love with more people. They move. Or you move. Pretty soon, you have an incredible database of friends that feel more like family. Older folks who feel like honorary grandparents, people who are more like aunts and uncles than just friends, sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews. The body of Christ really is like a big extended family. For better or worse.

Some will always be just friends or acquaintances or people you say hi to on Sunday morning. But some people cry together, laugh together, hug tight, anticipate life and overlap lives so often that it really, truly does feel like whatever happens to them will greatly impact your own life. Some people, you really just love a lot.

It is a blessing to love like that.

But when they hurt, we hurt. When they're anxious, we're anxious. When they need prayer we step in and say, "Lord, we will still be worshiping you tonight, even if this doesn't go the way we want it to. You will still be on the throne. But, please, Lord, can you answer this prayer the way we're all hoping?" And maybe we don't think about it as much as they do but we sure think about it an awful lot.

We are praying today for a family we love big. Maybe they don't even know how much we love them. But we do. So much so that we are going before the Lord constantly and begging, "Oh Lord, hear our prayer..."

Please pray with me. You might not know them but trust me, they are worth your time. One day they will move. Or we will move. But for now, we share this space, this town, this church building. I am honored to know them and to partner with them in ministry. They need our prayers.

"Lord, bless this family's sacrifice. Accept what they have done. Allow it to come to pass as we hope and desire that it will. Amen."