Seeking my dog's siblings

I know this is a long shot, but I would love to arrange a play date for my dog Peanut with her biological siblings.

Peanut was born on 7/20/09 at Ruff Pine Kennel in Pine Bluffs, Wyoming. Her mom, Cassidy, was a yorkie and her dad, Danny, was a maltese/shih-tzu. I adopted her from Pet City pet store in Fort Collins, Colorado.

I know that Peanut had one sister and a few brothers from her litter. I would love to have her get back together with one of them, see if they remember each other and how their adult features compare.

I know the odds are that the right people will never see this. But if you happened to have the same wish as me and googled this, please comment below!

Joy of Worship

There was this girl at Elmbrook, about my age, who sometimes led worship when I was there. Her name was Bethany.

I loved when Bethany led worship because she always had a HUGE smile on her face. A lot of times when Christians sing worship songs we look like we're constipated. But not Bethany. She exuded joy in worship. You could tell even from the balcony that she was thrilled to be worshipping the King of the universe.

Bethany's example changed my own attitude and facial expressions when I worship. Now when I sing songs of praise, I smile as big as Bethany did. Because it is an honor to connect with my amazing God in that way. When I sing about his holiness, it fills me with excitement. I get to have a relationship with a holy God!

"Problem" Children

This week I had a Sunday School training with Karl Bastian, the Kidologist. The topic was discipline, and I was eager to learn. That's one of the hardest things for me as a Sunday School teacher.

I walked out with a lot of great tips. Grace based tips. Which I love, because I'm a big fan of grace. All new ideas I'd never thought of, heard of, or tried before. I'm eager to try this out.

But the thing that struck me the most wasn't so much a tip as it was a perspective. Which was pretty much the perspective that framed all the tips.

You know those "good" kids? You know, the ones who bring you Christmas gifts and say please and thank you and never disrupt class? You probably aren't going to make a difference in their life. Why? Because their lives are already on a good trajectory. They usually come from good homes, homes where parents are doing a wonderful job teaching them about faith and how to live like Jesus. If you weren't in their lives, they'd probably still turn out to be wonderful Christians.

You know those "bad" kids? The ones who interrupt your class with fart noises and start chanting "no more rules!" (the latter actually happened to me last week). The ones who make you want to use duct tape as a disciplinary measure or pull your hair out because you can't? This is your greatest opportunity to make a difference in a kid's life. Not by punishing them or yelling at them. Not by striving to change their behavior. By partnering with them and being their friend and helping them understand what it means to be a Christian. By helping shape their heart and showing them that Jesus loves them—when they probably feel like no adult loves them.

Karl accomplished his goal (at least for me): to make us want those kinds of kids more than we want the "good" kids. Because if I want to make a difference in a kid's life, it's not going to be in the angelic kid's life. It's going to be in the life of an unloveable 5th grade boy that I loved anyway.

Dead Samaritan?

This isn't a new struggle for me, but it's one that has come to light again recently: how do you find the balance between personal safety and what Jesus taught about the Good Samaritan?

See, on Saturday I took a self defense class. The first half of the day was lecture, all about awareness and how to avoid situations where you'd have to use the defensive tactics we learned in the second half of the day. We learned that sometimes, even someone just asking you what time it is can be a "verbal bump" to distract or engage you and set you up for bad things.

So this left me confounded. If I can't even do something as simple as tell people what time it is, how am I supposed to be a good neighbor the way Jesus defines it? Or, should I take the risk and assume they are a good person who genuinely needs the time?

But then what about helping people in more blatantly risky situations? Like if I see someone stranded along the side of the road? Today's sermon was, coincidentally, about the good Samaritan. And my pastors talked about how no one stops to help people on the side of the road because there are hundreds of other people driving by and everyone thinks, "well, one of them will help." But someone has to be the one to stop. Am I immune from that just because I'm a woman?

And what element of this comes down to trusting God for protection? I mean I don't think trust means walking down a dark alley alone at night - that's probably more like testing him. But when it comes to helping someone who might actually need help or might be conning us?

But then at self-defense class we also watched a clip from Silence of the Lambs, based on the real way serial killer Ted Bundy got his victims - putting on a fake cast and pretending to move furniture with a broken arm. A woman would come by to help him and she'd end up on the back end of the furniture, getting into the truck. Clearly in that situation, it's a mistake to help the guy. But how do you know if it's a genuine case of someone needing help?

Now, I help people. I volunteer as a victim's advocate. I'm doing a flood clean-up day next Saturday. But those are planned avenues of helping. What about the times when you just see someone in need right then?

Because the fact of the matter is, the Samaritan didn't walk down that road looking for a robbery victim to help. It wasn't in his plans. He just found one and helped. And it was risky. It was a dangerous road, as evidenced by the band of robbers who'd injured the victim in the first place. And for the priest and Levite who passed by, helping the man would've meant becoming ceremoniously unclean and losing the ability to go to the temple until they went through the cleansing period. There was a cost besides the monetary cost of putting the guy up in an inn. There was risk. And yet the Samaritan took it. And Jesus' implication is that the priest and Levite should've, too.

So...what do you think? Where's the balance? How do you know whether to be an alert woman avoiding becoming a victim, or to be a good Samaritan to someone who genuinely has a need? How do you act as a good Samaritan without ending up a dead Samaritan? I'd love your input.

This Is My Offering

The church I grew up in didn't pass offering plates. Instead, we had boxes in the back of the auditorium and you could drop in your money as you came or left.

I liked this because it enabled more anonymity. You could give more secretly, not wondering if the person to your right or left judged you for letting the plate pass you or thought too highly of you because they saw you slip in a large sum. Plus, I felt like it showed more faith on the part of the church. They didn't need to shove a reminder to give in people's faces. They believed God would sustain the church as people freely gave. (At least, that was my perception.)

And when I read about the collection for the Tabernacle (Exodus 35) in college, it seemed familiar. People just brought what they had and gave it. No one passed a plate for people to drop their jewelry and goat hair into. And, in Exodus 36:5-7, we see that Moses had to tell people to STOP giving, because they'd reached their budget. (I wonder if any churches today would turn away funds if their budgets reached 100% before the end of the year? But I digress...) Obviously this non-compulsory giving campaign was successful even among those who'd just been worshipping a golden calf.

I've never been to another church that collected offering that way. Every church I visited in college (which was many), every church since then, has passed a plate. And there's a part of me that misses the boxes in the back of the room. (They did bring them forward for a prayer of dedication each service, so it wasn't totally separate.)

But, someone at work recently said she likes the passing of the plate during the service because it incorporates giving as an act of worship. It's not separate from the service, it's included because giving is one way we worship God. 

At LifeBridge, we pass a plate. But they always talk about how giving is an act of worship. They don't do it in that kind of way where they make you feel like a wicked rotten person if you don't give anything. They present it as another opportunity to worship God. And I do like thinking of it that way. 

I was raised to give 10% of my earnings from the time I got a $1.00 a week allowance. I remember getting my yearly giving statement saying that I gave $5.20 that year and thinking, "wow, that's a lot of money." (For this reason, I now prefer to give in cash and not in any particular assigned envelope, so that I don't develop a sense of pride for how much I gave. If I had that pride when I was giving $5.20 a year...I'm clearly susceptible to pride in this area.) So I never felt like giving was difficult...it's just the only way I know. I wouldn't say I gave because I felt obligated to. But, I also wouldn't say I considered it an act of worship. I just was obeying God.

So, I think there are pros and cons to both ways. And while I'll always have a part of me that misses the boxes in the back, I've come to realize that no matter how it's collected, when I give I can do so with an attitude of worship.

Leadership

A little while ago at work we did an exercise to illustrate leadership. One partner (me) in each pair had to ask the other about his or her summer plans. But our secret goal was to try to get our partners to copy our body language. So we were to make weird facial expressions, or be really obvious about crossing our legs, and so on.

My partner noticed that I was behaving a bit oddly, my hand in a strange position across my face. But he didn't copy me. Later on when the goal of the activity was revealed and we discussed the experience, he said, "If I'd have known you were leading me, I would've followed."

Someone else pointed out that nowhere in the rules of the exercise had we been told we couldn't just tell our partner, "copy my body language." We all just assumed that was a rule, so we didn't tell our partners the goal.

All in all, it was a really poignant lesson in leadership. Does your team know where you're trying to lead them? Or are you just expecting them to follow? They may be perfectly willing to follow, like my partner was, but they don't know the goal you're aiming toward. They don't know you're trying to lead them. So they don't follow.

Often, casting that vision is as simple as telling them. There's no unspoken rule like the one we assumed, that we had to lead in such a compelling way that they would copy our body language. Clear communication is an important step to leading your team.

If they know you're leading them, they'll probably follow.

Is It True?

When I was a kid and one of my sisters or I went to my dad with a complaint about a mean comment someone said about us, he always gave the same answer.

"Daaa-aad! Laurie said I'm ugly!"

"Is it true?"

"No."

"Well then don't let it bother you."

I don't know why we continued to go to him with similar complaints. It always went the same way: "Is it true? Well then don't let it bother you."

This principle sticks in my head any time I hear or perceive any kind of negative perceptions about me. It's made it easier for me to let insults roll off my back. Is it true? If not, then I don't let it bother me.

Of course, sometimes it is true. Those are the ones that sting the worst because it hits you right where you're most vulnerable. So if I ask myself, "Is it true?" and my answer is "yes" - it's time for another question. (This didn't come from my dad.)

The question is: Can I change it? If it's true and it's bothering me that someone said it, that means it's a trait I don't like about myself. And if I can work to change it, then I need to do so. And if I'm not willing to do so, I need to not let it bother me that someone said it. If it doesn't bug me enough to fix it, I need to move on.

And if it's true but I can't change it...well, then I need to remember that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. That my frame was not hidden from God when he knit me together. If it's true, and not a sin issue that God can help me change, that means it's a basic aspect of the way God made me. To be insulted by a comment about the way God made me is insulting to God. So these are the times I need to learn to accept the traits I may not be thrilled God gave me, and trust that it is all part of the way he wanted me to be.

Here's a flow chart to visualize my chain of thought:

Insult comes

|

Is it true?

/      \

Yes          No

/                    \

Can I change it?   Don't let it bother me

/          \                                  

Yes           No                                  

/                         \                                   

With God's help, change               Accept that that's how God made me  

   /                                           \            

(let it bother me enough to change it)          (don't let it bother me)             

Frindle

There's this wonderful kids' chapter book by Andrew Clements, called Frindle. In it, Nick Allen is an imaginative and mischievous fifth grader, who likes to mess with teachers in a basically harmless way.

His fifth grade language arts teacher, Mrs. Granger, was a worthy adversary for Nick's antics. When he tried to throw her lesson plan off course, she assigned him a bonus assignment to find out where the words in the dictionary came from.

And after he gives his report, he still has a question: "Yeah, but, you know, I still don't really get the idea of why words all mean different things. Like, who says that d-o-g means the thing that goes 'woof' and wags its tail? Who says so?"

Mrs. Granger responds, "Who says dog means dog? You do, Nicholas. You and I and everyone in this class and this school and this town and this state and this country. We all agree...but if all of us in this room decided to call that creature something else, and if everyone else did, too, then that's what it would be called, and one day it would be written in the dictionary that way. We decide what goes in that book."

And not long after, Nick had another idea. He wanted to test out his power over words. So he decided to start calling pens frindles. He got a few classmates on board and began by going in to a store, a different person each day, and asking for a frindle. Then they started using it in class, and it caught on. Before you knew it, it spread around the school. And Mrs. Granger tried to stop anyone from using it. She talked to Nick and asked if he was going to stop, but he said he wasn't. So she handed him a sealed letter, had him sign and date over the seal, and said he would get the letter when it was all over.

Well, kids kept using the word. So Mrs. Granger kept kids after school for using it. But that didn't stop kids, and before you know it parents were calling in and complaining, and bus drivers were threatening to go on strike because a hundred kids were staying late each day. And because of the uproar, the local paper did a story on it. And then a local news station in Boston saw the local paper and did a report, which was also aired in New York. And meanwhile a local business man trademarked the word, created pens with the word frindle on them, and gave 30% of all profits to Nick in a trust fund. And after the story aired in New York, some producers of David Letterman saw it and Nick was invited on the show. And so on it snowballed, the use of the word spreading. And eventually the hype died down, but all around the country people were using the word frindle.

And then the book fast forwards to Nick's junior year of college. He gets a package in the mail from Mrs. Granger, with a brand new dictionary and a note to turn to page 541. There it is. The word frindle is in Webster's College Dictionary. Also enclosed is the letter Nick signed when he was in fifth grade.

"If you are reading this letter, it means that the word frindle has been added to the dictionary. Congratulations.

"...The word frindle has existed for less than three weeks. I now see that this is the kind of chance that a teacher hopes for and dreams about—a chance to see bright young students take an idea they have learned in a boring classroom and put it to a real test in their own world. I confess that I am very excited to see how it all turns out. I am mostly here to watch it happen.

"But somehow I think I have a small part to play in this drama, and I have chosen to be the villain. Every good story needs a bad guy, don't you think?"

To me, this is the genius of the book. Every good story does need a villain—and in this story, the villain gave herself that role in order to further the plot. If she hadn't kept kids after school and made such a big stink about the word, it never would've spread beyond the walls of Nick's school.

I've been thinking about this book because I think it applies very much to the church. I look at the fire bombings going on in Egypt and I think—these are the moments in history when the church blossoms. When the church doesn't face persecution, it tends to fizzle out. When there is a risk to being a Christian, people have to be all in or not in at all. And Christians who are all in despite persecution draw attention. I pray for the Egyptians because what they are facing is unimaginably difficult—but I also wait in eager expectation to see what God will do there to show his power over the persecutors.

The church in America isn't doing so hot. And while we claim we are persecuted because Obama has a Ramadan dinner or they mix in some Hanukkah songs on the radio in December, we know that there's really little risk to being a Christian here. There's nothing threatening our freedom. And without the villain, without the enemy, we can be lukewarm, "Sunday Christians." We don't have to unite together against a common enemy. Satan's plot against the church in America is to make it easy to be a nominal Christian. And it's working.

It's hard because I don't want to be persecuted. I'm comfortable. I don't want to have to deal with the kinds of things Christians in Egypt are! Who does? And yet I feel that without a real enemy, the Church in America will continue to dwindle.

"Every good story needs a bad guy, don't you think?"

Editing

When I was in high school, my job was operating the shot clock at school basketball games. It was a pretty sweet gig and higher paying per hour than most high school jobs were. And it was a lot of fun.

But I noticed that when I would watch college basketball games on TV during high school and into my freshman year of college, my finger would twitch when the shot clock needed to be reset. My brain was so programed to hit that reset button that I did it without thinking—even when there was no button to press.

Fast forward to after college, when I worked for a church in the children's ministry. One part of my job was making the kids' bulletin, and that interfaced with my life, too. I'd look for new kinds of puzzles I could use when I was doing puzzles in my free time, and I couldn't get through a sermon without playing the bingo I'd created...and looking around to see how many kids were using the bulletin.

So it wasn't surprising to me that when I became an editor, it impacted the way I read. To clear up a common point of confusion, I'm a content editor. Although I do fix grammatical mistakes when I see them, my job is making sure content makes sense, fits our filters, and is the best it can be. I do a lot of critiquing, rearranging, and evaluating. Then we have an awesome team of assistant editors who polish it up and make it all consistent and grammatically accurate.

And I noticed almost immediately after starting my job that the speed at which I read books in my free time slowed waaaay down. Because I was constantly critiquing the order of things, and wondering whether the editor made the writer include that sentence...stuff like that.

But recently I realized that editing impacts my life in a far greater way than just the way I read books. And it's not good. I realized that I edit people. When I see someone I haven't met, when I hear someone talk, when I interact with someone...I realized that my brain is editing even then. I'm critiquing. I'm evaluating. I'm thinking of how to make what they do, say, or look like better for the setting.

It's really pretty terrible. It's presumptuous at best. But really...it's just plain sinful. Why am I editing something God made? I think he might know a little better than me. Maybe it's time to edit inward and learn to stop editing people.

Settling In

This post has been percolating in my head since last Sunday. Since just hours after I wrote my post about seeing my neighbors through God's eyes. (I told you he still had work to do.)

Last Sunday I went for a walk with the pups. And when I came back, my new neighbor, one whom I've only been able to see as a caricature of this obnoxious irresponsible drunk, was sitting on her front step smoking.

So me and the pups went over to say hi. And then she and I had a 15-20 minute conversation about random small talk type stuff - the weather, where we'd grown up, etc. And I went into my house feeling like I was beginning to see her as an actual person. Not that anything in this conversation was deeply profound, it was just...a normal conversation. Which was what I needed to start to see her as a normal person.

And then later on, as I sat on my back porch quietly reading, my presence seemingly unknown to her, I got a glimpse into an area of pain in her life. And that's when I first started to see her through God's eyes. No longer a caricature, and not simply as a normal person, but as a normal person with real struggles and pain. A normal person who needed to know she was valuable and loved.

And in fact, I had something to offer her to help with this pain. And I don't mean a simple religious answer—I need to build a relationship with her to get there. I mean I knew of someone who might be able to help her. I tried to be non-invasive about it—she hadn't opened up her pain to me on purpose—but I gave her a pamphlet and said maybe it could help her. I realized as soon as I heard her pain that this was the way I was meant to speak up and use my powerful words this week.

You see how everything God's been teaching me is all tying together?

Fast forward to Tuesday. I went to Anchor, a 20-something group at my new church. The message was about Jeremiah 29. Which delighted me so much because one of my pet peeves is when people quote Jeremiah 29:11 all the time out of context. But this message was about Jeremiah 29. Contextually. Yay!

And as we talked about transition and about how the Judeans were supposed to treat their exile as a kind of permanent thing...a lightbulb went off. You see, the Judeans were supposed to settle into the land. They were supposed to build houses—not pitch tents. They were supposed to plant gardens, producing for the land that had been the land of their enemies. They were supposed to build meaningful relationships, not putting marriage on hold. And they were even supposed to seek the prosperity of this place that didn't feel like home, that they would've wanted to see as a temporary transition.

And that's when it hit me. I've been living here for 5 years, and based on my plans I'll be here for 3 more years while I save for a house. The whole time I've lived here I've felt like I'd live here until I can buy a house. I've recognized that this is what I hope will be my last rental home. But I've seen it as a temporary home. A step while I get my 20% down saved up. I've never really viewed it as a neighborhood to settle into for 8-ish years. A neighborhood to contribute to, to be an active part of, to seek the prosperity of. A place to build meaningful relationships. I've settled into my internal home with my stuff, but not the society of people around me.

You see, part of the problem with focusing on Jeremiah 29:11 is that it focuses on God's plans for the future. And hopefully for me, that includes home ownership. But when you focus on God's plans for the future all the time, you can miss out on God's plans for you right now. Right now, God has called me here to this rental. God has called me to dwell among the people here and embrace life here, however annoying my neighbors may be at times. And I've been too focused on my plans for a house to accept that. I've been viewing my neighbors (at least the annoying ones) as an obnoxious thing I have to put up with while I wait for life to get better.

Jeremiah 29 isn't primarily about God's plans for the future. It's about embracing God's plan for you right now and in the future. And it's about time I embrace life here on my street.

"Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. PRay to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper." - Jer Bear 29:7