Amish at heart.

I am fascinated by the Amish.

It's true. I don't know if I can effectively explain why they intrigue me. Okay, well, maybe I just don't want to admit that inside me somewhere is a girl who just wants to be Laura Ingalls. I am convinced that I could totally thrive in a little house in some big woods. I cannot even say how much I want to milk cows, and fetch eggs, and embrace the simplicity of family and faith without all the distractions.

There a few flaws in this plan. Hence, the reason I do not live on a farm. Number one, getting up at the crack of dawn. Nope. Not this girl. That is literally a reason that I never sought out having horses and cows and chickens the way my heart wants to.
Number two, the really hard, constant work. Just being honest here. I know I'm a hard worker, but I don't think many of us have it in us to work like farmers on a day-to-day basis. Honestly, our family dreads our turn to do kitty chores every night. Hmmm...scooping litter or mucking a stall?
Number three, the bathroom situation. Outhouse. Need I say more?

Obviously, I'm a modern girl with a pioneer spirit.

Back to the Amish.
Due to a plethora of Amish fiction on the market today, I can consider myself a quasi-expert on all things Amish. One of my favorite stops on one of our trips was Bird in Hand in Lancaster, PA. I was surrounded by all things Amish, and that buffet was pretty unforgettable. Have you seen those little Amish boys in their hats??

The desire of the Amish to remain separated from the world and its temptations is at its very least admirable. Most people are aware of their old world dress and lifestyle, but not everyone understands that they are pacifists to an extreme we can't understand, and that their strong sense of community precludes the need for social security, welfare, or unemployment. In the case of the Amish school shootings in 2006, when a man and father of three brutally shot ten little Amish girls, the families of the victims demonstrated remarkable forgiveness to the perpetrator and his family rather than seeking any kind of vengeance or harboring any bitterness. They live out their faith in a way that is not often seen.

My children have introduced me to a word that has been stuck in my head for at least a week now. This came about in a discussion they were having in which they were encouraging each other to avoid overexposure.

Overexposure--The act of exposing someone excessively to an influencing experience.

In photography, overexposure is used to blur the edges and washout an image.

So, how in today's crazy world do we find the line between a horse and carriage and Lady Gaga? How do we choose to not be conformed to the pattern of this world, but to be transformed by the renewing of our mind so we can know what God's good, pleasing, and perfect will is? (Romans 12:2)

I am a firm believer that the most important purpose I have in my life is to parent my three children in a way that honors God. Since God has given them to me, I'd better be faithful to do my absolute best by them. What enters their mind and spirit is, up to a certain age, my responsibility and I believe I will be held accountable. To many, I know I have seemed over-protective. Good thing I don't answer to many! Just One.

Today, I asked each of my three what the word overexposure spoke to them. Justin (who was on the phone on his lunch hour) said that overexposure affects our sense of right and wrong. He said that ever since the beginning when Adam and Eve ate from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, overexposure became a problem. All of a sudden evil became apparent in their beautiful world.
Well, that worked out great, didn't it?

All of my three are musicians and listen to all varieties of music. Well, within reason. Thankfully, they have each drawn very specific lines for themselves as to what is okay to enter their minds and spirits. They do listen to all styles, however.
Is there a danger to listening to anything and everything?
What if you were in a McDonald's at the playplace with your child and a song with the F-word was blaring throughout the restaurant? Would it shock you? Last year, Christian and Addie were in Europe and everywhere they turned a song just like that was being played. Shocked them. Normal to the Europeans.
Today, Addie listened to a snapshot of today's music, and came out to tell me how she felt disgusted at what is viewed as normal. Things we wouldn't have discussed within the same walls as our parents before are amusing song lyrics today. This from my daughter who isn't necessarily drawn to today's Christian music.
She agrees with her mother's thinking that allowing a child to mature before being submerged into society and its version of "normal" may not be so crazy after all. Practically Amish of us, right?

I just asked Kyrsten, my twelve year old (going on thirty) what the word overexposure spoke to her. She told me a story she heard this morning on a Perry Stone podcast about how there are these little flies that the sheep can be exposed to that seek out the nose and ears of sheep to lay their eggs. This makes the sheep itchy and agitated, and the sheep butt heads out of frustration. She learned that if we are like sheep, those flies' eggs are like thoughts that we shouldn't have that go where we are vulnerable, and the only solution is the special oil from the Shepherd. The sheep are anointed and find relief.

Enough said.

"Good?" Friday...

This is a hard day for me. And I want it that way.

Ever since I fell completely in love with Jesus, Good Friday has taken on a whole new depth. I struggle with the name--"Good."
Of course, I understand that ultimately this day is good, but it's kind of like eating popcorn during the movie, The Passion. Something is just not right.
My understanding is that "good" is meant like "holy" and in Orthodox churches, today is called "Great and Holy Friday". Makes a little more sense.

I read a book this week called Riven, by Jerry B. Jenkins. Fascinating book that will leave you changed.

Riven--Verb: split or tear apart violently

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee;

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy riven side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and pow’r.

I am conflicted. I want to understand what Jesus did for me today thoroughly so I once again appreciate the price that was paid for me-for my sin and my sickness-yet I cringe at the thought. Just like when I first watched The Passion. I wanted them to stop. I wanted Him to say "Enough!", yet I knew it had to continue in order to save my life!

Jesus was beaten with the Roman scourging whip, not just an average whip. It is a wicked instrument that contained pieces of bone, glass, or nails. This type of scourging exposed, muscle, veins, even organs and possibly even the spine! The soldiers had to be careful not to disembowel their victim, so brutal was the instrument. This is BEFORE He is mercilessly hung for six hours to endure an excruciating death by asphyxiation. The Romans were experts at pain and my Jesus was given the worst that they had.
The purpose of Jesus hanging naked was to shame Him. From the first sin came the shame of nakedness, so He died this way to take our shame from us.
He carried a rough, splintery, extremely heavy cross on an already wounded body to bear my burden.

This is my brave and powerful Jesus Who proved He would do anything for me. How could it ever be viewed any other way?

Can you imagine how you would feel if you knew that later today you had to suffer through even one of the things Jesus did that day to save someone you love? We bravely say we would do anything for those we love, but if we faced it right now...

I write today, not to prove anything or to wax poetic about the cross. My heart is heavy, with gratitude, sorrow, and love for One who would do this just for me.

But, Sunday's comin'...

Click here

Isaiah 53--The Message

 1 Who believes what we've heard and seen? Who would have thought God's saving power would look like this?
 2-6 The Servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
   a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about Him,
   nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
   a Man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
   We looked down on Him, thought He was scum.
But the fact is, it was our pains He carried—
   our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on Himself,
   that God was punishing Him for His own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to Him,
   that ripped and tore and crushed Him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
   Through His bruises we get healed.
We're all like sheep who've wandered off and gotten lost.
   We've all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong,
   on Him, on Him.

 7-9 He was beaten, He was tortured,
   but He didn't say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
   and like a sheep being sheared,
   He took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and He was led off—
   and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for His own welfare,
   beaten bloody for the sins of my people.
They buried Him with the wicked,
   threw Him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though He'd never hurt a soul
   or said one word that wasn't true.

 10 Still, it's what God had in mind all along,
   to crush Him with pain.
The plan was that He give himself as an offering for sin
   so that He'd see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
   And God's plan will deeply prosper through Him.

 11-12 Out of that terrible travail of soul,
   He'll see that it's worth it and be glad He did it.
Through what He experienced, my righteous One, my servant,
   will make many "righteous ones,"
   as He Himself carries the burden of their sins.
Therefore I'll reward Him extravagantly—
   the best of everything, the highest honors—
Because He looked death in the face and didn't flinch,
   because He embraced the company of the lowest.
He took on His own shoulders the sin of the many,
   He took up the cause of all the black sheep.

A hope injection...

When I get to heaven, after I have spent some serious years in Jesus' arms and perhaps decide that I can come up for air, I will ask him a question. Of course there are all kinds of big, life questions that He may or may not have answered for me by then. That's fine. I don't really need to know. I am a firm believer that He knows what He is doing and I am content to let God be God. I don't need to understand.

But one thing I'm curious about is how much time I spent on earth waiting for Christian. I'm serious. I wait for Christian CONSTANTLY! This is not a complaint, just a statement (no need to switch my bracelet).
I waited for him to ask me out, I waited for him to come home every single day, I wait for him to get off the phone so we can eat, I wait for him to get done in the shower, I wait for him to come home from Europe, I wait for him to call...the list is endless. It really should be one of my job descriptions. Mother, homeschool teacher, piano teacher, chef, laundress, social planner, rememberer of all details (important and not) and waiter for Christian.
When reading that word, one could read "waiter" in a couple different contexts. Both would be appropriate. I wait on him and wait for him. Good thing I love my job! And it doesn't hurt his case that he's so darn cute!

Waiting is a tough thing. Unfortunately, life is chock-full of times of waiting. We wait to be reunited with people we love and miss, we wait 9 months to meet our children, we wait to meet future spouses, we wait for job changes, we wait for answers to prayer.
I wonder if anyone is really good at waiting?
I think sometimes we are better at it than other times. Month 4 of pregnancy is much easier to wait through than month 9! But what are we doing in the waiting? In the meantime.
(definition of meantime: adv. during the intervening time;) I LOVE that!

Well, this leads me to quite possibly my favorite word. HOPE!

(definition of hope: n. A wish or desire accompanied by confident expectation of its fulfillment.)

Tonight, I got a hope injection. Almost two years ago, I got a cello for my birthday. I had been asking for one because all of a sudden, I wanted to play the cello in the worst way. I am pretty sure that inside me is an amazing cellist.
The cello I got was in pretty rough shape. It had no bow and no bridge, which means I couldn't even play with my new toy. It took us until last month to get it in to get fixed, and all that time I waited. It sat in the corner of my bedroom just begging me to allow it to make noise. Finally, about 3 weeks ago, my cello came back to me looking beautiful with its brand new bow and I cried. I was so excited to begin my journey of learning this new instrument I was born to play.

Due to the busy-ness of Spring Break, and a cut on my finger, and just life in general, my cello and I have had about 4 appointments together. Each time I have the opportunity to spend time with it, I am giddy. I just know that the squawks scales and groans harmony my bow is making will be gorgeous music someday. Believe me, my family has to hold on to that hope as well. For now they are in a time of suffering waiting.

But tonight...!! Tonight my girls were singing and playing our new favorite song, Beautiful Things (another song about hope in the waiting), and I grabbed my cello and went out to the piano room and played two gorgeous notes on my cello that sounded simply AMAZING with the piano! I could have cried! There was suddenly hope!! Someday, I will know what I'm doing!!

We simply could not wait for anything if we didn't have hope. Hope is how we begin each day and each prayer. Hope is what starts us on the road toward dreams being realized. Hope is what carries us through when we can't even see the path.

The opposite of hope is a destroyer of life. Hopelessness is the very end of the road and a tragedy. The most miserable person in the saddest conditions can continue through one more day with just the slightest hope that things will get better.

Sometimes all we need is a hope injection. One little thing to remind us that things will get better. That God hasn't forgotten.

Two people that I love deeply are in a serious time of waiting right now. They know that God has amazing things in store for them--dreams and promises just waiting to be fulfilled, but in the meantime, they are just being faithful. They are living from hope injection to hope injection. And in the meantime (while God is intervening), they are waiting on Him.
What if we use those words "wait on God" in two different contexts. While we wait on God, we wait on God. Serve Him, worship Him while we are waiting...

While I'm Waiting. (click for song)

Psalm 130:5 "I am waiting for the Lord. My soul is waiting for Him, and my hope is in His Word."
Psalm 40:1 "When I was waiting for the Lord, His heart was turned to me, and He gave ear to my cry."
Psalms 9:10 "And those who have knowledge of Your name will put their faith in You: because You, Lord have ever given Your help to those who are waiting for You."

Let me tell you about my Daddy...

My dad was the guy everyone loved to be around. The one who laughed almost too much and told funny stories and jokes and acted like a goofball. He was the one who noticed someone all alone and made them smile, or was the first to brighten an elderly person's day.  He had talent pretty much oozing out of him, and could play anything on the guitar--entirely self-taught. He was pretty much legendary for his fingerstyle playing that patterned Chet Atkins. He had an extremely high IQ and could fix anything. Give the man a roll of duct-tape...!
When I was little, he took apart an entire engine in the garage just to learn how to put it back together.  He built a new exhaust on one of our cars from my old swing set!

He grew up on the wrong side of the tracks to parents already in their twilight years. Somehow the stigma of not being worth much began early and stuck. His dad was a well-loved alcoholic. According to my dad, back then, my grandpa was so drunk he passed out in the alley that my dad and his friends walked in to get to school. Shame started early.
At my grandpa's funeral I'm told there was standing room only. He was the guy everyone loved. This was the year before I was born.
The saddest part is that my dad chose the same path.

What very few people know was that my dad was a very well functioning alcoholic for as long as I can remember. When I was about five he shared a beer with me. Later, I would try many different varieties of hard liquor as 'our little secret.' "Don't tell your Ma, Kid," he would say. I didn't know the extent to which he was drinking then, but I knew dad was a lot nicer with a couple beers in him.
I will not elaborate on the way that his marriage kept him in a perpetual state of failure. I will say that my heart broke for him as he did his obvious best to provide for his family, but it was never enough.

There was a lot of anger in our house. It was scary and out of control and seethed and grew until it became almost another member of our family. There was no affection, no real warmth or laughter, but it was all wrapped up in a pretty, "perfect family" package, bow and all, and presented to the world with a big smile. My sister took the brunt of the anger.  Somehow, I was relegated to the observer position. And the worrier position. I just wanted to be so good that I made no waves so everyone could be happy.
I followed my dad around like a starving puppy looking for scraps. I did whatever it took to be noticed by him, and to try to win his approval, from being the other member of our little performing team (he on the guitar and me the little singer), to eating chicken gizzards (YUCK!), to asking how engines worked. Never would I have done these things on my own, but for my dad's smile, I would've walked through fire.
It wouldn't have mattered if I had, and it really didn't. He just didn't really see his little shadow no matter how hard I tried.
I was a pretty needy girl by the time I met Christian. By the grace of God, he needed me just as much, and he helped as much as he could to give me the attention I so desperately craved. But, there's nothing that can fill a little girl's heart like a daddy's love.

As a grown, married woman with children of my own, I started to see some things. That Coke bottle didn't really have coke in it. His drinking got much worse as he became more unhappy. There were times that he behaved so very badly in public, I had to apologize for him, and then had to drive him home. Words cannot describe those moments and the shame and helplessness I felt. My kids were seeing things they never should have seen, and being scared in ways that have no words.

The worst part was that to the rest of the world, there was no problem. My dad was active in church and working hard, and his life looked great. I tried harder than anyone will ever know to help him keep all the pieces of the dam duct-taped shut.  I fed him, and covered for him, and loved him until the inevitable happened and the dam burst.

The scariest night of my life involved too many pills, a gun, a ridiculous amount of vodka and more evil than I can describe. I had to commit my dad to the authorities as he screamed my name and begged me to help him. I couldn't, though I tried. I begged him to do the work and get help. He chose differently. He became someone I didn't know. So consumed with bitterness and so eaten up by alcohol that he was threatening and frightening, and the dad I knew was gone. He lived alone and in filth and loved and hated me. Hated me because I drew a line in the sand and said that the legacy that was mine would not pass to my children. That if he couldn't get help, I could not be a part of watching him die. For about two years, I remained separated from him. It broke my heart. I knew the risk I took. He was hospitalized several times and I was told he would die. Could I stand strong with my choice if he did?

All I knew was that God had told me through a vision and His very words out loud that it was not my burden to carry. God told me there would be a victory in the end. I held onto that like a lifeline.
And I chose to praise through the storm. And praise I did. No matter who came against me for the stand I took, I praised God. No matter how much I wanted to call my dad and try to fix his mess, I didn't. I just praised God for how He would surely deliver me.

On April 7, 2008, I got a phone call from my husband who said he was on his way home from work--that something had happened. I made him tell me what even though he was hoping to be here with me when he had to tell me that my dad had died.
For a few days my world stopped spinning. Grief became a physical pain in my chest and my eyes would not stop crying. This was NOT the victory I had waited for. My dad had died virtually alone in his filth and hating me. Never understanding my need to protect my children, and I guess myself, from the darkness that was my dad. The future with him that I had longed, and waited, and prayed for was no longer even a vague possibility and was gone.
But, in the meantime, something had happened.

As I lost my dad, I found my Daddy.

There is a Daddy Who had loved me from the very beginning of me, and had held my hand when my dad didn't know how, and always had time for me. He had listened every single time I cried, and kept each tear in a bottle. He had taught me how to climb into His lap and be loved. As I praised Him, He responded and showered me with attention and good things too numerous to count. He provided a husband to protect me and to love my children the way only the best daddys can and who loves me beyond my wildest expectations. He became the Keeper of my heart, the Lifter of my head. He vindicated me to those who had judged me without me having to say a word. He washed me in His peace and restored my joy. He filled each hole in my heart; no duct-tape required.

That is the victory that He had promised me from the beginning. It took me a while to see that. What looked like the end was just the beginning. I have a Daddy. He calls me His own.

Now, on an average day, I can smile when I hear something come out of my mouth that my dad always said. I can tell his corny jokes and they are funny all over again. I spot him, the amazingly great parts of him, in the shape of one of my children's fingernails, or the way they make someone's day brighter. I watch his hands reborn in my daughter who somehow inherited the very unique talent on the guitar that was my dad's though he never taught her even one chord.
I know he would be so very proud of me for standing in a way that he didn't have the strength to.
I see things we have learned as a family that we couldn't have learned any other way.
Bitterness kills.
Alcohol will never be worth the risk (our conviction--not preachin').
Secrets destroy relationships. Let them out!
Forgiveness is sometimes a day-to-day process.
Taking a stand makes you strong. It may make you different and not well-liked, but popularity is over-rated.

As you finish reading this post, please know that whatever pain you are going through, there is One Who longs for you to know that you are not forgotten and never alone. I would love to talk with you if you need an ear. I know others live similar pain and need hope.

A verse, and a quote, and a song that move my heart...

Psalm 45:10,11
Forget your people and your fathers house. Listen, O Daughter, and give ear: The King is enthralled with your beauty. Honor Him for He is your Lord.

"Daddy, did you get loved enough?"
"My question is, did you?"
"It's never too late..."

my song

The gift of TIME

Just in case Florida was going to fall off due to bearing the burden of so many Spring Break-ers feeling the need to soak up some sun, we decided against heading south and did the complete opposite for our few days off. For anyone who knows us, they would understand that it would be how this family does things anyway.
I'm not sure anymore if we try to go against the grain or just naturally do it and then really enjoy ourselves. I think it's the latter. It is. Really. It just works for us!

So, with Justin home for the week and very anxious to get AWAY from southern weather and into the frozen north, we headed up to the very tippy top of the upper peninsula to Lake Superior and its wildness for a few days. We found a very cool house that was built like a caboose that stood high on a bluff overlooking the lake and made ourselves at home.

Three of us faced some of our greatest fears to arrive here.
Justin: flying. Ever since being an aircraft disassembly guy and knowing exactly how those wings are held on to the plane, he has had a few qualms about flying. Imagine that!

Addie: heights-specifically bridges over water. The Mighty Mackinac stretched her a bit.

Alison: icy/snowy/slushy roads. The trip north (oh, only eight hours or so) in total slush that made my husband who very rarely feels daunted by driving refuse to use the left lane to pass (you have no idea what a big deal it is for Christian to follow slow cars instead of passing) and caused his hands to be wrinkly from gripping the wheel so tightly for so long,was not my very favorite car ride.

BUT, we made it safely and happily and all of us including Lily snuggled in 30 miles from anywhere to even buy a gallon of milk. No cell phone service, no wi-fi, just games and food and each other. Upon arrival we found a TV and satellite radio. The kids quickly decided that the TV would not come on. This meant no movies, no shows, no weather channel. Nothing. We only got tempted once from a weak moment of boredom, but banished the thought quickly.

Satellite radio provided us with music to dance to and laugh at and change the lyrics to. The song "Uncharted" became "I sharted!" and other such nonsense.

We arm wrestled...

We played games...

Some of us took a polar plunge...

And we completely fell in love with the U.P. all over again.

We survived snow, sleet, hail, thunder, crazy winds and were happy as could be next to our little woodstove.

I must say it was a challenge for some of us to totally "unplug" from the usual technology. At our house we call our devices rectangles to avoid the confusing iPad, iPod, iPhone, names. We frequently will take Sundays off from rectangles in order to stop texting, facebooking and the like and actually look at each other's faces, but to take four whole days and not check an email...? It was different, but it was oh, so good!
Several times there was just a precious silence as we all were just TOGETHER. It was our favorite part. Just five of us, not distracted, just together. Just like folks did once upon a time when families would take a drive to visit other families and sit on couches facing each other and talk and tell the same old stories over and over again.
Is what we've created with technology so much better? We share our moments with hundreds of people instead of the few right in front of us that matter the most. This is amplified a million times more to me these days as having my son in the next room, even just sleeping, is a priceless gift.

The gift of cherished time is one of the most beautiful things in the world.

We have it, yet we throw it away so often.
Today, just take a look at the faces around you. Maybe avoid some screens (rectangles). Let's not fail to live this moment...