Inconceivable: Finding Peace in the Midst of Infertility
by Shannon Woodward
(Life Journey 2006)

As a pastor’s wife, Shannon Woodward was used to holding babies. Yet her doctor’s diagnosis of infertility sent her on a journey she never planned to take. Her beautiful book explores eighteen years of frustration, pain, anger, and eventually healing. She shares how God increased her joy beyond measure through adoption.

Using a lyrical style of writing, Woodward speaks to the hearts of women, showing them how to have peace through surrender.

It’s a pie-baking day and I’m dragging a chair up to the kitchen counter in our little house in Arizona. At three years old, anything important usually happens up there, far above chin level. I watch Mama work her magic, measuring and blending flour and sugar, shortening and salt. Then it’s my turn to help.

I add several tablespoons of water to the mixture. With quick movements and a shiny fork, I help her cut through the flour mixture, transforming it into a big ball of dough. I watch her divide it into three chunks. She rolls each into a perfect circle, which she lifts and spreads across a glass pie plate.

“Can I help with the pinch part?” I ask, knowing she’ll say yes. She always lets me help with the pinch part.

Using a butter knife, Mama cuts away excess dough that hangs over the side of the plate, then we tuck the ragged edges under and crimp them into a pretty design. Our sticky fingers meet at a certain point and she tickles my fingertips. “What a beautiful pie this is going to be,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

We repeat the process two more times, until a small lump of leftover dough remains.
“What’s that for?” I ask.

Mama hands me a smaller, child-sized rolling pin. “Here, it’s all yours.” I dip my hand in flour and spread it across an apple-shaped cutting board, then pat my lump of dough as I’d seen her do countless times before..

“This pie is for Daddy,” I say. “It’s gonna be his fav’rite.”

It wasn’t my father’s birthday. It wasn’t Thanksgiving or Christmas. It was the day before Father’s Day, and I wanted to surprise him with my very first pie.

I kneaded and flipped that dough until it was tough and dry. Mama offered to help, but I was a three-year-old know-it-all.. “I can do it myself. It’s MY pie!”

I borrowed a little silver pie pan from my set of play dishes, and nodded when Mama asked if I’d washed it in soapy water. The day before, it had held the remains of a grasshopper from a backyard adventure. She helped me fill the shell with warm peach filling and slid it into the oven next to her bigger pies.

By the time Daddy came home, our pies were cooling on a rack. A sweet scent wafted out the door, down the sidewalk to greet him. “Mmmm! I smell a surprise!” he called to me up on the porch.

I watched him sample a bite of my pie, and declare it delicious-with-a-capital-D. That’s all this little girl needed to know.

A couple of decades later, I confessed that I really hadn’t washed my grasshopper holder. My dad laughed, and confessed that he hadn’t really swallowed that bite of pie, either, because he knew about my decomposing grasshopper.

Father’s Day brings a myriad of memories, some hilarious, some bittersweet. Mostly, it takes me back to those early formulative years when I learned what it meant to feel secure in my father’s love. Those are the years when I learned how to pray, too, with Daddy on his knees next to me at bedtime. Because God mattered to my dad, I learned from a very young age to love and trust my heavenly Father with every detail of life.

My earthly dad passed away in 2006, but my heavenly Father still speaks in precious whispers and gentle nudges that encourage and guide me in the right direction. Sometimes while singing in church, I remember my tall daddy sharing his hymnal with me and singing “Amazing Grace” or “When We All Get to Heaven.” When I gaze at the Big Dipper on a clear night, I remember the night he first showed me how to locate that sparkly lineup.

And whenever I bake a pie, I can’t help but smile-with-a-capital-S.

©2008, Bonnie Bruno

For more slice-of-life stories, visit Bonnie’s Macromoments blog: http://macromoments.blogspot.com

In our home, the month of June brings visions of outdoor family fun. Through the years our kids would high five each other on the last day of school as we anticipated the lazy days of summer ahead. Sometime around Father’s Day my husband would put on his manly apron and fire up the backyard barbeque. The burgers would start flying and the pink lemonade would begin flowing through our multi-colored straws. Life was good. At least that is how summer started out.

We really did dream of lazy summer days, but I have to confess many of our summers turned into what we not so affectionately called “project vacations.” In other words, we did yard work. Not just planting simple gardens—grueling, backbreaking, hard labor kind of yard work. We dug meandering pathways in hard clay soil, pulled weeds, hauled tons of gravel and flagstones, trimmed massive laurel hedges, planted lovely flower gardens and mowed great expanses of lawn. Those lazy days of summer were hard work. While we dreamed of enjoying our summer vacation, we also dreamed of the perfect yard to complement our perfect house. We didn’t have a landscaper or full time staff to achieve our vision while we played in the sun, so we had to enlist someone to make things happen. “Someone” was my husband and his trusty assistant—me.

Times have changed since those days of hard summer labor. We don’t do summer project vacations anymore. Not because we finished our landscape and have gone off to play (although we did finish it and it was a beautiful sight to behold). We did all of that hard work so another family could enjoy the fruit of our labour. We moved from that house just after the landscape was completed four years ago. (I do see the irony in that, believe me.)

By the look of things in our current backyard, you’d think we would be reliving the good old days and planning an extensive project vacation this summer. But instead of wearing out another set of leather gardening gloves, we have learned to live with a bit less perfection. The trade off for skipping those project vacations is that when we grab those burgers and sip our lemonade in the backyard, we are not sitting in the next Garden of Eden.

With this property, we have settled for what might appear to be a forlorn barren look. It is a sacrifice we had to make when we bought this house. Our back yard fell into the “we’ll get to it in about the year 2030” category of home improvement priorities. Luckily, I have a vivid imagination. When we gather around outside with burgers in buns and cold drinks in hand, I imagine I am sitting in my own little English Garden. Minus the garden. You can’t have everything, and sometimes that can be a blessing in disguise.

By putting off our landscaping until the year 2030, we now spend more time at the park than doing yard work. Over the past four years, I have grown quite comfortable with the idea that we can walk over to the local park and enjoy the lush green grass but never have to mow it. It is like having your own personal gardener but you don’t have to pay him. Without our own beautiful yard to maintain, we spend more time playing, daydreaming and soaking up the summer sun with the kids. We walk to the local outdoor pool to splash away the hours instead of wielding giant clippers and hauling yard debris. We play instead of work on our vacations. We spend more time walking, swimming, biking and going to the beach.

I do miss our old yard. There is nothing like sitting on your patio and smelling the sweetness of the jasmine and lavender you planted yourself. And someday, if we have more time or money, I hope to create another garden our family can enjoy. I might even plant a few containers with my kids this summer to add a little more beauty to our summer barbeques. But I have learned to be patient and content with where we are in life right now. I don’t need to rush things. I am happy to simply have a “Garden of Eating,” a humble place where we can gather together for a family picnic after a long afternoon of playing in grass we didn’t have to mow, swimming in a pool we didn’t have to maintain, and smelling flowers in a garden we didn’t have to weed. My husband now wears his manly barbeque apron more often than his leather work gloves. Life is good – we feel blessed.

All I have to do is shut my eyes and I can almost picture the Garden of Eden instead of our pile of dirt and weeds. And I’m OK with that.

Ecclesiastes 4:6, “Better one handful with tranquility than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind.”

©2008, Melissa Michaels

“Gather and knot.” That’s all I ask them.

It’s all anyone will ever ask of them, really.

So they try.

First, young eyes and minds gather. Stretching fingers of tree limbs catch sky, saturated in blues. Green’s but a fleeting whisper through the woods, the sky all loud and showing through.  I watch them see.

Having gathered, then they knot the strands, slow and tentative.

“The wood’s green clouds drift in on spring.” Our just-teen says the words, but his eyes keep searching the landscape, looking for more idea threads.

“I think it’s more like this,” offers younger brother. “Fresh green cloaks the woods all worn and grey from endless winter.”

I nod, smile. They have gathered strings from the world’s web and knotted. These children, their winding cerebrums a net of neurons, have made their own connections, between cloaks and leaves budding, spring and clouds and trees standing near.

All of a child’s learning, reading, discovery, is about connections.  Poetry, with its lyrical metaphors, captivates because of surprising associations between senses and scenes. Uncommon connections of ideas birth inventions, creativity, innovations. So we ask children, “Gather and knot.” Connect, connect.

But it strikes me the other day, watching a daughter wrestle with adjectives and adverbs, that education is more than the gathering, knotting, lacing of the world’s silvery threads. Authentic, deep learning ultimately emerges from the most powerful connection of all: the spinning, collecting, braiding of heart strands.

“We, as persons, are not enlightened by means of multiple-choice tests or grades,” writes educator and author Karen Andreola,  “but rather by the other people in our lives that we come to know, admire, and love. We are educated by our friendships and our intimacies.” The one who gathers us and knots our heart close is the one whom we emulate. We are educated by those whom we connect to.

So we leave dry texts on the shelf and read what we describe as living books. For children connect with ideas and information when they’re gathered to an author who is a real, knowable person, an author with a unique voice and expressive words who touches a child’s eyes, heart, and thought world.  Neurological research clearly indicates that learning thrives and connections multiply when we tuck knowledge into an envelope of feeling, wrap facts in emotive language. Because that is what kindles our hearts. Stirred hearts open, see, make associations.

One of ours sits in early sunlight, bent over books, and blunders through lesson after lesson, gathering little and any knotting attempts dissolving into an undecipherable, tangled muddle. An eraser scrubs through a page, a pencil flies across the room, and I’m baffled at synapses and information that defy connecting. But I remember, this time, that education is more than a gathering and knotting of cerebral matter. I rub tense back, brush hair out of eyes, pick up frayed heart fibers and I knot with simple words: “Can I help? Together, we can figure this out. Want to pray first?” We do, and I repent of all the times I’ve forgotten the connection that makes everything else connect.

Later, in afternoon’s honey light, I watch young nimble hands crocheting, strings gathered and knots tied. Yet there are spaces between the connections. So too we know the inevitable academic gaps, relational holes. But we choose the strings carefully—vibrant words, living books, creative endeavors, unconditional tenderness. Daily we tie close–us, child, the wonders of His world and our Creator.  In spite of gaps, we gather and knot all these strands.

This weave holds and we are warmed.

©2008, Ann Voskamp

With lines like “I’m finding that God is blessing me with messy faces in divine places,” Darlene Schacht has the uncanny ability to warm hearts–captivating them with an inspirational focus.

Perhaps it’s her writing talent laced with design skill and determination that has placed Darlene at the hub of this rapidly growing online ministry for women that celebrated its one year anniversary in March. Christian Women Online has brought about a new wave in the ability to reach out to people both to share faith and to minister to them. CWO answers the question Can the Internet really be used to save souls? With a loud and clear Yes!

This mother of four also inspires women through her book The Mom Complex ~ Discover the Woman God Designed You To Be. Sharing stories from her past to her present, this devotional is sprinkled with humor and inspiration that is both human and faith focused. Russ Eldredge said it best when he wrote, “Far too many people think that in order to be religious, you can’t be too human, and in order to be truly human, you can’t be all that religious. The Mom Complex strikes a wonderful balance between the two.”

Jill Hart interviewed Darlene in March at CWAHM to talk about CWO, her book, and CWO’s parent company, Art Bookbindery. We have that interview here for you today…

This month I had the pleasure of chatting with Margaret McSweeney. Margaret is the author the beautiful gift book, A Mother’s Heart Knows. She is also the founder of ‘Pearl Girls’:

With His love and grace, God covered the unexpected pain in my life of becoming an adult orphan and transformed this pain into a pearl. We are all Pearl Girls™.  Each of us has been touched by God’s gift of love and grace, and it’s a gift that I want to share with others.  That’s why I am launching Pearl Girls™.

Actually, my very first gift from my parents was a pearl. The gift of my name. Margaret means “precious pearl.” So perhaps this is what I was always supposed to do. My heart’s prayer is that Pearl Girls™ will be a blessing to others–to the women who contribute their literary talent to the Pearl Girls™ projects; to the readers who are inspired and comforted by the life experiences shared through these projects and to the women and children who will benefit from the proceeds given by Pearl Girls™ to various charities.

What is a “good” father? I like Billy Graham’s definition the best:  A good father is one of the most unsung, unpraised, unnoticed, and yet one of the most valuable assets in our society.

Without fathers, where would we be?

During this current crisis in my little family, my husband has once again proven what a truly wonderful father he is. His job has always been to protect his “little” girls, and he is trying his hardest to do just that right now. Both of us want to hold tightly to our oldest daughter to prevent her from harm, but the harder we hold, the more she resists.  So, we’ve had to let her go – yet, at the same time, my husband is helping to guide her through some very important steps as she asserts her independence. We have given her a strong foundation, and now the rest is up to her. As Anne Frank said, “How true Daddy’s words were when he said, ‘All children must look after their own upbringing’. Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person’s character lies in their own hands.”

I marvel at my husband’s  wisdom. I hurt when I see him cry. I lean on him – he has been my rock through all of this. He has proven his love for our family over and over and over again throughout the years – by unselfishly giving of his time and his devotion and his blood, sweat, and tears just to provide and care for us. Never once have I heard him complain about how many hours he has to work in order to give his family what they need – security. Never once have I heard him say that his time has been wasted on being a father and a husband. Never once have I heard him say he wants to give up and just walk away. His commitment to us is unfailing, and that has allowed me and our girls to live securely in the knowledge that he will be there for us, no matter what.  He’s an amazing man.

He is a godly man, and gets his strength and courage from the Lord.  He prays fervently for our children, so that they make the right decisions in life and so that they follow God’s path.  As we watch our oldest stray from the path which the Lord has set out for her, rather than giving up on her, her father has decided to do the right thing – even though she doesn’t appreciate it or understand it – he has decided to keep her best interests at heart even though others are not doing so.  It pains him to see what she is doing right now, but ours is an unconditional love for our daughter, and we will be here when she needs us as she falls.  He shows great compassion for her, as it states in Psalms 103:13 (NIV), “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.”  We pray that our daughter begins to feel her father’s compassion, begins to fear the Lord and start to shun the sins of selfishness and pride, and begin to make her way home to her family and her Lord.  It would be the best Father’s Day gift that my husband could ever receive – a humble and contrite daughter who wants to be a member of the family again.

©2008, Valerie Wolff

First of all, I just want to say that I grew up watching you on “Full House.”  I was about 10 when I first watched it, now I’m 27 and I have the entire DVD collection. It’s funny how “Full House” has always been one of my favorite shows, I still enjoy today, and now my son watches it with me. He’s 7, and knows everyone’s name.

I have a question. How do you feel about public schools? Being a Christian, it’s hard for me to be supportive of our country’s public schools when they don’t teach values or responsibility. I have had so many issues with the schools that my son has attended, and he’s only been in school for two years.

I look at it as the blind leading the blind, yet they’re the ones that are setting the students up to be our foundation, as we get older. I hate to see how this world is going to try to function with less intelligent people than those we have already.

_________________________

Thanks for your email. Glad you’re enjoying “Full House,” from one generation to the next.

Public schools. Yeah, it’s a tough one. Although I strongly encourage Christian schooling or home schooling with a Christian-based program, I’ll also say that my brother and sisters, and I all went to public school most of our lives, and my dad was a public school teacher for more than 35 years. I think we did just fine.

While I can look at public schools and feel generally disappointed with them, I believe that a school is as good as your child’s teacher. Having a loving, well-educated person, who loves what they do, can make the difference regardless of the school. I have some close friends who are Christians and are public school teachers and principals. They choose to stay in the public school system because they want to be a light to those children who may not otherwise see it at home. No, they’re not allowed to share openly in class and no, they can’t teach creation, but trust me, they are doing the best they can to represent Christ in all they do. I believe it’s important to get to know your child’s teacher, and talk with the school, if you feel there may be another teacher better suited for your child.

As I’ve said before, my children go to a private Christian school. I’m sure they will continue to as long as we’re able to afford it, or if our travels and sports take us in another direction, the other option would be home schooling for me.

While I choose not to have my children educated by the public school system, I still think it’s our responsibility to work with our government on local levels to create the best environment for children in public schools. We should have educated, hard working, well-paid teachers, and fight for issues like keeping God in the pledge of allegiance. Just because my child doesn’t go to a public school, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t fight for all the other children in our country.

Have you ever thought of the sum total of your life experiences as being a gift from God? That the journey you have walked, no matter how joyful or painful, is something God has gifted you with? And more important, that He wants you to share that gift with others?

If not, I’d like to challenge you today to make the choice to look at your life with a fresh vision. I’d like to challenge you today to make the choice to view your life as your God Story. And, I’d like to take that one step further. I’d like to challenge you today to make the choice to share your God Story with others.

As faith-filled boomer babes, we have each lived our lives through joy and pain and have come out the other side with a God Story. Our stories are as unique as we are—yet as Christians, we share a common denominator. That through it all, no matter how many hills or valleys we have traversed, God has been at work. At all times and in all ways—even when we couldn’t see or feel his presence.

I often quote my friend, Michelle McKinney Hammond, “Every test is a testimony and every mess is a ministry.” What test or mess has God brought you through? What pressure have you been through in your pain that has turned coal into a diamond?

I was blessed to speak several times last month during Mother’s Day weekend. The topic of my messages was, “God Allows U-Turns: The Choices We Make Change the Story of Our Life.” This is not only a series of books that I’ve edited and the foundation for my ministry outreach, it really is something that I live by.

I truly believe the choices we make can change our life story, and that our choices can change or have an impact on the lives and stories of others.

This past Mother’s Day, a legend in gospel music, Dottie Rambo, was tragically killed when her bus hit an embankment and crashed. A friend of mine knew this amazing singer/songwriter, and her life was impacted due to the choice Dottie Rambo made years ago to share her music and testimony—her God Story. Indirectly, my life has been impacted because of what my friend learned from Dottie. I would hazard to guess that even though Dottie is now with her Heavenly Father, that her God Story will continue to have lasting impact on countless lives. Because long ago she made the choice to share her story.

When we share our testimonies, our God stories, it’s impossible to know the long-term impact they will have. We never know who may be changed as a result of hearing our story. We never know who might make different choices in their life because we made the choice to boldly and unashamedly share how God has worked in our life.

The choices I made early in my life greatly influenced the choices that my only child made in his life. Later, after I became a Christian and began to make better choices, I began to see just how powerful my choices were. I made a choice to share my journey in learning to set boundaries with my adult son and the book I wrote as a result of that choice is helping to change lives. I felt the call on my heart to write it—yet I had no earthly idea how God would open the floodgates of heaven to bless the project. He had a plan for my life and he gave me my God Story for a purpose.

What is your God Story? What purpose has God given to you through your journey?

As Christians, our greatest call is to be lanterns to light the way for others to come to know Jesus. The Great Commission challenges us to be witnesses to what God has done, and to bring others to know God’s amazing grace, mercy, peace, and joy.

Maybe you thought you would be at a different place in life than you are now. Maybe there were things that happened to you that were out of your control, yet we can still choose how we respond. We can make choices that bring hope and healing not only to our lives, but to the lives of others as we share our God Story. God has given you the gift of your story. My prayer for you is that you will make the choice to share your journey with others. That you would open your heart to boldly proclaim how God has changed your life, and that in so doing you will bring others into the family of God.

“God can do anything you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.”
– Ephesians 3:20, The Message

Available now from Harvest House Publishers
Setting Boundaries with Your Adult Children
Six Steps to Hope and Healing for Struggling Parents
by Allison Bottke
For more information visit: www.SanitySupport.com

I love graciously entertaining in my home, and an important aspect of that love comes from being in sync with my husband. Being in sync in many ways – spiritually, physically, emotionally, and regarding how we work together in reaching out.  Although I first loved entertaining more than my husband did, he eventually joined in – and he now shares in my bliss!

This love for entertaining didn’t happen overnight for my husband. His biggest fear was making conversation with others, and keeping it going throughout the meal. It took time for him to gain confidence, but when he saw how much I cared about our guests and how I loved to cook, he was inspired to become a better conversationalist, and jumped on the entertaining bandwagon with me. He started helping out when we hosted others, by adding his flair for making appetizers, barbequing, and picking out the music.  The rhythm of our entertaining has blossomed and continues to this day.

My husband’s choice to reach out and grow a hospitable spirit has had great impact on our children.  In a way, he’s creating the basis for what will serve them most once they are adults.  Being raised in a home known for Irish hospitality, my husband learned the basics about serving others.  He learned that it wasn’t the contents of a home, but the importance of making one feel welcome in it.  Now as we get ready to welcome our guests, we always include the kids in our preparations.  Even though he is not purposely creating a picture of “hospitality” for our children, my husband is fashioning for them a gift that will carry them through life.

Our harmony in opening up our home has been a gift to our children.  They will understand hospitality when they become adults.  They will know and remember how their father carried the conversation at the dining table – and how he reached out to individuals in a way that was honest and helpful.  They will remember watching him question guests with concern, and also share with them his own struggles and joys.  They’ll remember how we worked as a family, preparing for our guests.  Starting the barbeque, cleaning the pool, mowing the lawn, or any last minute chores.  Even though things do not have to be perfect, they still learn to “prepare.”

They will also remember how their father was in sync with their mother.  And how we worked together.  Even when we were tired or didn’t feel like it, we still made an effort. Entertaining is not for the tired and the weak (although you still learn to open up your heart, even when you are tired).  It takes energy, planning, and organization.

We’ve determined that once a solid foundation for hospitality is laid, the rest is simple.  As we give of ourselves, ministering through food and conversation, we receive a great sense of satisfaction in knowing that it’s not about us – at all.

It has become a rewarding part of life for us. We’ve developed an entertaining style that is gracious.  And as we always say, it’s real entertaining for real people.  As Pope John XXIII said: “It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a real father.”

Here’s to husbands who seek to be good examples to their families!

Eliminating bad habits is definitely not the easiest thing to do. Nail chewers have probably heard of—maybe even tried—the nasty tasting polish that reminds us to keep our fingers off the lips. And those of you who are lip lickers, have likely felt the sting of cracked lips in the winter. Habits range anywhere from picking skin, to blinking our eyes, to grinding our teeth. Most of us have them, yet most of us wish we didn’t.

This month we’re focusing on eating habits–exchanging the bad for the good. Overeating, eating the wrong foods, and eating for comfort are few among many habits we’d like to see changed.

Let’s look at three ways to start doing that:

Listen

Looking at the thin eaters in my life, I’ve noticed that those who’ve successfully lost weight and kept it off, or those who have never been concerned about weight are the ones who exercise their ability to distinguish hunger from emotion, necessity from luxury, and appetite from passion. Essentially they eat to survive, while others survive to eat.

Have you ever stuffed yourself with so much junk food, and then vowed never to touch it again? Why? What reward did you get? Payoffs will differ depending on personality: a buzz, entertainment, attention, stress relief, comfort, etc.

Food can be a comforting entertainment that one seeks to fill a void when that void is calling for something else. The best solution one can find is this: “listen.”

Find out what that something else is. Maybe you’re just bored, you might be depressed, or possibly you’re looking for something to ease your discomfort. Food is easy to grab on the go. It’s an uncomplicated, effortless, and simple solution to our needs, but it isn’t necessarily the best fuel to keep you moving ahead. Listen to the signs of your body to determine what and how much you require. Decipher it from what you desire. The two are completely different–master this concept and you’ll be a thin eater.

Quench Appropriately

Many dieters who have successfully lost weight have discovered what are known as “transfer addictions,” meaning that while they’ve mastered their addiction to food, they’ve transferred their focus from one addiction to another. Carnie Wilson, famed for bother her voice and her weightloss through gastric by-pass surgery is one such example who underwent treatment for alcoholism within two years of losing the weight.

Let’s look at it this way: if you’re getting the desired attention you need from eating like swine on a Saturday morning, as soon as you remove the trough you’ll likely find something else that draws just as much attention to you. The alternative solution may not be a better one.

Remember the story of the Samaritan woman who came to draw water? It’s found in John chapter 4. While the disciples were out grocery shopping (yeah, they were grocery shopping—check it out), Jesus met a woman at the well, and asker her for a drink. He knew that this particular woman had a void inside her that led her to thirst for something more in her life. It moved her to return to the same proverbial well time and again hoping to fill her pain with something that would last—something that would quench her thirst, until finally He came offering an everlasting well of hope. Maybe this void resulted in failed marriages time and again, since we know she had five. One can only guess, but we do know that the same Spirit of life in Christ Jesus is there for us too.

Earthly things can fill the void for a moment, maybe even a week, but when we are quenched by the Spirit of comfort we a satisfied from within, no longer having a need return to the well time and again.

Flee and Pursue

Losing weight is a life-changing experience that for many women has resulted in a spiritual vacuum of sorts. Any time we eliminate things from our life, we create a need to be filled. That’s a great thing when you’re filling up with Christ. Not such a good thing when we give up cola, but crave sugar so much that we pop chocolates all day. We’re complicated beings, aren’t we? The simple solution is to replace our wants with His (more of you, Lord—less of me), and bad habits with good.

It’s one thing to flee bad habits that hinder our walk, but it’s equally as important to pursue habits that are better. Consider this verse, 2 Timothy 2:22, “Flee the evil desires of youth, and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.”

Truly changing from within is a two-part process (while maybe it’s a trillion part process, but we’re narrowing it down to two here) that must be followed in order to achieve real success. The first is turning away, and the other is moving forward with a thirst to be filled.

Consider Matthew chapter twelve where Jesus said, “When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none. Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out: and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished. Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first. Even so shall it be also unto this wicked generation.” – Matthew 12:43-45

This prophecy was in relation to those of that generation who rejected Christ, but it also serves well to describe the danger of an empty home, and importance of filling our heart with good.

Let’s look at that concept in relation to living well. You can clean a house—eliminate bad habits, until your temple is swept to empty—but if you don’t fill that house with something better, you’ll eventually fill it with something worse. The goal is to concentrate on good habits in addition to eliminating the bad.

Let’s look at a few ways we can fill an empty house:

• Replace 1/3 of your diet with fruit and vegetables
• Start each day off with prayer and Bible study
• Find like minded friends
• Join a support group
• Seek out healthier places to eat
• Spend more time planning and preparing good meals
• Walk
• Exercise
• Drink water
• Clean your house
• Pray for the comfort of the Holy Spirit!

If you are planning on making life changes, giving up some of the foods that you like, and ultimately taking off weight, ensure that you replace every one of those bad habits with good. Flee and pursue!

©2008, Darlene Schacht

*We advise that you always consult your doctor before starting any diet or exercise program.

When the two of them began wrestling (and laughing), I was sitting on the couch working on my laptop. A guitar sat perched against the love seat; a violin lay on the floor at my feet. The wood stove, lining the opposite wall, was stoked … and hot.

“Be careful!” I said.

Father and son ignored me.

“I mean it … someone is going to get hurt!”

To that point, they’d been wrestling standing up, circling each other like wary cats—jabbing, grabbing, retreating, wriggling out of each other’s clutches. But just as I gave my dire prediction, Dave pulled a maneuver any 45-year-old man would be proud of. He picked up all 152 pounds of Zac, swung him up and over his shoulders, and began spinning them both like a whirling dervish.

My warnings faded as laughter took over. Despite my fears that they’d both land on the guitar, the violin, the wood stove, or me, I couldn’t speak.

When Dave thought they were both sufficiently dizzy, he dropped him down in a wrestling pin and began playfully and repeatedly poking Zac’s thigh with his knuckles.

“Dad!” Zac managed somewhere in all that laughter, “Stop!”

Dave didn’t. He poked again and again. “Charlie wants to play! Charlie wants to play!”

When he finally ended the torture with one last, I’m-still-the-king-of-this-house jab to Zac’s rear end, and walked away, Zac did what any 17 1/2 year old boy would do. He stood up, punched the air, gave a vicious karate kick toward the wall, and said, “I could have taken him if I wanted.”

I laughed.

“Seriously, Mom. I had him by the wrist. I could have spun him around and put him in a choke hold.” He ran through another karate series, defeating a foe seen only by him. “Next time, that’s what I’m going to do.”

He then sauntered toward the kitchen—where Dave was putting the finishing touches on a batch of beef jerky—and began scrounging through the fridge, though dinner was a mere half-hour memory.

And what was I working on? I was midway through an edit for a friend … on a piece she wrote about the grief she felt in sending her last child to college.

©2008, Shannon Woodward

In the opening article for this column, I promised we would explore the life of a minister’s wife.  However, I want to make it clear this CWO feature is also for laypeople as we seek to understand one another’s unique perspective within the body of Christ. Forced resignations and cell phone contracts that outlast the minister’s tenure just shouldn’t be! It’s high time we start communicating, understanding, loving, and encouraging one another from both sides of the lectern. I pray this column is just one small way to do that. So, with that said, let’s get to it!

A Perpetual Balancing Act

I recently received an email from a darling girl I’ll call Lindsey.  Lindsey’s husband is new to the full-time pastorate and her note perfectly represented so many of us who struggle with finding a balance between the time required to effectively minister to the church versus the energy needed to keep those home fires burning.

Here’s an excerpt from Lindsey’s letter:

“We are having the hardest time finding a balance in our relationship and his relationship with the church, and I was wondering if you had any advice to offer me.  He is either always on the phone or with church members, or we are at the hospitals, or a funeral.  I joke with him all the time that we don’t do dinner and a movie for dates–we do dinner and a funeral.”

Been there. Done that. Got the collection of black dresses to prove it.

The way to address this particular issue can vary somewhat based on the amount of time you’ve served in your current position. Obviously, it is much easier to state your family priorities before accepting a pastorate so there can be no question later if you choose your son’s championship baseball game over Sister Susie’s cousin’s hernia surgery.

However, most of the time we find ourselves a few months or maybe even a few years into our current ministry and have zealously said ‘yes!’ to every request made in hopes of making Jesus proud and assuring the people you are worth all that money they pay you.
So what do you do when the candle that has been burning from both ends finally meets in the middle?

Evaluate the Situation

The most important gifts you and your husband can give one another are those of honesty and patience.  Is he spending too much time away from home?  Does he put the needs of others in front of your family’s needs? Is his mind somewhere else when he’s with you?  Then girls, it is time to talk!e Here are a few tips to help:

1. Prayerfully and gently let your husband know how you are feeling.
   Proverbs 21:19 rightly says, “Better to live in a desert than with a quarrelsome and ill-tempered wife.”  As with any situation that comes up in your marriage, the approach affects the reaction.

   “Honey, I’m really concerned about how hard you are working and how very little we see you”, will be received much more calmly than, “I am SO sick of you being gone all the time!”

   Put yourself in your hubby’s shoes. Most likely he isn’t any happier with the situation than you are but doesn’t quite know where to draw the line between personal and church life. I can promise you he will be more willing to find a solution if you are a refuge for him rather than another battle he must fight.

1. Avoid growing bitter towards the church for your husband’s absence.
   It can be so tempting when things are not going well in our marital relationship to seek someone or something to blame – in this case the church who is taking him away from us. Often Our husband’s tendency to overwork has nothing to do with any actual criticism but rather his own sense of What will people think if I don’t make sure the youth have an outing every single month or if they see my vehicle at home during the 8-to-5 hours? My own husband can be guilty sometimes of putting way more pressure on himself than anyone has ever placed on him.

   In Denise George’s book, What Women Wish Pastors Knew, she reports that a majority of the women who responded to her surveys, “worry that a pastor’s role leaves him with ‘insufficient time’ for his own family.¹ This revelation is a confirmation to me that–though certainly unfair expectations are placed on our families–the congregation isn’t always the source of the burden. Sometimes, it is our hubby’s own work ethic and fear of being seen as the stereotypical, ‘only-has-to-work-one-day-a-week’, preacher.

1. Determine a plan of action together and be patient as it is implemented.
   If you have determined that your schedule needs to change, then decide together how to streamline hubby’s calendar. Can he plan visits for one day a week instead of spreading them over five? If you are an associate pastor’s wife, can you help with some planning related to your next event (youth, choral, discipleship)? Can he publish scheduled office hours for counseling/etc. so the congregation will know convenient times to meet?

   Obviously, there will always be emergencies that arise and blow the best laid plans out of the water, but knowing he is trying and that you are a part of the solution instead of the nag that sends him running out the door will make these times much easier to accept.

   Also, be patient with him as he incorporates these plans into his schedule. As with any new thing done in church life, you can’t make ten changes at once. Choose one thing and once working well, move on to the next.

1. Keep the church informed.
   There is absolutely nothing wrong with being honest with the church and telling them when you are overwhelmed. There are wise and unwise ways to do this (and we’ll talk about these in a future article), but for now just know that the same positive attitude in which you approach your husband when the schedule is out-of-kilter should be the same heart in which you talk with the leaders of your church. I believe the majority of parishioners want to love and support their ministers and are willing to do whatever is necessary to encourage healthy relationships within the body and in your personal family.

What Can a Church Do?

My husband and I are blessed to be part of a congregation who demonstrates their love in intangible and tangible ways. We recently celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary and were gifted with a vacation in the mountains. Here are a few other ways that church members can acknowledge the importance of the ministers’ family:

• Give a gift certificate for a night out and arrange for babysitting if necessary.
• Send them to a conference you know they would enjoy.
• Do you have a favorite couples’ devotional book?  Give them a copy.
• Pray for their families to be strong, healthy, and encouraged.
• Go out of your way to recognize the signs of burnout in your ministers and express your support. Let him know if he’s working too hard and give him permission to relax!

These are just a few suggestions for turning Dinner and a Funeral back to Dinner and a Movie.  Thank you, ‘Lindsey’, for a great question!

References:

1.  Denise George, What Women Wish Pastors Knew (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2007), 138.

©2008, Lisa McKay

Not even a sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. The very hairs on your head are all numbered so don’t be afraid. You are more valuable to Him than a whole flock of sparrows. - Matthew 10:29-31

My father, a beautiful man with thick, dark, wavy hair and a towering stature of 6’3”, was my hero and my mentor. Whatever Dad was interested in, also intrigued me.  I have vivid memories as a child of five of my brother Richard purchasing a Harley Davidson motorcycle.  His enthusiasm was so contagious that it didn’t take long for Dad to catch the bike bug, and procure a motorcycle of his own.

When he first drove up the driveway with his beautifully chromed out, vivid gold Honda Road Cruiser, I could hardly wait to jump on behind him and go for a ride around the block.  The wind whipped my hair in knots and my tiny white blouse flapped in the breeze as we sped around the corner. I held on to Dad with all my might, my petite hands barely reaching half way around his middle.  He drove all the way to Herrin Park, with one hand on the handle bars and the other clasped firmly to my forearms. I couldn’t have been more proud or more entertained.  This was sure to be a wonderful adventure we could all enjoy!

One fine Sunday, Dad and my brother Richard, decided to take a three day trip to the lush, green hills of Kentucky to see God’s wonders and the beauty of life on the road.  I watched intently as he loaded the saddlebags on the sides of the bike with clothing, food and beverages, all the while pacing back and forth in a jealous stupor, fully aware this trip did not include me.

“Daddy, are you sure you have to go away?  I asked.  “I really wish you’d stay home.  I don’t want you to go.”

“Now, you know your brother and I have planned this for several weeks, and you’ve got nothing to worry about.  I’ll be back by Wednesday.”

“But, Daddy, I really don’t feel good about this trip.  Something’s going to happen to you if you go.  I just know it.”   There was a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with the growing envy in my little heart.  I was genuinely concerned about his safety and had a strong sense that something was going to happen to him if he chose to leave.

Dad and Richard waved goodbye to Mother and me, as they made their way out of our driveway and onto the road.  We watched as they finally became so small they slipped from our sight.  Mother turned with a pat on my head and walked into the house, but I couldn’t budge from my spot.  Standing tip toe, my small hands shading my eyes, I strained to see the tiniest glimpse of that gold Honda road cruise, hoping against hope that Dad would turn around and come back home to me.

The call came on Monday around noon. The color drained from Mother’s face and her hand began to shake; I could see that whoever was on the other end of the phone had nothing good to say.

As Dad was merging onto the highway, a speeding car didn’t see his road cruiser in time, and although the driver made a sincere attempt to miss him, slammed into the back end of that beautiful bike, sending my father thirty feet into the air, and coming down to land on the roof of the car that hit him. He rolled onto the pavement and lay motionless on the road.  Richard heard the squealing tires and turned his bike around to witness a terrible sight.

Richard knelt by Dad and tried to find a pulse, but there was nothing.  He wasn’t breathing and his heart had stopped.  Cell phones weren’t in existence in those days and there was no pay phone in sight.  Strangely a man began to approach on foot from the distance and as he got closer, Richard could see he was carrying what appeared to be a little black medical bag.  The man didn’t speak a word, but knelt down by my father, checking for a pulse and listening for a breath. Without warning, he began to beat on Dad’s chest, then reached into his black bag and pulled out a syringe.  He filled it with liquid from a bottle and gave Dad a shot directly into his heart.  Seconds after, Dad’s heart began to beat and he took a deep and desperate breath.  Slowly the man stood, shook my brother’s hand, and introduced himself as Dr. Smith.  He told Richard my father would be fine.

The scream of an ambulance siren pierced the air, catching my brother’s attention along with all the onlookers of the accident scene.  As Richard turned back to thank Dr. Smith, he was no where to be found.  Richard pushed through the crowd, and asked if anyone had seen where the doctor had gone, but no one saw him leave.

Dad ended up in the hospital for several weeks with broken bones, nasty bruises and a concussion, but otherwise very fortunate.  Richard tried for several months to locate Dr. Smith.  No one in the two state area had heard of a Dr. Smith that matched Richard’s description.

It was after this event that I first realized my importance to God, and how I could really trust Him to answer my prayers.  I understood He genuinely cared about the things that were of value to me. I asked sincerely for my father to return home safely and he did.  Dad could easily have been killed in that trauma, but God sent an angel, a guardian in the form of a doctor to answer the prayers of a five year old child.

I can’t begin to imagine what my life would have been like had my father been taken from me at such an early age.  At this time of year, when Father’s Day is celebrated, the realization of the miracle of his survival is all the more poignant.  Because I was blessed with such a great dad and had an intimate and close relationship with him, it is so much easier for me to look at my Heavenly Father with eyes of complete trust and faith.  I know God won’t let me down.  I know He will never fail me and I can honestly say, it’s because of Dad, that I am able to embrace faith in God with such abandon.  Thanks, Daddy.  You’ll always be in my heart.