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Monday, December 11, 2017

Exercising Gratitude: 30 Days - 8

I didn't forget about this exercise.  I merely lacked the wherewithall to catch a few uninterrupted moments at the computer.  So I have many more than 30 specific entries to tabulate transfer from handwriting to computer writing.  Thank you for your patience.

So, when I use the term 'today' you may need to realize that that was many days ago...and I am just now able to put it down here.

Today I am thankful for: Kaluvi's Chicken

Okay, now I am sure you are wondering who Kaluvi (said, "Kah-Loo-Vee") is and what's going on with her chicken.

I'm so glad you asked. 

Kaluvi is the woman I met in Zambia about 12 years ago.  She was the house-keeper/helper for Sam's family.  I don't know her well, or hardly at all.  What I do know is she is a local Zambian woman who lives in a village hut with various family nearby.  We would consider her poor perhaps because of different standards of living and wage-earning.  I consider her quite rich when it comes to joy and peace and all the stuff that really matters.  Like most village people in Zambia, Kaluvi had a chicken or two - they keep and raise some chickens for the occasional special event - to have some meat once in a while.  Chickens are an expense - a treat - a commodity. 

I'm talking here about Kaluvi's chicken, but these thoughts will apply to many others who generously give their best, out of their poverty, out of joy and gratitude.  It happened often to my Dad in Vietnam and China and Philippines - people who barely have enough would serve him the best thing they had - the richest most luxurious feast item - to honour him. 

When we came for a visit to Zambia, Kaluvi was so excited to meet me, the one who married Samuel, whom she had known from childhood.  She was overjoyed and overflowed with gratitude for the job she had at the Logan's as well as for the knowledge of God's love, shown to her in Christ.  She wanted to share what little she had to honour us, and she gave us her last chicken.  I remember awkwardly holding this live chicken, not sure exactly how to hold the thing.  I was a bit in shock, realizing that the only appropriate thing to do was to agree to butcher it and eat it.  And of course, the idea of eating the thing I was holding was maybe just a little unappealing and unsettling.  But we agreed to have that chicken for supper that night.  And we did.

Kaluvi teaches me something of gratitude and joy.  She demonstrated for me what we refer to as 'the widow's mite' - that story in Scripture where a poverty-stricken widow puts her last 2 pennies into the coffers as a demonstration of worship and faith.  The religious leaders perhaps scoffed at such a meager gift.  But Jesus affirmed her generosity and blessed her for her faith.  Kaluvi overflowed with generous joy.  And she shows me what I have found to be true so very often: it is the poor in this life who understand faith, who demonstrate generosity, whose hearts overflow with compassion - who give out of their emptiness, who love without restraint.  I know there are the rich who sometimes demonstrate these things too.  But I am encouraged to remember that Jesus blessed those who were poor in spirit, and meek and merciful.  Those who seem to have nothing to give inherit the earth.

So, yes, I'm grateful for Kaluvi's chicken - because it reminds me of joyful generosity, of what it means to extend grace and receive it.  It shows me what giving out of poverty looks like. 

Let's all be givers like Kaluvi - whether it's chickens, dollars, hospitality, graciousness, love, long-suffering, patience, or kindness.  Let's give when it's the last resource we have.

Friday, November 10, 2017

Exercising Gratitude: 30 Days - 7


Now, before you balk and say, well, of course we're all thankful for creation...I'm going somewhere with this.  And of course, Creation covers everything so with such a broad category I guess I don't have to finish this project and write anymore posts about what I'm exercising gratitude for.  But so far I've included things like: bananas, my husband, rest - so I'm covering a whole lot of random stuff that comes on my radar, and right now I'm camping out on Creation.  Okay?

(Do I sound in an argumentative mood? Maybe. Sorry, I just have dialogues in my head with no-one in particular and as I write I hear what people are saying back to me, in my imagination of, I'm not hearing voices.  Well, maybe a few...)

My last post was in answer to a question about where we find our worth.  And my answer was long and winding (hum: 'the long and winding road' by the you read that), and circuitous and landed on Creation.  The image of God imprinted on me gives me worth.  (I just saved you having to go back and read all that.  You can thank me later).

But I promised a 'Part 2' to explain how that changes everything for me.

Well, you all probably know I'm pro-life.  I'm also, pro-understanding-the-pro-choice-side.  And for recognizing that any time a political issue is polarizing it probably boils down to overly simplifying the others position.  

But the reason I'm pro-life has everything to do with my belief that the image of God is imprinted on every human being.  That means the one who was born who will never speak or walk or read or hear.  That means the elderly, the frail, the 'weak' of society.  All human life bears God's image and is worth dignity, respect, care and love.  That includes criminals, politicians, people I don't agree with.  It includes gun-toting right-wingers and liberal far-left people.  It means those who love God and those who hate God.  It means the Muslims, Jews, Christians, Hindus, Buddhists and Secular Humanists who want to teach evolution.  I know I'm leaving some out, but what I really want to point out is that the image of God in people changes everything - or it should.

It has changed how I parent.  It has changed how I lose my temper (a lot less...because the person you're yelling at is an image-bearer of God and do you want to mar their soul by outbursts of rage that steal their dignity and disrespect the image of God in them).  It has changed how I view domestic violence - both verbal and physical.  

I believe it is hypocrisy for anyone who is pro-life based on Christian views (the image of God in all humans) to protest abortion and yet tolerate child abuse.  It is a double standard.  If churches were as passionate about spousal abuse - the denigration of the personhood of another, whether in word, action or tone, mood, violence - what-have-you - as they are about the politics of abortion, I daresay people would take the Christian message far more seriously.  We proclaim a gospel that focuses solely on the redemption narrative, and forgets the very beginning: we are made in the image of God.  The evangelical church focuses so much on saving the world, and for sure, it needs saving.  I applaud the missionary movement - I love that people serve and give and pour their lives out to reach out in the world for good.  But it saddens me that in the very churches that promote and send missionaries, there is also secrecy about domestic abuse.  The fact that we promote a gospel of salvation and forget the creation account: that all people deserve dignity and respect, kindness, love and that verbal, emotional abuse exists and is harmful and damaging to the souls of people who suffer under it - this is a great sorrow to me.

Now, I know I'm stepping out on some toes here.  Forgive me.  But I wanted to share how the discovery of the image of God in me has radically transformed how I view myself and others.  No longer do I simply take what I read in the Bible as a moral code, but rather underneath it all I see the moral code of Love.  

Do I exemplify this perfectly?  Do I hold myself up as a paragon of loving virtue?  No, I am entirely a work in progress as I trust you are.  But the key word there is 'progress'.  Am I moving, growing, discovering, changing?  Am I finding my inner self being renewed in the image of my Creator?  This is not to create a self-evaluative to-do list.  This is not to bludgeon myself with yet another, "Here's where I don't measure up."  This is to invite wrestling - and to recognize that in the wrestling there lies a blessing.  Jacob wrestled with God Himself, and God changed him.  Forever changed him.

Every day for the rest of his earthly life (and perhaps even in his heavenly one?) Jacob's very steps were marked by that encounter with the living God.  Every effortful step demonstrated his steadfast yearning for the blessing of the One Who made him.  And as I walk, I feel the limp in my soul that defines my every move.  Age shapes our souls.  Movement becomes pained - joints stop working well.  And in this is yet another invitation to ponder, to see, to know and discover the blessing of God.  

Though I limp, I shall not let go until You bless me.

Exercising Gratitude: 30 Days - 6


She's a friend - a classmate from my Hong Kong school days.  I haven't seen and known her since then - so it's not like we really know each other well.  But since the dawning of facebook and how that seems to connect us all in certain ways, she's come back on my radar (Hi, Natasha!!).  So, today I'm grateful for her because she asked this particular question, and I couldn't just blow it I am doing an entire blog post to try to answer it.  Here goes.

Her question:

How do you measure your worth? This is a random and very general question....but I look forward to reading your answers. Do you measure your worth by your paycheck? The friends and family in your life? Academic achievements? Opinions of others?

There are certainly a number of ways this could be addressed.  Instinctively, I think, we all need or long to know or have a sense of our own worth - if only to our selves.  If I value, say, independence, I'll value my worth by the measure to which I achieve (in my own opinion of myself) independence.  So, our worth is subjectively measured by the things we value.  A lot of this has to do with identity - how we see ourselves, what we identify with, things we like and dislike.

I have struggled throughout my entire life with this very issue.  Many of my report cards, which I still have, report that I seem to struggle with self-esteem.  (Well, that should be plainly obvious - who wouldn't given my dismal grades and academic performance!?)  I think it was truer in my youth than now, but who knows - we aren't always as accurate definers of ourselves as we think we are.  At least I'm not (you, whoever you are, probably define yourself just fine).  

I struggled because I could never measure up.  Not to others standards for me, God's standards for me, my parents standards for me, my school's standards for me - or even my own standards for me.  Defining our own worth has everything to do with evaluating and measuring - and in my case I was and still am, on many fronts, a low achiever.  So I muddled my way through, always with a limp in my soul, wondering how I could ever sort myself out.  I couldn't, and didn't and won't ever.  Because sorting myself out, while it sounds grand, is a life-long journey - we're all invited to take the journey, but I daresay, most of us live by default and bury our heads in the sand about who we are, inside and out and live blissfully ignorant til our dying day.  It is my goal to avoid doing that.

So standards of achievement weren't going to cut it for me.  What next?  Success, money, status, appearance (skinny and beautiful, or not skinny and still beautiful or...?), intelligence, career, academics, marriage, kids - how they behave/achieve/look etc. Religion comes into play - how I make my mark on a group of people, say the right things, use 'Christianese' with ease, know the right theology, adhere to a certain group of know - these can all define our worth, in our own eyes, as much as anyone else's.

Until a year or two ago I would've said I figured it out: that I had landed on the 'ANSWER' to defining worth.  That's because I love theology, have studied it at length, and I love the Bible, and I love to know things, and I love to understand people and problems and solve them.  In fact, on more than one occasion I leave from getting a haircut saying, "And now that we've solved the world's problems, we can go back to normal life."  

My answer would have been: Jesus.  (Because, you know, Sunday school?)  Our identity and worth is totally wrapped up in Jesus, if we know Him, have Him, are found in Him.  It's fairly good theology.  And I still kind of believe that.  But it is simplistic.  It isn't enough.  It doesn't go deep enough.  It doesn't acknowledge other realities (like, what about people who don't know Jesus?  Are they not worth anything?  Are those not in Christ worth less than I am? - No, a thousand times, NO.)  You see, good theology is good, but unless you turn it on all sides and ask all kinds of questions what seems good on the outside may be empty on the inside.

So, before you ultra-conservatives out there (if you're still reading, have I lost you yet?!), cry heretic and run, hear me out.  Yes, understanding that Jesus died for me, so of course I'm worth something, is great and all - but it is a truncated gospel.  It ignores the creation account, and the re-creation account.  Creation is a theme throughout Scripture, not just in Genesis.  It pops up in Job, the Psalms (think, 8 and 19 off the top of my head), in the gospel of John, in Pauline epistles (think 1 Corinthians 5:17), and in the Revelation (think: new heavens and new earth).  And it is in these narratives and themes that I come to the beginning of an understanding of my worth. 

The evangelical, gospel-answer to this that: Jesus died to save me gives me worth - has been found wanting for me.  It is true, and it is wonderful, and I love that I can know the living God through the redeeming work of Christ on my behalf on the cross - by all means, the Cross is the crux of it all: "May I never boast except in the cross of Christ." (to quote St. Paul).  But I cannot rest myself on this alone for my worth because there are many who don't know Christ who have immeasurable worth.  And I must affirm that they have significance and worth even without Christ.  By all means, if you are without Christ, I'd invite you to know Him, come to Him, seek Him.  But I can without a doubt tell you, you have inestimable worth because you were formed, fashioned, created and imprinted with the very fingerprints of God.  You were made, you are known, you are loved, you are shaped and formed by the God Who made this world and all the beauty you see in it.  Any place you find worth - what you achieve, what you have, the gifts and talents you are blessed with, your intelligence, your hard-work, your effort, your progeny, your depth, your wisdom/insight - can come up short and leave you helpless with an incurable soul-ache.  Your mind can fail.  Your money can be taken from you.  Your wonderful children can become wicked, go off the deep-end, suffer tragedy and whatnot.  Your career can tank.  Anything else you know or have or rely on can come up short for you.  

But if you are a human being, you are made in the image of God.  He has imprinted you with inestimable worth.  When Jesus was confronted with the issue of paying taxes, he asked for a coin.  "Whose image is on here?" he asked.  "Caesar's" they replied.  "Then, give what is Caesar's to Caesar and to God what is God's."  We can marvel at His wit and wisdom, but let us not miss the crucial point: We are imprinted with the very image of God.  We are His.  We can give our money to Caesar (rightly), and we can give ourselves to God (rightly).  

Now, you may come at life from some other angle.  That's fine - I'd love to hear your perspective.  But I have wrestled through this theme throughout my life and this is the point I've arrived at (which can always change in the future, because, you know, I'm always growing and learning).  

The image of God imprinted on me, gives me worth.  

In Part 2 I will explain how that impacts and changes everything for me.

Exercising Gratitude: 30 Days - 5

Unanswered Questions.

Today I am thankful that many of the questions we face in life remain unanswered.  Why would I ever be grateful for such a thing?  Glad you asked.

If every struggle were met with a pat answer - a manual of 'here's the how and why and what of every question ever' - the inquisitive side of me might lose vigor.  I might fall flat, mope about, unmotivated to seek, to discover, to find.  I'd have all the answers, and I'd live blinded to the journey of discovery.
That's why.

Because unanswered questions invite trust, faith, learning, engagement, hope, surrender, joy, peace.  The unknown can be scary.  The unanswered questions can cause tension, confusion - pain, even. 

To me, the unanswered questions sit, not begging an answer (though on the surface, that's how it seems - but need I remind you, things aren't always what they seem?), but begging to be noticed, heard, pondered.  What do my questions say about me?  What do they say about who I am, what I need, what I'm missing, what I'm longing for, what the deep yearnings of my soul are? 

Questions - especially unanswered ones don't always need an answer.  They need knowing, understanding, openness.  One of my favourite quotes is by Frederick Buechner: "God does not give answers.  He gives Himself."

And the truth in that is worth pondering.  I would say that perhaps God does sometimes give answers - or more likely, we'd like to think He does.  That we have Him figured out to the degree that we can with resolute confidence declare that we have heard/read/understood the answers He's given. 

But I think Beuchner is right.  Jesus said, "Come to ME, all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest."  He said, "I AM the way, the truth and the life."  He said, "I came that they might have life, and life abundantly."  I haven't found the part where He said, "I came to explain everything to you, and to give you answers.  I came to give you a new code, a checklist of statements that, once you agree to them, you inherit the kingdom of heaven."  Buechner is right:  God gives us Himself, if we'll have Him.  If we'll hear the invitation.  If we are drawn by such grace.  If we can sit with unanswered questions and instead find the love we long for in the person of Christ.

Because I have a hunch that ultimately most of our unanswered questions lie somewhere in the realm of, "Does God really love me?"  (There are of course many other categories of unanswered questions, like, "Why can't I get my computer to work?"  or "Why won't my kid get his shoes on?" or "What is a black hole?" or "Could Einstein have been wrong?" - you know, those kinds of things...but I digress).
Sorry for the rabbit trail.

Most of the pressing, deeply felt, yearnings that prompt the unanswered questions that sit on our souls like dead weight, asking to be acknowledged - most of these stem from a kind of deep need we may not know we have.  The need to know, understand, feel, discover and welcome the love God has for us.  I believe this to the very core of my very fragmented, broken, sometimes wandering, self.

So yes, I am thankful for unanswered questions.  And mostly for the invitation they present to be drawn into the loving embrace of my Heavenly Father Who has given me Himself.

"He who did not spare His own son, but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also, along with Him, graciously give us all things?"  Romans 8

Monday, November 6, 2017

Exercising Gratitude: 30 Days - 4


I am thankful for a chance - though rare - to rest.  Sometimes it is more needed and more scarce.  Other times rest is abundant (maybe, on some planet, somewhere, perhaps...not sure). 

I am grateful to be given the opportunity to rest; that I have a choice to carve out time for it; that I have support to help me find it - somehow, somewhere.

Perhaps it is on my 'gratitude radar' lately because I've been craving it so badly.  And last week I came down with an irritating cold/allergies/sniffles/misery.  And it landed just as Sam and I were planning to head away for a weekend for nothing more exciting than rest: undefined time, no agenda, no deep, spiritual goals or anything - just rest.

I hear it is hard for some people to rest.  I know of those people.  I secretly admire them.  They are productive, energetic, happy hard-workers.  If that is you: Go You!!  Woo hoo!!  That is not me.  So here I sit, recognizing that the stillness and quiet of undefined moments and hours is a cool water to my parched soul.

Our weekend away was great...until the ride home where we conflicted (read: fought, argued, misunderstood each other) - irritatingly so.  In hashing that out with Sam I recognized he was very glum about ending our time on a sour note.  I said, "Can you be thankful for conflict?"  There's more to that, but I put it out there because I can welcome rest because it is in contrast to busy-ness, to stress, to intensity.

And so I end with a beautiful poem/hymn that reminds me how the backdrop of our lives highlights the blessings we welcome and often fail to recognize:

As water to the thirsty, as beauty to the eyes,
As strength that follows weakness, as truth instead of lies;
As song-time and spring-time and summer-time to be,
So is my Lord, my living Lord, so is my Lord to me.

Like calm in place of clamour, like peace that follows pain,
Like meeting after parting, like sunshine after rain;
Like moonlight and starlight and sunlight on the sea,
So is my Lord, my living Lord, so is my Lord to me.

As sleep that follows fever, as gold instead of gray,
As freedom after bondage, as sunrise to the day;
As home to the traveler and all we long to see,
So is my Lord, my living Lord, so is my Lord to me.

(Timothy Dudley-Smith)

Friday, November 3, 2017

Exercising Gratitude: 30 Days - 3


It seems a crime to run out of them at our house.  The perfect on-the-go snack - all-natural packaging, densely caloric. 

And when you get too many and they start to ripen, and friends are about to come over and you need to whip out a cake in no time...bananas to the rescue.

And when your kids need extra calories to pack on them for school lunches...bananas.

And when you can't think of anything to eat - grab a banana.  Or make banana bread.

I'm glad God invented the humble banana, and that people in their creativity invented banana recipes. 

Food is interesting - we share recipes and forever link it to a person.  Every time I make banana bread I think of Robyn, who gave me the recipe.  And I have some recipes that are hand-written by faithful friends - seeing Becky's handwriting on my Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe always reminds me of the days in her kitchen when she was whipping up a batch and serving them warm and gooey fresh from the oven.  Memories like these inspire me and make me want to be that kind of Mom. 

So, for today, I give you Robyn's Banana Bread (of course you can call it Sarah's, or whatever, since now I'm the one giving it to you :) ), and Nisa's Banana Cake.  (While 6 loaves sit baking in my oven)...

Robyn's Banana Bread

Cream: 2 c. sugar, 1 c. shortening
Add: 6 ripe mashed bananas, 4 eggs well beaten
Mix: 2 1/2 c. flour, 1 t salt, 2 t. baking soda

Spray pans
Blend wet and dry ingredients.
Don't overmix

350 degrees 45-50 minutes, do the toothpick test.  Then another 1/2 hour probably.

Since I can never follow a recipe exactly, and because this is a heavy laden recipe - I like to add a few things to give it more heft: substitute up to half with whole grain flour, add wheat germ, wheat bran, oats, nutritional yeast flakes.  I just toss in a bit of whatever healthy stuff I have around.

Nisa's Banana Cake (with modifications by me!)

1 yellow cake mix
1 1/4 water
1/3 c. oil
3 whole eggs
2 large mashed banans
2 t baking soda
****Extra optional ingredient: Almond cake and pastry filling (this makes everything yummy)

(Mix and bake til done)

12 oz cream cheese
1/4 c. butter/margarine
2 t. vanilla extract (I use a little almond extract too)
4 c. powdered sugar

Thursday, November 2, 2017

Exercising Gratitude: 30 Days - 2

Today I am thankful for my husband, Sam.

As I was reflecting on this post, I thought to myself, "Yeah, that's so generic...everyone is grateful for their husband, more or less."  And well they should be, I suppose (depending).

But so what it's predictable and typical.  I'm still grateful for him.  I don't know that anyone else could've married me - seen all my weaknesses and failures and tough it out, work together, grow in acceptance and love and continue to honour the commitment of marriage.  Now, lest you think I am unreasonably self-deprecating...I am aware I have a few strengths too.  Just many of my strengths aren't super applicable to house-keeping and parenting (some surely are - but a hot-temper is a liability in the parenting department I daresay).  And I know I am a free-spirit and poetic, mystical, easy-going and not a control-freak (see - there are a few strengths).  But to marry an engineer, who doesn't typically revel in the free-spiritedness and mystical poetic, theological/philosophical musings of his wife, it is all that more of a big deal that he has toughed it out with me.  Sam is a man of unwavering commitment, passionate godliness and untiring drive to make use of his gifts in service to God and others.

I see that every day.  He is self-sacrificing, patient, efficient and talented with all things mechanical.  I am so thankful that he is able to manage household stuff often saving us money and blessing us with his creativity.  He recently built a bed for Andrew that has a hidden staircase at the back (or is it a ladder?) to the 'roof' of it where there is a play area - but first you must crawl through the tunnel underneath where there are piles of books and blankets.

We have had some very rough times together.  Our first 5 years were fairly miserable.  Maybe more than fairly - 'plainly miserable' would better describe it.  I was a putz and he was annoyed.  I had flaws and he had perfection (sort of, not really).  We wrestled with each other's hard-headed personalities.  I was brutal on his ego - cold-hearted, and super demeaning.  He was frustrated because I was slow to (if ever) change and was totally disorganized and a messy house-keeper, talked too much, impulsive about most everything, scatter-brained and majorly distracted.  Most of these things are still true, just he seems to be at peace with the person I am, and I have actually changed a lot, just I know I'll never be at a point of 'super-house-keeper-diva', nor do I really aim to be (I'll forever be working towards change and progress, but at some point I have to see perfection is not probably attainable without major interventions/assistance a.k.a. house-cleaning service, which, other than my support staff, isn't happening any time soon).  (Support staff otherwise known as 'in-laws').

I have watched Sam grow in wisdom, patience, acceptance and kindness.  His parenting style has changed along with mine, as we re-assess and realize we need to see our kids as actual human beings with hearts of flesh, not robots to be programmed.  Sam faithfully serves others in our community - neighbours who need help here and there as well as needs that arise in Church.  I say he does the work of 10 men - and this is no exaggeration.

Sam inspires me because he wastes no time in all of life.  I mean that.  I don't know how he has stamina for that.  He is purposeful about what he does with all his waking hours and purposeful about getting enough sleeping hours in too.  He is steady, and dilligent, and yet takes time to reach out to others and be a genuine friend.

This summer he performed the wedding for some friends of ours who were getting married.  We were blessed to meet with them over the preceding months to go through marriage counselling materials together.  This was a fun process and in many ways re-invigorated our union - as we explored things a young couple starting out together might need to know, we were reminded how much work goes in to making a marriage great, and how much reward there is in it.  When starting out you just hang on, work at it and hope for the best.  But years down the road you look back and say, 'Oh, that was a good move, glad we worked on that then...things are so much better now.'  Or you look back and say, 'Oh, I wish we had figured that out sooner!'

So, today, even if it's predictable, I am thankful for Sam.  And I hope to continue to be for many more years to come.

Wednesday, November 1, 2017

Exercising Gratitude: 30 Days - 1

Today I am grateful for my mother-in-law, Lois Logan.

Here is why: 
She came to live with us 8 years ago, and even though she is legally blind, and has occasional other challenges, she has faithfully helped in our home, especially in kitchen cleanup and setting the table.
When Andrew and Hannah were babies, she welcomed them to her bedroom when they were a nuisance in the night.  Often she would deliver them to me for night feedings and retrieve them so I could get better rest.

She is an amazing woman.  She rarely complains about anything - is probably one of the most contented people I've ever known.  She is happy despite her many limitations.  

She was born in Lucknow, India and later lived in Karachi before the formation of what is now Pakistan.  Later she moved to South Africa with her parents to complete her nurses training.  She studied at Emmaus Bible College, which was at the time in Oak Park, Illinois near Chicago.  She later married Paul Logan, of Chavuma, Zambia, and moved there to be a missionary nurse and assist in all the work of the mission there.  She spent 46 years there and had her 4 children there, the last of which is Samuel, which is why I am so grateful for her.  During her time as nurse at Chavuma hospital, she delivered over 1,000 babies.  Many of those babies were healthy and nurtured well thanks to her expertise and dedication.  She also spent many hours with patients, comforting them after receiving difficult medical diagnoses.  It seems she had a special gift for sitting with those who were to receive HIV positive diagnoses.  Doctors would ask her to be the one to share the news with an ailing patient.  In the bush of Zambia, where specialized medicines are sparse, this diagnosis was extremely troubling, as it meant a very swift and downward spiral healthwise.  She was able to walk with grieving patients through these very painful moments.

In 1992 she suffered a severe medical crisis.  She contracted malaria, which is quite common out there, but sadly it got into her brain which is deadly in most cases.  Cerebral malaria put her into a coma and she was airlifted to South Africa for treatment.  In an effort to save her life, high doses of quinine were administered, even though they knew this could be damaging in other ways.  After a number of days in a coma she did come to consciousness and slowly regained many/most of her faculties over the course of a number of months.  The high doses of quinine damaged her optic nerve rendering her legally blind, barely able to read except with high magnification and unable to drive - which is a huge blow to independence.  She experienced mild brain damage but remarkably has been able to carry on and learn how to function well for the most part.  God's grace in sparing her life is not to be overlooked - her life is a testimony to the power of God in responding to the cries of prayer to Him on her behalf.  

Because it is a different kind of experience growing up with a Grandma in house, our kids can sometimes take her for granted.  Sometimes they fail to see and recognize what a gift she is.  And when she has 'brain-lapses' (a cognitive gap or something), they sometimes lack compassion and I must call them back to basic courtesy, respect and gratitude.  Here is what I tell them:  "Your Grandma may frustrate you at times.  Sometimes you may not understand why she does or says something.  But I want you to ask yourself a few things:  Are you glad you have such a wonderful Daddy?  Do you appreciate that you have a Daddy that loves you and cares for you, is faithful to our family and who works hard to provide for us?  Do you realize that you have a very wonderful gift in your Daddy?  Think about that for a moment.  Now think where you got your Daddy from.  Sure, God made him and gave him to you.  But did you ever think that Daddy wouldn't be here, nor would you be here if Grandma hadn't had him, cared for him, raised him, taught him, loved him and guided him?  So, next time you aren't grateful for Grandma, just ask yourself are you grateful you exist, or your Daddy exists...because if you are, you are to be grateful for your Grandma too."

Our family has its rough edges all around.  All of us fail each other at times.  It is easy to focus on the irritating things or how we wish others would change for us.  Grandma Logan has very patiently put up with all our crazies.  We aren't exactly a tidy household, and I know this has annoyed her at times.  Sometimes she says something.  But more often than not I come home after dropping off the kids to our entire living room, dining room and kitchen all tidied up - even though this requires so much effort on her part.  Instead of complaining, she kindly serves.  Instead of reprimanding, she quietly steps in to help.  Instead of lecturing on my/our faults, she accepts and patiently waits for our maturing and growth.

In these next 30 days I hope to highlight many more areas of gratitude in my life.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

How I Met Sam...Journal Entry 10th December 1999

I'm going to write the boring day-t0-day events since that's what I feel like journalling right now. I 'taught' 3 hours today - it was little kids who are pretty much too young to learn how to read or write. One can barely hold a pencil. So I do the best I can. Immediately following that I went to KBC (the Church I grew up in and went to pre-school at) for GraceJoy's Christmas show, which turned out okay. I saw a kid start to cry when he was on stage and felt horrible for him. I noticed my eyes fill with tears...and then I caught myself. I though how difficult it must be for the parent to be there in the audience and see his/her child crying and not be able to reach out and comfort him. This kid really did inspire me though, because though he was crying and upset he still was singing and doing the motions in the song. I thought, 'Wow, if he were my kid I'd be SO proud - proud that my kid could stick through a tough situation and keep going - that he could still put himself into the production though he was distressed.' How proud our Heavenly Father must feel when He sees us, crying and hurt, and yet with our hand to the plough, working to perform the task at hand. I also thought how unskilled the singing was - any group of youngsters who can't carry a tune will sound like that! - and how that doesn't really matter, because they know and mean the words they're singing. Often our praise goes up to God and to His ears (which are perfect of course!) may just sound more than off-key. But just as everyone in the audience sat on the edge of their seats to hear and see the children sing, and especially the parents, so must our Father in heaven sit on the edge of His throne to see and hear us praise Him with our best gusto and effort! These children taught me a lot today - about worship, perseverance and God - and His delight in the praise of His children.

Isaac Watts penned the famous hymn, Jesus Shall Reign Where'er the Sun. Here are a couple verses of it:

To Him shall endless prayer be made,
And praises throng to crown His head;
His Name like sweet perfume shall rise
With every morning sacrifice.
People and realms of every tongue
Dwell on His love with sweetest song;
And infant voices shall proclaim
Their early blessings on His Name.
Because of all that's happened in the previous weeks I've realized that our Christmas may be a little sparse this year. As I've been writing about contentedness I am understanding it more and more. I wish I had more money to give. I wish I could gather up all the fragments of resources and bless those who are hurting with it.

To continue with our budding romance, click Here (first dates - 4)

Thursday, October 12, 2017

Invoice for Kids

I had a rough morning...Hannah's one and only school dress was no-where to be found.  I had stayed up late doing extra laundry in case it was in there, and couldn't find it.  I didn't want to dig around in the room where they were sleeping so it needed to wait until this morning (yes, you can point out I should have thought of this before they were in bed, but I was focussed on getting them to bed!  Of course you could point out that I could have thought of this before the bedtime routine!  But I was trying to get supper on!  And you could point out I could have thought of this before supper prep, but...okay, you win).

So this morning I look high and low.  I search everywhere.  I look under her bed three times!  I look under everything!  Couches, beds, hidden corners, dressers, cubbies, nooks - you name it, I looked.  I prayed - out loud, "Lord, please help us find Hannah's dress!"  I hear the thoughts in my head (could it be divine whispers?), "Pray and post a guard - keep looking."  "Okay, I get it," I reply to myself, or God, or whoever.  As I'm looking for the 3rd time I spot a tiny speck of uniform material, bunched up as a pillow for a dolly who is meticulously laid out under Hannah's bed, perfectly tucked in for the night, or eternity.  Aaargh.  The uniform dress had become a dolly pillow.  "Thank you, Lord!" I respond - "C'mon kids, we gotta go, we're already late!"

But then the Electric company had their truck near our driveway, and a man was knocking on Grandma's door.  Grandma, ever confused, comes out to respond - but thankfully I'm there at that moment to deal with the electric guy.  The wires are dangling too low on our property...blah blah, etc.  One more delay.  Not his fault.  Probably mine, 'cuz if we got out sooner we might have missed him, but then Grandma would have been so befuddled to try to figure out what he wanted.  So, maybe we were late for a good reason. 

On our way to school, a particular kid of mine asks me, "Did you bring my school bag?"  This, while holding the action figure in the air and making swooshing noises.  "Uh, no." I say.  "Do you know that going to school usually requires a back pack?  Is it my job to run around finding your things and kindly bringing them to the car for you?  No."  And the ensuing argument about where things are put - even though a particular cubby shelf/bench was built for this purpose (by an awesome, handy, skilled, helpful Daddy, I might add).  You get the picture.  It was that kind of morning.  Annoying thing is though, these seem to be very frequent mornings for me. 

Normally I'd be super stressed and let that fall out on the kids.  But I wasn't too much (or as much as usual).  I realized recently that enough is enough.  My stress level is not going to help anything.  If we're late, we're late.  We shouldn't be.  We should plan better, work towards change and all that.  But ultimately, in that moment of stressed-out-ness, frustration, anger, 'AAAAaaargh' and berating/shaming them is really not going to end well.  It will just mean more stress all 'round.  Somehow venting stress seems to multiply it.

Instead, the office listened to me rant (thank you, school office), chuckled at the drama of the day, and offered me coffee.

And I came home.  And I wondered what to do, other than locate a belt, backpack, and prepare 5 lunches (my lunch prep time was used up searching the house for a particular school dress).  And I had an aha moment.  We will wait to see how this plays out - and I invite your input if you think I'm being a mean mommy.

You see, I came to the kitchen to prepare lunches that I will shortly deliver (I have to pick up a kid anyway, so not an extra trip).  In the kitchen I found ONE prepared lunch bag/box.  ONE out of five.  Mind you, I wouldn't expect much from my 6 or even 8 year old in this regard - they're a bit newer to it.  I have made it known that by them a) not returning a lunch bag/box or b) not emptying it, c) not washing/drying the box, they create extra work for me and slow down the whole process.  Yes, I can do all that, but I am serving them anyways - and I ask for very little from them (we are not super good at requiring chores etc, but they are often very helpful in the moment).  So the one tiny little thing I have asked is that they made an empty, clean, ready-to-be-filled lunchbox appear on my counter the evening before, so that I can fill them. 

So, here is what 4 of my kids will discover in their lunchboxes today:  An invoice:

Dear Logan Child of Mine,

For the Service of:

o   Locating your item (lunchbox, belt, uniform item, backpack, or other thing)
o   Emptying your lunch bag
o   Washing your lunchbox
o   Drying your lunchbox
o   Delivering your item (forgotten necessary item: like a schoolbag, lunch or gym shoes)
o   Other: _______________________________________________

You owe me any of the following (one for each service rendered above):

o   $1 (an additional $1 for each service rendered)  Amount owed:$_____
o   Sweep the dining room
o   Mop the kitchen
o   Scrub the bathtub shiny clean
o   Tidy and clean our small bathroom counter/sink
o   Dust/spray/wipe baseboards of dining room, kitchen and bathroom
o   Memorize any of the following verses, to be verified by quoting them to me: Hebrews 12:1-2
o   Hebrews 12:14-15
o   1 Peter 1:3-4
o   1 Peter 2:9-10
o   1 Peter 2:21-23
o   2 Peter 1:3
o   John 15:9-11
o   John 15:16
o   Romans 2:1-2
o   Romans 2:3-4
o   Romans 6:1-2
o   Romans 6:3-4
o   Romans 8:9-10
(You may also opt to not memorize but to copy – handwritten - any of the above 3 times and hand it to me).

Consider this your invoice (a bill to be payed).  Upon completion I can issue you a receipt for your purchase. 

In other words, you have hired me to serve you in this way, so pay up.


Your loving Mother,

who so often mercifully overlooks your failings, and graciously lavishes you with undeserved goodness (and expects no less of you in how you treat me and each other).  Have a great day!

P.S.  Please take note: this is not a punishment!  You are being asked to contribute to managing your own needs.  If you require my services, please respectfully acknowledge this by fulfilling your obligation above.  I serve you in many ways for free: packing lunches, washing clothes, transporting you places.  You are being invited to do your part.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Building A Dam

I just want to put this out there:
Yesterday we (Sam, Caleb -16, Priscilla -14, Timo -10, Andrew -8, and Hannah -5) went to a creek and decided to build a small dam. Some carried big rocks, some small, some added handfuls of pebbles. One huge rock or a handful of small rocks did not build it or even hardly make a dent in it. But each tiny addition added to the success of building it. With many additions you could see small, incremental changes in the flow of water. For it to be really effective, we had to have a lot of tiny little stones, pebbles and sand. I reflected that this is a lot like life and progress. We could have left the stream alone and done nothing. But we decided to change it. We used muscle, effort, creativity and intelligence to bring about change - to create beauty, sound effects, and to marvel at our own power and work. Every small discovery, effort of big movement in a new direction can create a change in the course and flow of our lives. I was encouraged to see that the many small rocks were as necessary to progress as the big ones. I want to keep on working and discovering and finding power to change the course of the flow of life.

Of course I realize this is a work God does. At the same time, I recognized yesterday that God certainly can cause an earthquake, tornado or such - and tumble rocks into that stream that I could never muster the strength to budge. His power is of course far beyond anything I can fathom. Yet He gives me hands, a brain, abilities and creativity to involve myself in affecting change in my own life as much as a simple stream, and far more so, I daresay.

Be encouraged to know the tiny pebbles are as necessary to progress as the huge boulders. A boulder impeded the stream, but left gaps only small stones could fill. Each discovery is progress, and each exertion of effort isn't wasted. Even in failure we learn what doesn't work.

Sometimes engaging with nature opens our eyes to see what we've been missing all along...

Thursday, June 22, 2017

The Pharisee I Fail to See

The Pharisee I fail to see
Is one who has no need;
Who says, "I'll help - but I won't let
You sacrifice for me!"

The Pharisee I fail to see
Is one who ponders deep -
Who sees the world, its shame and woe
And says, "I'm glad I'm free."

The Pharisee I fail to see
Is unable to receive.
She cannot ask for simple prayer
Lest she admits her need.

There might be some of these -
In Church or home (or quilting bees) -
I wouldn't know...I fail to see
Because the Pharisee is me.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Is This My Invitation?

I don't know what my life is all about -
So I get stuck in my head
Trying to figure the mysteries I live -
In wandering thoughts I lose sight of today:
I miss sunshine's warmth, the glistening dew,
Morning's fresh glow and 
The wonder of each moment.

Getting lost in my head I cannot hear
The chorus of nature - the whisper of peace.
Is this an invitation to lay to rest
Big, un-earthly questions?
To be still and sit before the busy bees, working ants
And bullfrog's rhythmic tempo?

Is this my invitation to gratitude,
To feel the Breath of life
Inspire, and respire
The sluggish spirit in me?
To receive this Breath - this intimate infusion,
This communing of my flesh-embodied spirit
With the Heavenly, Gracious,
Soul-stirring, Life-Breathing, Divine 

The wind blows and reminds me once again
That this power and force is only seen or known
In feeling, movement, 
Impact and effects.

I am moved, Breathed-upon,
Invited to feel and be known,
To receive and revive:
Enter the moment unhindered
And enter the peace
That comes from breath,
Wind, and communion with the Divine.

Big questions will sit - floating in my cluttered mind -
Remaining as brain-chatter
Like a tornado captured inside.
But the sun rises and sets,
The birds fly south and return;
The rhythm and choir of life
Sings its original song
Each new day.

And I hear a Greater Voice
Hints of a knowing and responding:
"I do not give answers,
Because I have given Myself."

And I AM in that moment
Is Enough.

Friday, February 24, 2017

Living in Shadows

Living in shadows becomes my habit
To shelter from life in murky grey
I feel the in-between -
Seeing visions of day I still prefer
The hidden space, a comfort from blinding light
Seeking to uncover, reveal, unravel
Inner workings that would widen my sight
Perhaps too far
Too broad
Beyond what I know.

Bravely I step away from hiding -
Boldly embrace the light of day -
Cast off fear and donning courage
Open my eyes and see there is more...
A work to undertake,
A journey to make -
The pathway is for the bold, daring, foolhardy.
All caution disdained I set my face like flint
Embark to see, to know, to discover
How light shall not frighten
How Truth is a person
How I can become free in the light
Known in love
Embraced in Truth.

Living in shadows has its time, its space
But its work is to shield what can't be seen
Until such time as vision grows, heals
And light invites the courageous to enter.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

What the Queen taught me of baptism

Three weeks ago, Caleb and Priscilla were baptized. I was privileged to share a few thoughts beforehand. Here is what I said:

Two words sum up what I am about to tell you: Legacy and Royalty.  Each of you getting baptized today has been handed a legacy of spiritual commitment. None of you were born with faith in Christ, but you were taught it: shaped by it.  This is your spiritual legacy.  But mere exposure does not make a Christian.

The Queen of England was eligible for her role because of her royal birth.  But sometimes one who might become King or Queen decides to go after something else – they choose to step away from the calling to the throne, and pursue their own desires.  It was over a year between the time the queen became officially queen and when she was publicly crowned in a coronation ceremony.  You have been a child of God since the day you put your trust in Jesus.  But today you are making it public – you are dedicating yourself to your calling as His child.

Much like a marriage, with lifelong vows, the queen commits herself to a life of selfless service and dedication to guarding the Christian faith, and devoting herself for the rest of her life to her country with special attention to fostering unity and stability.  One part of the coronation ceremony caught my attention:  She takes on a white robe, and then is anointed on her head, both hands and chest.

“But wait,” I hear you say. “I am not a queen. What does this have to do with me? I am not royalty!” 


Listen to these words from 1st Peter: But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His possession, so that you may proclaim the praises of the One who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

The queen received and embraced her anointing.  Today the water will go over your head, your hands, and your heart.  You are recognizing yourself as wholly, fully, completely belonging to God: that your thoughts, your actions and your desires – what you love – are set apart for Christ’s kingdom.  Today you embrace and solidify your commitment to walk asroyalty the rest of your lives. You enter these waters freely because you have been drawn into God’s kingdom – you have come to know Him as your Father.  And by doing so you proclaim publicly that you embrace this calling; that you welcome this process of being set-apart for whatever He has for you the rest of your lives.

I want you look on this day as a turning point in how you see yourself.  That you will move forward in your spiritual life with a different outlook, with the identity of ROYALTY. Today this ceremony – much like a coronation – or crowning, is where you publicly assume the identity you have already received.
Today you are marked with a new identity.  You areroyal children of the King.

Unlike marriage, where commitments can be broken by both parties, you have entered a secure relationship with God Who promises, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” 

It is a bold, daring and audacious thing to say, “I identify with Jesus Christ for the rest of my life.”  Yet you have every reason to do so – drawn by His amazing love, to fellowship with Him, to receive His ongoing grace, forgiveness, friendship and presence in your lives, you say, “Count me IN! Sign me up!”

 It is the most wise, obvious commitment to enter – because you are KEPT by Him, LOVED and WELCOMED as His precious child. He KEEPS you.


You have been given both.
Don’t forget who you are. 

You are His child, clothed in royal robes, a precious possession, so very loved.

Walk as His children. 

Walk as royalty.

  And know that you fully belong to Him.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

3 Words in Retrospect on 2016

This is what I wrote just a week ago, on Dad's 77th birthday.

Tuesday, 3rd January, 2017

Today Dad would've been 77 years old - and he would tell me that he had attained perfection eleven times over (7 being the number of perfection)!  The grief and missing him comes in waves - tears cannot be restrained and emerge when I'm alone, driving to pick up kids or wishing I could watch him blow out candles on the traditional Crutchfield birthday cake.

Last year I decided to form my year around 3 words - to orient me, to clarify where I was at or what was/were going to be my theme(s).  I found myself with an uncanny (and unusual, for me) drive to clean - toothpick clean - and found cleaning to be both therapeutic and frustrating at the same time.  The word "CLEANING" emerged for me as a picture of much needed backlog of internal soul-work that had been left untouched. I had prayed for God to lead me to the three words I needed for the year.  And on the threshold of last year I entered a cleaning-binge-phase and was given a clue.  Because in scrubbing and bending and stretching and moving in uncomfortable (even unnatural) ways (to reach hard to clean places) I discovered more dirt and dust-bunnies needing attention.  And the work and progress seem so hidden - not tangible or provable.  And I meditate and see with new eyes how much dedication it takes to clean - how much grit, strength, determination and flexibility it will take - and I am defeated.  I quit, complain, give up, brawl in bed and declare my own lazy nature to myself.  Cleaning of soul and house takes far more than I've got to give.  So often I literally (in the proper use of the term) want to throw in the towel.  And in the non-literal, metaphorical sense, the same applies.

  Cleaning seems absolutely pointless - you can never stay on top of it.  It feels like trying to wash a mud-caked elephant with a toothbrush - a monumental and daunting task only the fool-hardy, ridiculously ambitious types would dare to tackle.  But cleaning has been my calling - and though I've no real evidence to show for it (our house too often resembles a pig sty!), I will continue to work towards physical and emotional cleanliness - heart-hygiene that becomes a habit.

My second word for 2016 was knitting.  I wasn't looking for great profundities here.  Just concepts to help me identify myself - what I do, think, and am - in essence.  My inner self escapes me at times.  She runs off to hide and I feel only a shell of a person.  Knitting is repetitive, pointless, boring, cathartic and forgiving (all what I need).  It is hypnotic - can lull me into a trance where I see, know, feel and think absolutely nothing - and everything - at the same time.  It is mind-emptying (not in the dangerous, mystical sense, but in the 'leave room to hear God's voice' sense) - a great pause - "mental-margin," I call it.   I have had a great backlog of need for mental-margin.  Mental-margin is where as a child Id gaze out the window on a bus ride and see trees and rocks and people and cars and clouds and sunshine and children in school jogging-suit uniforms with Filipina maids hustling them along.  Mental-margin is watching sparrows flock to crumbs fallen on the pavement and pick a fight over them.  It is day-dreaming in the rain and welcoming the endless hours of downpour - yearning for the sky to release its weight of liquid cleansing so the soul can be both glad, sad and free of the tumult churning within.  I have missed mental-margin.  You don't get it when kids bicker in the car or when one of them has his umpteenth meltdown of the week.  There is no mental-margin in days taxed with the needs of heel-nippers all around.  I had been depleted - lost any sense of grounding - couldn't tell who I was, or what I cared about.  Knitting forces and creates mental-margin.  It seems like an utter waste of time - any item could be gotten far cheaper at a thrift store I suppose.  But the point is not in what is made.  The point, for me, is creating mental space for rest, catharsis, imaginings and reflection.  God made me to have busy hands, for that is where my mind becomes free.  So He gave me the word "KNITTING" to shape my year.

  The third word took much time to come to.  It wasn't until halfway through the year that I saw it  emerging on the landscape of my life.  'Cleaning' and 'Knitting' came quickly, and obviously and were so simple I almost discarded them.  "Surely not, Lord," I thought - "Don't you have something more profound, biblical, theological or purposeful than these?"  But these kept echoing in my thoughts, habits and heart.  So I just said, "Okay, whatever. Makes no sense to me... But what's my third word?  What about 'hope' or 'joy' or 'peace' or some virtue I can grow in?"  (Couldn't He lead me to one of these words to somehow redeem the mundane and ordinary words of 'cleaning' and 'knitting'?)

  In March I experienced the most awful, gut-wrenching event of my life.  My Dad was suddenly gone from this world to his eternal home.  My heart was torn in two - I could not take it in.  I kept waiting to wake up from the nightmare.  I was introduced to a kind of grief and loss I'd never before encountered.

  As the weeks and months unfolded I entered an unfamiliar realm: the descent into the desert of grief.  Only now is the reality setting in - the dull, pulsing ache of sorrow.  Each month takes me farther from when I last saw him, hugged him, heard his voice.  Each change is clouded with missing his involvement - a birthday, an achievement, a kid playing in a recital, a performance at Christmas - all of these feel sad because I won't be reporting to Dad how they went.

  Grief is like a river - sometimes slow, sometimes turbulent, sometimes dangerous and scary.  But it always moves.  It is always carrying me along to somewhere.  At times the movement is imperceptible, but beneath are steady currents that are strong and powerful.  The stillness on the surface is deceptive because deep down torrents are raging and moving to a place of explosive power.

  And my third word for 2016 crashed onto my life, an unwanted guest whose imposing presence intruded on me without permission.  This guest, "GRIEF" has come to stay - not as a guest, or even an unwanted intruder - but as a companion, a counselor and an invitation to communion with the Divine.


All take time.  All can be frustrating.  All require strength, grit, patience and reflection.

In 2016 God invited me to reflect and re-acquaint myself with Him in His work - in me - patiently stretching me to find pockets of unreached, untouched junk, giving me space and time to weave pointless projects (a hat, a scarf, a blanket - though it wasn't the thing that was the point of it), but mostly to re-discover mental-margin and His voice that is heard in such stillness.  And He drew me into the work of grieving, to engage with Him in my sorrow and loss and journey into the reality that He binds up the brokenhearted.

  He gave me my 3 words in 2016.  And as I open the book on another year, I wonder what 3 words will anchor, define and clarify life for me this year.  I'll ask God to show me, and open my ears for His response.  I am confident He'll show me His words for me.  How can I be so bold, so confident?  Because He defines Himself as the WORD - and has said He will never leave me nor forsake me.  The living WORD gave that promise to His own.  So I will boldly trust that He will walk with me into this New Year.