tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36713032502436411702024-03-13T11:41:44.908-06:00unfoldingLeslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.comBlogger573125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-61137726226925694362015-10-18T23:54:00.000-06:002015-10-19T00:30:30.491-06:00Secrets and songs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lately I'm noticing how life has a way of trying to usher us to a dark room, tucking us in, and persuading us to shut off the deepest senses. Turn down the heart-cries, because they may not be heard. Cool the emotions, because no one can bear them. Keep Sadness away from the controls because she just might break you (I'm referring to the newest Pixar film Inside-Out. You saw it, right?). And while your heart quietly goes to sleep, notch up the white noise and the performance instead. <br />
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I'm trying to stay awake. I'm trying so hard. <br />
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An endless parade of distractions, set-backs, and chores tempt me to fall in line, soldiering on, sleepy-headed. But my heart beats with the truth that the richest things are not visible and don't clamor for my attention. Don't we live with an inherent awareness that things are not what they seem? That there are secrets to discover? <br />
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A story is being told, whispered over me like I whisper mother-tales over mine in the dark. I'm trying to hear it, I want to know every word. <br />
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When I brought my baby girl home, we were both small and alone in our big, blank house. My sole desire was to master the art of getting her to sleep. It was a daunting challenge, and neither of us knew anything about self-soothing. When a hundred and one methods failed to get her to rest, two were finally found to be effective: the heat of my own body and Norah Jones' first album.<br />
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Connection and song. I get it now, daughter; they are my survival too.<br />
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Today, 13 years later, for the first time, I realized that the name of that album and the primary line in the primary song, "<em>Come away with me</em>," is a chorus throughout the Bible. I heard the song hundreds of times in that season with my baby. I know its every note. And not until today did I connect that it's also a song God can't stop singing. Most of the time, this chorus is repeated in Song of Solomon, the love story. More than any other, that book IS connection and song. It's skin-on-skin, heat and comfort and rest.<br />
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<em>My beloved speaks and says to me:<br /><span class="text Song-2-10"><sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-17565Q" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-17565Q" title="See cross-reference Q">Q</a>)"></sup>“Arise, my love, my beautiful one,</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Song-2-10">and come away with me..."</span></span></em><br />
<em><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-10"></span></span></em><br />
<em><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-10">Song of Solomon, 2:10</span></span></em><br />
<em><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-10"></span></span></em><br />
<span class="indent-1"><span class="text Song-2-10">He can't stop calling me. And I can't stop wanting to know the secrets. </span></span><br />
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When we moved to Montana, I shared a bit in <a href="http://www.topofthepagewithleslie.blogspot.com/2014/01/on-home-and-belonging.html"><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>this post</strong></span></a> about how others thought the relocation was for Kevin. He was the outdoorsy one. I was the California girl, making some geographical sacrifice. I didn't feel that way, but I started to believe it was a decent theory. Nature and mountains and such didn't speak to me like it did him, and surely God wouldn't choose this setting to do his best work in someone like me. <br />
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And then <a href="http://www.topofthepagewithleslie.blogspot.com/2015/02/ashes.html"><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>things didn't go so well</strong></span></a><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>.</strong></span> The metaphor changed to an exodus out of California followed by testing in the desert. No, Montana isn't a desert. But it's felt like one in so many ways. So many wandering ways.<br />
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Then today I heard the refrain. Not the literal song. The one in my heart. The one he has sung over me for a decade, "<em>Come away with me.</em>" It was like a memory of a call because I am away, now. I am living in the <em>away; </em>I've been set apart from all familiar geography and relationships. But not solely for my husband's sake. Not solely for testing. He's brought me away for his own tender reasons, as I've wandered, often wounded, sometimes crawling. <br />
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This song, to be clear, has not been the call of the teacher to the student, nor is it of the parent to the child. God isn't pulling me aside to improve me. It's the call of a lover with secrets, untold mysteries that can't be spoken in the crowd or in the city. His call is the kindling of my heart's deepest desires for connection and song. And lately He is keeping the fire ablaze. <br />
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There is a world of difference between succumbing to the lullaby of shut down and falling into intimate rest with the lover of your soul. When He whispers, "<em>Come away with me</em>," I'm not sure you can find that rest unless you say yes and go. Don't you feel your heart longing for something more, something richer? Even if you have to crawl, even if you're afraid, say yes. <br />
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Love won't drag you away; it respects your freedom too much. Instead, it draws you with the promise of secrets and story. Tonight, I find myself awake, leaning in to listen, far past my bedtime. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-23917254440708773522015-09-02T14:43:00.000-06:002015-09-02T14:43:55.088-06:00On wanting to be Edmund.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The August-is-too-early talk about Halloween costumes came on as quickly as it ended. My big girl was hard lobbying for all of us to be pirates, but my little guy was not about to let his freedom of choice be pillaged by her plan. I know it was because he watched half of a Narnia movie (and has read half the books) a few nights ago that he blurted out, "I want to be Edmund." <br />
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I actually thought he was confusing the two brothers in the story - Edmund for Peter. "But don't you mean Peter, he's the one who is High King, the hero who gets knighted and has the special sword?" I questioned. "You don't mean Edmund, the younger brother...?" He knows, in my pause, that I imply Edmund is the one who sided with the White Witch. Edmund lost his way. Edmund became the cautionary tale.<br />
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"I know. But I want to be Edmund." I didn't say it, but I thought, "Who wants to be <em>Edmund</em>?" He went on, "Edmund learns from his mistakes. Just like me." <br />
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Silence. I don't even know, guys. Usually I'm right there, BOOM, with a great, parental affirmation. But this time, silence. My own unsettled heart was turning his words over and over. <br />
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Let's go full-on disclosure: I personally don't want to pretend to be a person who is the same as I am. Given the choice, I want to pretend to be a character <em>I wish I was</em>. One who starts and ends as the hero. One who doesn't make mistakes to begin with. That mask feels most appealing, and it doesn't even have to be October. <br />
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But that child of mine challenges me to no end. Clearly, he has no baggage or shame or masks. And tonight, I realize he isn't actually trying to pretend at all. This is about something different. He is not only relating to Edmund; he<em> </em>knows he<em> is</em> Edmund, and there's nothing pretend about it. <br />
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Maybe that's what I'm missing: the unblemished <em>peace</em> with being Edmund. <br />
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Frankly, I'm not at peace with the fact that I can be found siding with the enemy. I can easily lose my way. I can sell out for a quick fix, my own variety of Turkish Delight. I too can be disloyal. Self-interested. Unbelieving. <br />
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I am Edmund. Of course I am. And I'm not at peace with it. In my flesh, I'm really not. <br />
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But. I know Jesus is at peace with all the Edmunds. It's what makes him a radical. He sees all of us traitors and isn't shocked. It's not that he is at peace with sin. He's not winking an eye at my mistakes and waving me onward like a policeman who decides to give a warning instead of a ticket. The peace of Christ hasn't ever come cheaply. Let's not forget that the spiritual transaction that happened at the cross violently shook the earth and opened tombs.<br />
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And simultaneously, his payment for my traitor-heart ripped the masks off. It had to. Maybe you've felt the stab of finally realizing Jesus knows the truth. You are the traitor. I am the traitor. And yet he lays down his own life for me. I find all of this - still, after decades - difficult with which to be at peace. But difficult is not impossible. <br />
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Self-exposure, baring one's brokenness, ceasing to pretend all seem to be prerequisites for accepting forgiveness when we are face to face with the Lion. I know, because I've been there. Taking off the mask of Who You Wish You Were is at once brutal and the thing for which you were born. What freedom there is in finding an Eden in our hearts, where we are totally exposed and yet totally loved. How unexpected, how counter-intuitive. <br />
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Jesus is at peace that I'm Edmund because he made a way out; even as he watched me doubt and wander off into the woods with the enemy, his plan all along was to bring me back into the camp of Kings. If I never left the camp to begin with, I may have some crown of loyalty, but I'd have no testimony. My little guy is so wise; of all the characters, Edmund really does have the best story. <br />
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And no doubt, so do you.<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-69280272108052631022015-08-14T00:54:00.001-06:002015-08-14T00:54:49.822-06:00I blame everything on the Pottery Barn art table<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well, it's been a long time since I've blogged. I won't attempt to cover the past, or make any predictions about the future of my blogging, but today I have a moment to write. And I want to write. The climate of things in my life is calming, which allows me to remember I have a voice, not just a life preserver. I'm not sure that made sense. Moving on.<br />
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When I was a new mom, I spent a lot of time learning to run my home and family. And stores sent me all manner of catalogs, presumably trying to help. I assumed it was part of my job to look at them. I was the primary mail collector and reader, after all (remember when that was kind of a big deal?).<br />
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Pottery Barn in particular kept trying to tell me that soon, as soon as my children were just a tad bigger, I needed their super-special art table: the one that had storage cubbies underneath and the attachment for a roll of butcher paper at the end. It would provide an infinite number of art opportunities (from the unending roll of paper) to children who were likely going to be deprived of them by the government and the public school system. The art table was basically a housewife-coup against the Man, and also something told me my children might seriously suffer without butcher paper.<br />
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I'm assuming this entire line of reasoning unfolded in your brain too. That's what happens. We get ideas of the way things should go, the way our lives should look. Sometimes those ideas get very specific. I'm going to just keep calling them ideas, not the awful E-word (expecta...you know, the one we all know is waiting to disappoint us). They're just ideas, right? Really good ones that involve amazing, cultural priorities like art. Let's also ignore the fact that my children weren't exactly Picassos and could be just as happy with a random crayon and paper they pulled out of the base of my printer as they would be with the overpriced and under-quality PB art table. But logic was never in the equation, much less experience in either art or children. <br />
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Since the days of the PB art table, it turns out that I've learned I don't get all the things I want, nor do I get many things I'm pretty certain I need. It turns out that I had to let the dream of the art table die a slow and painful death. I wasn't going to have that ridiculously massive playroom with canvas kid chairs with their names embroidered on them next to the art table with infinity paper. I had to accept that it would not happen for my kids that year, or the next year, or ever. <br />
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The thing is, you know I've had to let go of more than an art table. Really, much more valuable plans than having butcher paper. Much more painful deaths in my agenda. Too many to count. It's rough learning what we all have to learn: I am not the boss. I don't get to point at things and order them up for my life like in a glossy catalog.<br />
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Learning that I don't get to choose many things about my life is both perplexing and freeing. I'm never swinging too far into the freeing side either. It doesn't get less perplexing, really, when I still love my own ideas. For instance, I love the idea of having an "easy" child. I don't love when he changes and presses all my ugliness out and is no longer what I consider easy. I like the plan that healing in my marriage always moves forward and always feels positive. But it doesn't. Its staggered and unpredictable and God's idea of "progress" is nothing like mine. God's ideas for what I truly need are continually surprising and mostly uncomfortable. And half the time, I'm suspicious that they have VERY LITTLE to do with my circumstances and everything to do with abstract things I can't even put my finger on, like my perseverance. I think I need an art table, and He thinks I need perseverance. We're not even looking at the same catalog. <br />
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It's uncomfortable at the least and gut-wrenching at the worst when our reality doesn't match up with what we imagined. And if I didn't trust that God knows better than I do, I honestly don't know what I'd do with that pain. I'd maybe carry it around like a self-pity badge or allow bitterness to harden my heart. Or maybe I'd just fill my life with distractions and call it something else so I wouldn't feel the hurt. <br />
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But I do trust Him, at the end of the day. He has such good plans for us. When He says No, of course it hurts, but we have to stay on the path of faith. There's so much comfort available there, so much patience, so much grace. That's what helps me walk away from the art tables and other wants I'll never have. <br />
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That's what keeps me squinting my eyes, looking for the meaning of what Jesus called "the abundant life" that can only be found as we walk hand in hand with Him. Because obviously it doesn't involve an art table. <br />
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And obviously, it is infinitely better. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-11395368341926786452015-04-26T01:13:00.000-06:002015-04-26T01:13:34.453-06:00This is not a joke. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What's not a joke is 6" of snow in mid-April. Darn Montana is full of surprises. This is me last week, the day before I left for a women's retreat in San Diego. It was in the 70's the whole time I was in CA, and I wondered if three partial days in the sun could replenish 6 months of probable Vitamin D deficiency.<br />
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But I didn't have much time to soak up the rays because I was actually the retreat<em> speaker</em>. The only speaker. For the whole weekend. It feels strange for me to type that out and read those words. <br />
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I never asked for the job. I wasn't at all pursuing anything of the sort. In fact, when someone hinted a year ago that I may be invited, I wished they'd forget or find someone "who does this." Months later, I found out they didn't forget or find someone else.<br />
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I don't see myself as a women's retreat speaker. Just like how a few years ago, I didn't see myself as a MOPS speaker, or any kind of speaker. And how a few years before that I didn't see myself as a blogger. And before that, I didn't see that I had a voice or a story at all. You get the idea. <br />
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I remember that the first time I was ever invited to hold a position of leadership in a ministry was during my first year in college. I was asked to manage the slide show for our on-campus Christian club. The SLIDE SHOW. Yes. It involved actual slides that I had to get developed at a specialty photo lab from actual film. (I mean, it was the 1900's, as my kids say. Do you young ones even know what I'm speaking of, here? We put like 150 slides of our beach trip into a slide projector and timed the sequence to some peppy Steven Curtis Chapman song. I pressed the "next" button on rhythm, obviously.) My initial reply was, "OH no no no, I couldn't be in charge of THAT. It's far too important." The leader who asked me - a guy named Jamey - basically said "You're doing it." <br />
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Apparently, my dubious ideas about whether or not I was a women's retreat speaker meant nothing to God. He basically said, "You're doing it." <br />
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The preparation was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Not so much in difficulty. But in personal expense. I felt so far out of my comfort zone that I was regularly throwing myself at God's mercy to give me what I needed. I'm sure that was the point, to make me wholly dependent on Him and His resources to write and listen and practice and pray over all of it. I would be exhausted after each night of writing because it was taking my whole heart. And through most of the process, I was horribly attacked by the enemy. I can think of only one other short season of my life when it was as bad. And I can't say which was worse. Both times were equally horrible; I want to say I was barely holding my head above water, but that is a gross simplification. It felt like torment which left me emotionally fragile, fuzzy-headed, and regularly telling God, "You've got the wrong girl!"<br />
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But last Sunday, as I walked out of the hotel pulling my suitcase, I was literally speechless. I still can't wrap my head around the ways in which God worked. Now, I've been to countless women's retreats, myself. I've been to probably hundreds of women's events in churches my whole life. And I can confidently say I've NEVER seen God work like He did last weekend.<br />
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I'm not certain why, but it wasn't the usual flavor of "Jesus comes to comfort and encourage his girls". Of course, there was some of that. But a better description was this: Jesus came like a <em>warrior</em>. Jesus came to slash the throats of the evil forces choking the life out of his daughters. Jesus came with a FIERCENESS I've never seen. And I was speechless. We were all speechless. It was so powerful that none of us in charge could reasonably take ANY credit for what was taking place. It was so far beyond human ability or planning or anticipating. <br />
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The thing we kept saying until it became funny was "This is not a joke." Because it so wasn't. Lives permanently changed, prisons opened, and women rescued wasn't funny at all. It was humbling and worth crying over, with our faces to the ground in worship. <br />
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Friends. We are in the last days; these are hard times. And I have no doubt that God is looking for His lost lambs. He is searching for those who have faithful, believing hearts for Him, and He is reaching down with fury and justice to snatch them out of the hands of the enemy. He is purifying for Himself a flock that will stand firm. A flock that isn't afraid to speak the truth. <br />
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If you read Ephesians 6, the part about putting on the full armor of God, notice that it doesn't say the armor is so we can fight. Look at this. Verse 13: "Therefore put on the full armor of God,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29351T" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29351T" title="See cross-reference T">T</a>)"></sup> so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. <span class="text Eph-6-14" id="en-NIV-29352">Stand firm then..." </span><br />
<span class="text Eph-6-14"></span><br />
<span class="text Eph-6-14">Three times. All we have to do is stand. And we won't be able to, if we're not equipped as He instructs. (Go review it. Refresh your memory on this passage. Even teach it to your kids to help you memorize it, maybe.) </span><br />
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I'm going to be posting the content of my talks from last weekend, in case His words might encourage you to stand firm too. As much I love to laugh with my friends over coffee and a little Bible study, I'd rather cry and pray and watch freedom flood our lives. Because the power of God is not a joke, and witnessing it is actually quite addicting. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-19472222194632442352015-02-17T22:50:00.001-07:002015-02-17T22:52:05.985-07:00When it all burns down<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I step back, I am nearly overwhelmed by all the burning down going on. <br />
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My husband lost his job early summer and it's easy to pin things on that; but in retrospect, the kindling was lit long before. Now, I stand among embers, still smoldering. So much has burned down. God has stood back and allowed it to burn, the dead branches, the excess, the unfruitful. And there are heaps of ash in every corner to remind us. Our livelihood, marriage, and faith have been reduced to a mere framework. Utilitarian. Raw. <br />
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It was shocking when we moved here to Montana, from California where the smallest strike of a match in public sends the authorities flocking to your side with rules and regulations. Southern California is fire country, and any spark, firework, or tossed cigarette feels like a threat. But in Montana, I watched our neighbor burn a massive pile of trash in the yard behind us. It produced twenty-foot high flames no more than 100 feet from our house. And in an agriculturally centered community, widespread burning of land is common; a good fire purges, starts things over. Rebirth starts in the ashes.<br />
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But there is a space of time before things regrow, a hush of activity after the fury of the fire has died down and licked up the last bits of brush. In this quieter space, God is calling me to kneel and listen. <br />
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In Bible times, people mourned by scooping ashes over their heads. Think of the smell of a latent fireplace or your clothes after a campfire. Imagine handfuls of that ash in your hair, on your face, in your mouth. We tend to avoid mourning in our culture. Back then, people got intimate with the concept that things burn; they knew there was a time for grieving in the ash.<br />
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Tonight, with a heavy heart, I shared with my kids how twenty-one Christians were killed this week for their faith. My son said, "My heart just almost broke." My daughter made a comparison to something in <em>Mockingjay</em>. And both were silent for a while. I then shared with them that tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent, a time to think about sacrifice and repentance. <br />
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I told them I was going to church to do some of my own repenting. Frankly, at first I wanted to go in order to cry out for our country, for our world, and for believers. But the darkness isn't "out there." It's here, in my own heart. I need to bow my face to the ground and scoop the ashes over my own head, for my selfishness, for foolishly neglecting my relationship with God, for my grumbling over serving my family, for my impure thoughts and motives.<br />
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I need the ashes in my hair and on my face, and to taste the burning with my ever-harsh tongue that casually lashes out at my loved ones. How can I be a passionate disciple in our lost world when I can't even go a single day without misrepresenting Jesus to my own family? Well, grace. But first, mourning. <br />
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I read something yesterday that stuck with me. That the gardener stops pruning those vines from which he expects nothing. But he diligently works on cutting back those from which he expects more fruit. <br />
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There's a promise in the ash: God believes in me. He's shaping me, washing me with hope, anticipating the rich fruit to come later on. <br />
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But today, He's whispering that it's time to kneel and wait. It's not a time for sweeping up the mess, but resting in the middle of the devastation, clinging to the truth that He is in control, He is good.<br />
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On Wednesday, take some time. Bow you head; picture the ashes. Mourn for yourself and your own heart. <br />
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But don't ever, not even for one day, forget: God has a habit of trading ashes for beauty.<br />
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Love you.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-2717494679547775762015-02-09T00:44:00.002-07:002015-02-09T00:44:40.648-07:00The word I didn't want<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The year was so bad, I didn't even ask. <br />
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I couldn't ask. I couldn't speak to Him about it, the tradition we bloggers have to choose a "word" for the year. <br />
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In the past, we'd settle on one together, happy anticipation flowing from what was to what was to come. All those other years seemed to arrive with the shining glow of promise. <br />
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But promises seemed dim and distant this new year's. Still existing, but hazy and threatening to disappear all together. <br />
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This time, the year turned over slowly, like a child heavy with sleep, sluggish to wake. I was sluggish to embrace it. And when I did finally turn to face 2015, I felt myself shrink from a hope that might disappoint. <br />
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Of course, my Father knew my wounds, my fears, my weariness. He saw my heart balled up, on it's side. He spoke anyway, on His initiative, not mine. His grip on me is always stronger than my grip on Him. <br />
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I thought, "Stupid word thing."<br />
He said, "It's Full."<br />
I said, "I'm not asking. And what does that even mean?"<br />
"Just, Full."<br />
"I'm not playing the game this year. I don't want it. That's not even a good word."<br />
(my eyes blur just typing it out)<br />
"Because you've known a lot of Empty lately."<br />
And then obviously, I cried at that, saying nothing, so painfully aware of the steady emptying I'd been living for a length of time I could no longer measure. <br />
<br />
"And this year, what I have for you is Full."<br />
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2014 meant an emptying of our lives on so many levels. From income to time to health to faith, it seemed all our resources, all familiar securities, healthy or not, dwindled consistently and seemed to have no bottom. We expected God to wait till the usual last minute to dramatically rescue with a metaphorical shout of "BUT I LOVE YOU AND WILL NEVER FORSAKE YOU!" However, we thought our last minute was last month, and the month before that, and the month before that. The fact that the emptying was so continual and so unrelenting made our heads spin. <br />
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And in many ways, we are still spinning. Still confused and feeling emptied. Still waiting for His plans to be made clear. <br />
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I still don't really want the word, because disappointment, dispersed over a long period of time, becomes a deafening command to stop wishing so hard. But I want God, more than ever. I don't pray for His presence because I know I do have that; He's closer than my breath. That's one comfort I never lost. And I want to believe. Not that He will <em>someday</em> trade ashes for beauty, but that He is right this moment doing exactly that. I want to believe that all along, I misjudged when the "last minute" really was.<br />
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I want to believe that January meant a flipping of the hour glass. And so the empty side just waits to become full. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-44405668527641866012015-02-02T23:25:00.000-07:002015-02-02T23:42:25.654-07:00Try-harder Christianity and why it has nothing to do with God<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In high school youth group, we sang a song actually titled "Ephesians 2:8 & 9". It's youth-group, 90's style, guys. Some of you know it. Fess up. <br />
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Let me refresh your memory - it is comprised of the exact verses, but let's say, flashier than the original text?<br />
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"For by grace - doo, do, do, doooo - you have been saaaaaved,<br />
Through faith - (yelled) do, do, do! - and that not of your selves, not of your selves, OH OHHH...<br />
It is the gift of God, not as a result of works (yelled) do, do, do!,<br />
So that no one can boast, NO ONE CAN BOAST, AHH AHH<br />
Ephesians 2:8 and 9, I'm saved till the end of time,<br />
I'm saved by His grace, I'm saved, (big finish) DO, DO, DO, DO!"<br />
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You saw that finale coming. But I totally learned those verses. So when we covered them last week in Bible study, I was obviously singing them in my head. <br />
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First, we poured over the verses before the song, though, noticing the harsh words used to describe our lives before Christ. "We were dead in our sins...sons of disobedience...children of wrath..."<br />
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Then verse 4: "<em>But God</em>, being rich in mercy, because of his great love....made us alive in Christ..."<br />
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Those two little words. <em>But God</em>. It's the turning point, and the defining moment that distinguishes our faith from every other faith in the world. Did you know that? Every other faith on the planet hinges on man's work. Man's attempts to reach God. The Bible says the real deal hinges on God's work to reach us. <br />
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All the others basically say, "We were children of wrath...<em>But man</em> worked his tail off for his whole life desperately hoping to make it back into God's favor by holding up a long resume of good deeds." They say, "If you just keep trying harder, God might eek out some love for you."<br />
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And I COMPLETELY get it. If I'm honest, I wish salvation worked this way. I mean, I don't, because I'd never earn it. But I see how easily I could be tricked into thinking I could. I <em>know</em> achievement. I <em>get</em> the satisfaction of embracing a reward because I've earned it. That feels good and right and fair. It's practically a universal truth: You get what you deserve. <br />
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Yet, this is what I read in verse 4: "<em>But God</em>, being rich in mercy, because of His great love..." saved me through Christ. <br />
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I did nothing to earn it. Trust me, the first-born in me tries super hard to prove myself to God, but I FAIL him over and over. Not once in a while. Every day. I fail God every day. Thank you, motherhood. Furthermore, I don't truly appreciate or thank Him for his love. <em>But God acted, </em>anyway, despite me. <br />
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Since I am tired of nagging my child to practice piano and brush his teeth and wake up on time for school, I started a sticker chart for him. It works for toddlers; I figured why won't it work for big kids who are motivated by earning the carefully rationed golden nuggets called screen time? Well, as soon as he saw that chart, never before has he put so much enthusiasm into all of the above. Like, he was running to complete the boxes. <br />
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Know why? Because it's in our blood to perform for a reward. "I do this, you give me that." It's what every person on the planet, from the toddler to the CEO, understands as Fairness.<br />
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Our heads spin because God in His mercy is crazy unfair. It's starting to make sense to me why the majority of people in our world will say 'No' to the one true God. They'll shake their heads and furrow their brows and say, "No, free salvation doesn't make sense. I <em>must</em> need to work for this. If there is a God, I'm certainly going to have to prove myself." <br />
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I think this attitude breaks God's heart. It's pushing away His free gift of love and saying "No thanks, I'd really rather make up a super complicated, and difficult earning system to show you how good I am and how much I deserve a reward." Let's be very clear: that kind of religion is never about God at all. Not the real God, anyway. <br />
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Try-harder Christianity will always be about me and my work. It will always seek to glorify myself and the good things I feel I'm accumulating on my goodness resume.<br />
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The Bible says that compared to God's goodness, all our good works are like filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6). Think about when all your dishtowels are heavy with damp and yuck and they sit in the laundry room sink for a week (No? Is it just me who does that?). People are living their lives trying to improve their smelly rag piles. Comparing their rag piles. Judging other people's rag piles. People are consumed with building a more impressive rag pile than the next guy. Remember the song/verse? Salvation is a gift of God, "not as a result of works, so no one can boast." I imagine God's like, "Dude, are you really trying to boast about your rag pile? This is about me and my attempt to rescue you; it's not about you and your attempt to deserve it. And if you could deserve it, by the way, how would that be Love?"<br />
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In a couple days, before my son wakes up, I'm going to put a sticker in every box for the day. When he comes down for breakfast, I'm going to say, "Guess what? Today, you just get the stickers. For free. Because I love you." Cue hugging and kissing. <br />
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I imagine he'll be confused. Aren't we all, by unmerited favor? It's a grace test. I'll keep you posted with the results. One thing I do know: if I am to model God's grace to my kids, then at times, they'll need to get rewards they don't deserve. They'll need to deal with the racy unfairness of real Love.<br />
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I'm saved, by His grace, I'm saved. <br />
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(Do, do, do, do!)<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-57346371776755786802015-01-23T14:48:00.000-07:002015-01-23T14:48:30.945-07:00Grace on a Thursday: Crochet class<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last night, I started a three-sesh crochet class at a local yarn shop. <br />
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I crochet now. <br />
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Really, it's an odd time for me to be learning a new skill. It doesn't feel like the "right" time. It seems all the resources...time, money and energy...are scarce in my life. It seems, if you're floating on a raft after a shipwreck, the last thing you need is to pick up a new hobby. <br />
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But last night, as my fingers found their way into a pattern, looping over and over again until the pattern was repeated hundreds of times, the pattern became a rhythm. And that rhythm, hammered out along a strand of mustard-colored wool, gave me a steady, soul-satisfaction; one I needed. <br />
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The very first verb in the Bible is an action that God Himself does. "In the beginning, God created...(Genesis 1:1)."<br />
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It's the first thing He wants us to know about Him. He creates. "Let me just introduce myself, " He says, "by starting at something essential. You need to understand this about me. I am creative. I create. And I am THE Creator." Soon afterwards, we read that we are made in His image.<br />
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Some people don't connect those dots, I guess; lots of adults make claims like, "Oh, I'm not creative at all!" Well...aren't you? Or at least, <em>weren't you</em>, before someone else told you otherwise? Do you know any small children who make bold claims that they are not creative? I believe something in us, all of us, <em>needs</em> to create, because we were made in the image of The Creator. <br />
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I'm diverging now but I'm not talking about crafts, in case you thought I was. Some people are naturally good at creating a good meal. Or an inviting atmosphere. Or a portfolio for a client. Think outside the box when I say we all need to 'create.' What do you naturally drift towards creating? It might be crafts, after all; you know I for one love a good bunting. <br />
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Back to crochet class. I sat there, knowing I didn't have time for this. And yet the quiet focus around the table ministered to me. In a hushed space, your senses have room to wake up, and I felt grateful for small things: for my own capable hands (I may not be able to use them so well someday), for the texture and color of a ball of yarn (like mottled grey alpaca, soft as down), and the way a hundred of them looks stacked along a wall.<br />
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What felt like long forgotten skills, crochet class reminded me - forced me - to practice: Be patient with myself. Give myself grace. I could rip out my work and start over because I was just learning. And lately my life doesn't feel the same; mistakes feel like they run long lines of damage. And all the past knots and rips are hard to overlook. Yet the kind, grey-haired woman who taught us gave me freedom to mess up. In fact, she expected it. She smiled on at our awkward movements, our holes and skipped steps. Graciously, she'd walk us through the repairs. <br />
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I wish my real life mistakes were the same. I'd love to rip out a long strand of harsh words snapped at my kid, and then wind a more careful sentence in it's place. Honestly, I wish my fabric looked perfect. It just doesn't. Far from it. So crazily far from it. <br />
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It's humbling to know that Jesus still smiles at me with kindness. Of course He doesn't smile at my sin, but He smiles at my feeble attempts to fix myself and others when I just don't have the ability. He does have the ability, though. He is the Creator, the master weaver of all things together for my good. <br />
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Like the woman who taught the class, Jesus isn't surprised by my mistakes. He expects them. He's ready to walk me through repairs in grace, He and His bloodstained hands. <br />
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A little creating, being quiet, and practicing grace for myself did my soul so much good. As did remembering that God is overseeing all the work. He's available, loving and kind, and capable of fixing all the things I can't. <br />
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Crochet class wasn't the last thing I needed. It was the exact thing I needed.<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-91455265385474210562015-01-13T13:28:00.001-07:002015-01-13T13:28:10.667-07:00on bearing a broken heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I took a break from blogging. Some of it intentional, some not. For a time, God clearly asked me to let it lie. Walk away and focus in. He knew what I needed, because Life got....I can't land on an adequate word. None of the words begin to single-handedly describe the storms that have crashed around us in the last half-year.<br />
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I periodically checked on my blog and discovered there was a glitch and I couldn't even get in. God kept the door shut. I accepted it (after trying to walk through the troubleshooting with Blogger eleventy times, let's be honest). <br />
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But sometime in November, I recognized a flicker of longing to write again. I slowly peppered God with "maybe, do you think, I could just a little bit, perhaps get into my blog..." prayers, which grew to sincere pleas for Him to stir me again and give me my voice back. I was afraid to attempt a login for a few weeks. And when I mustered the courage, somehow the glitch was gone. He said Yes. I was in. <br />
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And then a few more weeks passed because I don't know where to start. I feel overwhelmed by the past several months. They haunt me in a way, and I'm not sure I want to recap.<br />
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I suppressed an ugly cry on New Years Eve, as the clock struck midnight and everyone was cheering and hugging. At the moment the year clicked forward, I had a jolting feeling, like you have when you suddenly need to throw up: I wanted to ball up on my bed and cry out all the grief in which 2014 had nearly drowned me. But I cheered and hugged too. <br />
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At my first job out of college, working in the back office for a Medical Supplies company, I had a very kind, very elderly woman for a boss. She owned the business, and she treated me more like an adored granddaughter, than an employee. She would compliment me with a maternal intensity, and often said, with an equal measure of fervor each time, "Your skin is like a China doll!"<br />
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I keep hearing her, in my head, because I feel so fragile. <br />
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Many times, God has carried me through valleys high up in His arms, firmly seated and safe. I thought I was strong and rooted, in a permanent kind of way. But this season has been altogether different. I realize it was never me who owned the strength. It's not that I feel He isn't with me. It's more that I'm understanding He <em>wants</em> to acquaint me with my broken heart. He's unwrapped his strong arms from around me, and said, "Look. You couldn't see it before, because I was holding you together. See all these cracks? All the places your heart has been crushed? I can't heal you until we uncover them."<br />
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At all times, I feel I am bearing a broken-heartedness just under the surface. The littlest offenses burn deep. The smallest hints of pain send me running. And I am not a runner. I've never been a runner. But holy crap, this hurts. <br />
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God has told me it's the only road. There is one way to healing and it's through - not around, not above, and not blinded to, but only through - the hurt, looking the broken places full in the face. And it's taking a bravery I do not know much of, yet. <br />
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You're welcome for this upbeat and encouraging re-entry into blogging.<br />
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What I mean to say is thanks for listening. I've missed you. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-38903686037702333662014-04-30T10:41:00.001-06:002014-04-30T10:41:52.055-06:00On wanting.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Oswald Chambers said this wise thing. I posted it on my <a href="http://instagram.com/leslie_padgett#"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong>Instagram feed</strong></span></a> a couple days ago and it is still churning in my head. <br />
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I have kids. I see this concept playing out in real time. My kids' birthdays are next month and they want stuff. Lots of stuff. But on an average day, what they don't really want is to share their hearts with me. They don't want to talk (or listen) about their friendships, their worries, their needs. They don't often think to invite me into their worlds. Oh, maybe when I prod and question, I'll get some information out of them. But it's not given because they are seeking a deeper relationship with me. <br />
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Yesterday, when I asked my daughter why she didn't want her dad to chaperone her youth group event like he did last year, she said, "Sometimes I just don't want my parents with me." In contrast, she is very quick to hand us a lengthy birthday gift list. <br />
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My kids want what I can give more than they want to be in an intimate, growing relationship with me. But no one is surprised by that, right? They are little children; they don't know what's best for them. They still think birthday stuff will make them happy. They take for grated the amazing people they have in their home loving and taking care of them with incredible generosity. <br />
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But this Chambers quote, well, I am not much better off. Let's be honest:<br />
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Do I want His blessings more than I desire to know God Himself? <br />
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Do I pray for peace or rescue or something He can provide for me more than I pray for understanding of His will and who He is? <br />
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Do I want comfort more than I want my character and endurance and faith to grow? <br />
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Do I act like I sometimes just don't want my Father with me, but then hand Him a lengthy list of requests? <br />
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Yes. Sometimes, absolutely yes. <br />
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It gets in the way, this wanting what He gives. But we are used to "getting" from Him because He is incredibly generous. He gives and gives and gives. In fact, He lavishes me with blessings and I don't even mean material ones, though being a suburban resident of America, we have it pretty good. <br />
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Beyond that, however, God never stops giving us His spirit, His guidance, His favor, His forgiveness. The list is endless, and so I get used to getting. <br />
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And I forget how a <em>relationship </em>works, even though I know better. <br />
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A healthy, growing, deepening one is focused on the people themselves, not the benefits. It is two-way. One person doesn't keep taking and taking, even if she is grateful, unless she is an immature child.<br />
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It's hard for me to walk out my relationship with God, when, frankly, I can't see Him. When I can't meet Him at Starbucks, or do many of the things I do normally when I work to build relationships in my life. Instead, it takes an amount of discipline to protect time together to talk and work through issues. It is much harder to stop my head from spinning long enough to listen to what He has to say to me. I sometimes forget Him, neglect our relationship and start getting in the habit of wanting what He gives more than I want Him. <br />
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But this quote recalibrated me. I truly do want more of Him, not just more FROM him.<br />
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I have so much to learn about the Lord. I mean, I feel like I've barely scratched the surface of knowing Him. And yet, I forget to press in, to walk with Him and listen to Him without simply wanting what He gives. <br />
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What are the basic ways we invest in our most important relationships? Do those things translate into our relationship with God, or do we treat Him differently? Sometimes going back to the basics is a good place to start. <br />
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Protecting time together. Being a good listener. Gratefully serving. Those are the things we would do for a best friend. What about with God? And what about learning from our kids? How would we like them to treat us? What would make us feel loved and enjoyed as people, rather than as Santa Clauses? <br />
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I'm scrunching up my long list of requests and choosing to invest in my real relationship with my best friend. <br />
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He'll meet me, no matter when and where, with a hug and a smile and all kinds of compliments I don't deserve. <br />
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And the only thing I have to bring is myself. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-14327425242009050302014-04-22T22:37:00.000-06:002014-04-22T22:37:18.319-06:00A winner and a question<br />
Thank you to all of you who entered the giveaway for the Teacher Appreciation set from <a href="http://www.scottyboyandkatygirl.com/"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong>Katygirl</strong></span></a> last week. If you were not the winner, I just saw on her blog (click her name above) that Katy is offering a 25% off coupon code for her shop right now, and she is even giving a print away for FREE with all $10+ purchases!<br />
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As for the giveaway here, on Saturday at noon, as promised, I listed out all the names according to the number of entries each person submitted. For instance, if you earned 6 entries, I listed your name 6 times in a row. Then I yelled to my husband in the next room to pick a number between 1 and the total number of names, which I don't recall at the moment. Somewhere in the 20s. He picked 18. And on my list, <strong><span style="font-size: large;">#18 was Angel Haynes!</span></strong> Congrats, friend! I will be contacting you for the name of the teacher you would like to bless so Katy can personalize your stationery and get it on it's way to you.<br />
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And now I have a question for you. <br />
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Since Google reader went away, how do you prefer to read blogs these days? Bloglovin'? Feedly? Via <a href="https://www.facebook.com/unfoldingblog"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong>Facebook</strong></span></a> posts? Are there new blog readers I don't even know about? Do you prefer to get posts delivered to your email inbox? I'm just curious because I haven't ever read blogs on anything other than Blogger's provided reader on the Unfolding dashboard. But I don't think that's the norm. (Which is one reason why I removed the Blogger "Follow" box from my sidebar.)<br />
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I'm not great at changing with the technological times. I may have been the last person to use dial up, I've had an AOL email account for 12 years, and I still have an iPhone 4. So if you are cooler than I am and know of the latest and greatest ways to interact in the blog world, share the wealth please. <br />
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And enjoy your day! It's raining cats and dogs right now. That means the greatest MT wildflowers are on their way. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-83548917109577242782014-04-21T23:34:00.003-06:002014-04-21T23:34:30.571-06:00Easter Sunday, MT style<br />
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It appears the Easter Sunday rhythm in Montana goes something like this: <br />
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1. worship<br />
2. eat<br />
3. hike<br />
4. eat<br />
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I'm sure some people follow a different routine. But the folks with whom we spent the holiday rolled like this. We went to church which was great, had quite a feast for brunch (featuring my best Easter idea this year: tropical waffle bar), and then went on a hike. Not a stroll around the block. A serious 2-family plus dogs, takes 30 minutes to get there, wear your hiking boots, hike. Finally, we came home for round two of feasting with ham and deviled eggs and lemon bars. <br />
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I've never gone on a hike on Easter Sunday, had a full on wardrobe change, mid-day, for some outdoor adventuring. By two o'clock I was hauling off the silk dress and necklace, and pulling over layers of knit and a beanie, since Spring is slow to find us up here. <br />
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This Easter schedule was new to me. And it was awesome. <br />
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Naturally, I didn't think to take any photos of us while we were doing normal Easter things, like dressing in pastels and going to church and eating our delicious brunch with our neighbor pals (the ones who got us to hike on Easter).<br />
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I only thought to take photos of the completely novel things. Like seeing the bison. Did you see any on Easter? What about a bald eagle? Did your dog frolic in the river? Did your kids take their bows and tromp through the wilderness looking for something to shoot? Did your husband wear a fleece vest? (I sometimes tease him for his fleece vest. It's funny to me. I don't know. If you're so cold, then why aren't there any arms?) I have proof that we did all of the above. Only the bald eagle eluded my camera. <br />
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Here are the visuals for you. Only one of these photos feels familiar to me, in terms of Easter festivities. I'll let you guess which one. But I will say that I like this, the unfamiliar rhythm of things in Montana. And I really like the friends God has brought into our lives this past year. I more than like them. I'm incredibly blessed by them and the ways they gently expand my horizons and loosen my expectations. Hey, if you need a little of that too, head on up this way. The bison will be waiting. <br />
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This was our first Easter in Montana. I missed our extended family and traditions we've done for years, I missed the competitive grown-up egg hunt, my brother, and all the fancy foods we'd make. The kids missed their cousins, we missed our nephew's birthday, and we longed for hugs from each and every loved one too far away. <br />
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But I wore my "give me Jesus" necklace and mustered up the will to embrace the change. <br />
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It was our first Easter here. And I have to say, still, by the grace of God, it was a very good day. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-23671313023880034752014-04-17T01:03:00.001-06:002014-04-17T01:03:06.737-06:00Grace on a Thursday: Hashing out Passover<br />
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For years, I've wanted to be a part of a Passover Seder somehow. We used to go to a church that hosted one annually, but we never went. Then, I knew a Jewish family who hosted this special meal in their home every Passover; I secretly wished to be invited over, but it never happened. The Jewish feasts have always been so interesting to me, yet elusive. I have heard of people reading books that walked one through the feasts, but have never researched or had a book title or knew where to begin in celebrating with my own family.<br />
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Then, last Sunday, our pastor taught on the first Passover, the final plague on Egypt after which Pharaoh would let the Israelites go. Let me recap the story briefly. Over 2 million Israelites were harshly enslaved in Egypt. Moses was called by God to free and lead the people in a mass 'exodus' into the Promised Land, but Pharaoh was not going down without a fight. (Imagine the economic collapse a country might go into if it lost a workforce of 2 million people literally overnight!) After God sent nine awful, disciplinary plagues on the Egyptians, He told Moses that this final one would be the last straw: He would take the life of every firstborn of every household in the land. <br />
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The only way the Hebrew families would remain untouched was if a family had obediently swathed the doorposts with the blood of an unblemished lamb. Then, the angel of death would 'pass over' the household, sparing the life of the firstborn. The blood covered the family from the curse of death. And then, forever more, the Jews were commanded to remember this deliverance and celebrate Passover annually, teaching their children about God's faithfulness and grace. <em>So much grace.</em><br />
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Our pastor read from the Old Testament, where God said the Jews were to roast the lamb meat, and eat it with bitter herbs (or salad greens) and unleavened bread. Because the Jews would very soon be freed, they would be in a rush to escape. In fact, Pharaoh would drive them out in his grief, and there would be no time to bake bread that needed to rise. In addition, God said to eat the meal with one's shoes on, and with one's walking stick in hand for the same reason. This meal was specifically "to be eaten in haste."<br />
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It's all so interesting. There aren't many instances in the Bible when God tells us to rush. We take notice when He does. <em>Hurry to your freedom</em>, He says. <em>When I say go, you flee from captivity</em>. This is not a meal to be eaten joyfully over three hours. It is to be taken solemnly and quickly and with grave remembrance, because something had to die first. Remember, there is blood at the door. <br />
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Suddenly Passover seems not a thing to be "celebrated" as much as it is to be memorialized. And last Sunday, I decided remaining on the fringes of this holiday was not necessary; there was no reason I couldn't hash out a symbolic Passover meal in 24 hours for us to enjoy the next night. Heck, the Jews didn't have The Food Network and the internet and 3 easily accessible supermarkets like I did, and they had no trouble working it out. <br />
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The Scripture we read on Sunday listed three food items in the Passover meal: lamb, bitter salad greens, and flatbread. Easy. Well, minus the lamb part, which I had never cooked. But in a matter of minutes online, I found a simple recipe for roasting lamb. I went to two stores to find it, but when I did, it was on sale. Win. And finding the other two items was simple as well. I bought a bag of arugula, a bitter and spicy green which I love, and a box of Matzo bread. Crackers. I don't know what the proper term is. (However, when I got home, I noticed the box specifically says "Not for Passover." What? Why not? I don't understand.)<br />
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To be honest, I hesitated sharing this experience online. I was a bit afraid I might offend someone who knew the "proper" way to do Passover. I'm hoping for grace in this area, since I should be better versed on the holiday but am not, yet. On the other hand, I wondered if there were more people out there who have been interested in participating in the tradition, but felt overwhelmed or sort of uninvited, like I did. <br />
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Well, it boils down to this. My decision to hash out my own Passover and my decision to share it here were both rooted in this belief: <em>God just wants us to remember and share His story</em>. I believe He doesn't care as much about the details as He does about our hearts. Are we remembering that our freedom comes at a high price? Are we remembering there is blood on the door, the blood of the Lamb of God that covers us from the curse of death? And perhaps most importantly, are we telling each generation the stories of God's deliverance and power and incredible grace? <br />
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Sitting down to a meal of lamb and arugula and flatbread just made the history come to life. God knows the ways we learn best, and how amazing is it that He gives us tangible symbols? Sharing the Passover meal as a family simply created a venue to talk about God's great works, and it engaged our five senses, which are incredible triggers of memory. The whole experience was simple enough for a child to understand. At the table, we read from Exodus and then from the gospels. The Lamb had to die so that God's people could live. It is bitter and rich and when God says go, you don't hesitate. You run to your freedom.<br />
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God is a great Teacher. He doesn't just talk at us. In His grace, He invites us to learn with all our senses. To taste the bitterness of sin and slavery. To hear the dry snap of the cracker eaten in haste. To smell the roasted herbs and meat, satisfying and rich fuel for a long journey. And perhaps what I love best is that He wants us to learn and re-learn <em>with our families</em>. He wants our kids involved. He can't wait for them to taste and hear and smell and wonder about His great works too. <br />
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All in all, our night was awesome. I think we may be remembering Passover in this way every year. And next year, I may even find some people to invite. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-11535699881163038412014-04-16T12:38:00.005-06:002014-04-16T12:44:11.292-06:00A Teacher Appreciation Giveaway with Katygirl<br />
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This girl, <a href="http://www.scottyboyandkatygirl.com/"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong>Katy</strong></span></a>. You know her? She is an<em> awesome</em> mommy to her two littles. One thing I admire about her is that she doesn't try to gloss over this job of motherhood. She'll admit that the days are sometimes really hard, that she is sometimes at a total loss over what to do. And yet, she chooses joy. <em>All kinds of joy</em>. It's evident in her everyday life, in her beautiful smile, in the demeanor of her kids, and it is splashed all over her work at <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/katygirldesigns"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong>Katygirl Designs</strong></span></a>. <br />
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Katy is an encourager, too, and when I saw her latest Teacher Appreciation pack, I immediately wanted to share it with you. Did you realize Teacher Appreciation week is the first full week in May? Right around the corner! I wrote about how important I feel it is to be regularly building up our kids' teachers in my Back to School series,<a href="http://topofthepagewithleslie.blogspot.com/2013/09/bts-series-lesson-5.html"> <span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong>here</strong></span></a>. And I wonder if this is the time of year when teaching begins to drag slowly on, as if summer will never come. I mean, I had my 3rd grader home sick for a few days and suddenly had a renewed compassion for his teacher and her constant struggle managing his talking in class. The child. Does. Not. Stop. Talking.<br />
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Now imagine that struggle times 26 kids with 26 other issues that are really beautiful aspects of childhood, but in April, they amount to a lot of thorns in that teacher's side. I'm just saying. It is a job I'm not sure I could do. Well, wait, I am pretty sure I couldn't. <br />
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I'm betting your child's teacher could use some encouragement right about now. A personal note of thanks and this pack from Katy would do the trick. <br />
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It includes: <br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">1 5x7 "Change the World" print (a Teacher Appreciation week exclusive design)</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">4 personalized notecards with your teacher's name</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">1 $5 giftcard to Starbucks</span><br />
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This pack is valued at $24, and the print will only be available through Teacher Appreciation week, which is May 5th-9th. The set is also available for sale in<span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong> </strong></span><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/185441823/teacher-appreciation-set-a-5x7-print-and?ref=shop_home_active_16"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong>Katy's etsy shop</strong></span></a>. <br />
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To enter to win all these things to encourage and uplift a teacher in your life, please do one or more of the following and leave a comment for each:<br />
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I will choose a winner on Saturday at noon so it's kind of a quick giveaway! <br />
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And if you don't win, why not write a note of thanks and encouragement to those teachers anyway? I bet it would put a little wind in his or her sails. <br />
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If you want to check out Katy's other amazing prints and stationary goods, click <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/katygirldesigns"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><strong>here</strong></span></a>. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-23107611322776712902014-04-14T11:32:00.001-06:002014-04-14T11:32:31.341-06:00Lessons from Hope Spoken: 13 things<br />
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It's been two weeks since Hope Spoken and on social media, it's clear the messages all of us took away are still percolating in hearts. I was just looking through my notes from the weekend. Not notes I took during the weekend, but ones I scribbled down in an attempt to catch some of the overflow of my brimming heart on the plane home Sunday night. <br />
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In the terminal, I felt the swelling of words and feelings about the weekend but my laptop was tucked safely in my checked luggage and I had no journal or notepad. I tried to purchase some form of paper in three gifts shops and when that failed, I asked one cashier if she had a printer from which I could have a couple sheets. No printer either. But a kind man with a briefcase, waiting to pay for a bag of chips, overheard my request and offered to tear a few pages of the yellow lined variety out of his Steno pad for me. <br />
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I started hastily spilling out my thoughts as soon as I was seated on the plane. It was a late flight, one of the hazards of living in a state to where few people want to fly, and when the cabin lights were shut off, my seat neighbor, an executive from the U.K. who related his decade long dream to ski in Montana, pressed the button on the ceiling to turn my light on for me. <br />
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I scribbled and scribbled until my British friend raised his eyebrows and made a comment on how unusual it was to see someone writing with a pen and paper these days. It's exactly why my handwriting is so messy; I'm horribly out of practice. Writing with a pen and paper for me feels like trying to fill a gas tank with an eyedropper. But my choices were to write, or risk losing much of the memories and emotions from the weekend. <br />
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And since it's the 13th (or was last night when I wrote this), I thought I'd share 13 observations collected from those notes that sort of sum up the weekend in my memory. <br />
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<span style="color: #7f6000;">1. There is a difference between deeply admiring people with faith and actually having it yourself. I don't just want to <strong>spectate</strong> a life of faith in others. I want to learn from them and grow in faith myself. </span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">2. There is always someone from whom you can learn, and always someone you are able to teach. God often gives us roles to be a teacher and a student at the same time. I think that's cool.</span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">3. Having close friends with whom you can share your faith (living in community) is not an optional part of the Christian life, and I think we sometimes treat it that way. The functions and benefits of Godly friendship are countless and crucial and so worth the investment. So many times, I've found that God chooses to speak first through those individuals. </span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">4. Acidy, caffeinated drinks are a bad choice before public speaking. Unless you want to feel even more nauseous and jittery than you already do. </span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">5. Just because you're not a speaker doesn't mean God won't call you to speak.</span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">6. Just because you're not a speaker doesn't mean God can't or won't powerfully use your story when you speak it. The power of it, once you speak it, is relative to and assigned by Him, not you.</span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">7. In order to share your story, you need to understand first that you have one. </span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">8. After you understand you have one, you need to re-understand that actually, it's God's story, not yours.</span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">9. Third, sharing your story requires discerning of when to share it and to whom. It is not meant for all times and for all people, but it is absolutely needed for some time and for someone. </span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">10. Leading/shepherding a small group of women was not as hard as I expected. I suspect love is the only fuel needed. </span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">11. Shame and condemnation from the enemy is a huge and very real problem among women, one that we don't like to talk about. I wrote lots about that in my last post.</span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">12. People behind blogs and social media accounts are people in need of compassion and grace. They (we) are full of troubles, full of need, full of life, struggle, sin, shame, confusion, passion, worship, sincerity, friendship, love, generosity, brokenness, bravery, and absolute beauty. </span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #7f6000;">13. It would have been a disaster for me if God had not shown up and put His words in my mouth and His spirit in my heart both behind that podium and the rest of the weekend.</span> <br />
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I prayed and prayed for #13 to take place, for God to show up for me and speak through me at Hope Spoken. I knew a lot of other people who were praying the same. God answered those prayers with a resounding Yes. He said, "I'm not going to leave you hanging when you step behind that podium. I will not leave your side." <br />
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I wonder how my every day would be different if I depended on Him that much for my daily life. If I never once slipped into the "I got this," mode. If I never once presumed I knew what to say already. <br />
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All these lessons, all these truths that rose to the surface over the course of that weekend are things I want to hold close. Particularly #13. Because I know what a disaster day feels like. I know I can become one in 5 seconds if I am not rooted and grounded, and understanding how utterly dependent on God I am. Every hour I need Him. <br />
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I'm looking forward to this holy week of resting in His promises; He has forgiven my disasters, broken the chains of my shame, and redeemed my seasons of faithlessness . And I will be celebrating that those acts came at very high cost.<br />
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Mercifully, one I didn't have to pay. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-10161119314734844012014-04-09T12:45:00.001-06:002014-04-09T12:59:27.739-06:00Lessons from Hope Spoken: We all hide<br />
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There has never been a single human alive who has not tried to hide. <br />
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Adam and Eve were first. Their enemy lied to them and led them into sin. And as he planned from the start, he seized the moment they fell, quickly pounded them with shame, and pushed them out of the open spaces in the garden they had enjoyed with God and back into the darkness of the bushes. They felt exposed and ashamed. Their relationship with the Holy One suffered it's first break. <br />
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At Hope Spoken a couple weekends ago, I was reminded of this: we all try to hide. We all feel bludgeoned by shame and regress into hiding so that others won't see. <br />
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But this miraculous thing happened within our small group time. Between Friday night and Sunday morning, our circle of 10 strangers moved together into the open spaces to enjoy God. It was as if we held hands (though we never actually did) and walked into the light as one, praying, sharing, and breathing in grace all around. It takes my breath away to think about the work God did. <br />
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Real healing and trust and faith grew there, in that circle. I witnessed it. Women reminded women that they were loved and forgiven and accepted and <em>beautiful</em>. Real and crippling fears began to crack and crumble a bit. Lies began to be chopped down by the ax of Christ-centered fellowship. And one person's courage encouraged the next to muster the same. Oh, how I underestimate the power of Jesus working in a small group of His people, even if all have only a mustard seed of faith to offer. Friends, it's no small thing.<br />
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As I reflect now on that sacred time, I can think about certain people who held back for a while, not ready to come out. Most people would have thought, "Oh that person is just shy, or not comfortable sharing with a group." But I wonder now, were they just shy, or were they bound up with lies? Were they so bludgeoned by shame that their faith-legs couldn't walk them into the light of the open spaces? Were they possibly even living in this state of defeat all the time? <br />
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I've been in those bushes before. You have too. We both know what it feels like and looks like to be defeated and distant from God and the truth. We both know how sin ravages our hearts and hurls rocks into the windows of our souls, breaking relationships, pushing us into hiding, leaving us feeling exposed. <br />
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The worst part is the lies. They don't ever seem to relent, when we hang out in the bushes. I had two women tell me that they had <em>severely </em>accusatory "thoughts" before signing up for Hope Spoken. They heard these kinds of things: <br />
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<em>You don't deserve to go to that. </em><br />
<em>What do YOU have to offer anyone?<br />Who do you think you are? </em><br />
<em>Why would you want to do something so stupid? </em><br />
<em>No one will understand you.</em> <br />
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And then others shared these kinds of things: <br />
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<em>You can't actually tell anyone that. </em><br />
<em>You are a lost cause.</em><br />
<em>You such a hypocrite. </em><br />
<em>You don't deserve forgiveness. </em><br />
<em>It's just too much. </em><br />
<em>And you call yourself a Christian? You even serve at church?</em><br />
<em>What a fake. </em><br />
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Relentless. Lies. It angered me with a righteous anger when I heard these things, firstly because I knew God's girls - the daughters of the King of Kings - were being assaulted. I wonder how many women chose NOT to push through the lies; how many women never signed up and stayed home? And secondly, I realized that the enemy lies to us ALL. It is not just a select few who really screw up. It is every single one of us, because we are all human. We all make mistakes, and we are all threatening to the cause of the enemy. He will do whatever he can to keep us in the dark, away from God and others. <em>Whatever he can</em>. <br />
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I'm not just sharing this in analysis of Hope Spoken. I'm hoping you can internalize this for yourself as well. We are all being lied to, we are all being shamed into the dark corners, away from God, away from others. And everyone thinks she is the only one.<br />
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Bringing all that out into the open spaces, the light of truth, is the first step in breaking the power of lies over us. I've lived this supernatural equation more than once. Choose one friend. Join a small group through your church. Confide in your husband. Pick an open space where you know truth and safety will find you. And speak it. <br />
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The women in my small group were so exceptionally brave. I'm in awe of their courage. And friends, breaking the power of shame and lies in our life takes courage. And then it takes Jesus. He does all the rest. We simply have to trust Him to cover us with His blood, His forgiveness, His grace, and His perfect robe of righteousness as we bolt out of the bushes and into the open spaces where He stands waiting. <br />
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And oh, let's be praying for our sisters, in the name of Jesus, that the mouths of the liars would be stopped, and that the enemy would be conquered in the lives of God's daughters, one day at a time. <br />
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<em><span style="color: #38761d;">For our struggle is not against flesh and blood,<sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29350P" title="See cross-reference P">P</a>)"></sup> but against the rulers, against the authorities,<sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29350Q" title="See cross-reference Q">Q</a>)"></sup> against the powers<sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29350R" title="See cross-reference R">R</a>)"></sup> of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.<sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29350S" title="See cross-reference S">S</a>)"></sup></span> </em><br />
<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ephesians%206&version=NIV"><span style="color: #783f04;"><strong><em>Ephesians 6:12 (read this whole passage, it's so good)</em></strong></span></a><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><em>For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light</em></span><br />
<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=eph+5&version=NIV"><span style="color: #783f04;"><strong><em>Ephesians 5:8 </em></strong></span></a><br />
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(a great list of 25 more verses on light and darkness can be found <a href="http://voices.yahoo.com/25-bible-verses-light-gods-light-guidance-elimination-5298971.html"><span style="color: #783f04;"><strong>here</strong></span></a>.)<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-12112711999736566222014-04-06T20:00:00.000-06:002014-04-06T20:00:04.167-06:00Streamlining your social media<br />
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I can't tell you how many times I've heard lately, "Oh, I don't read blogs anymore." Half the times I've heard it, it's come out of my own mouth. Somehow I just got out of the habit. I stopped connecting and participating in the blog community. Oh wait, I think it was because we moved. Most things stopped around that time and I'm slowly recovering the things I enjoy doing in my free time. One of those is certainly writing. And reading. Wait that's two things. <br />
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Tonight I determined to start reading blogs again. And in order to make it more accessible, more efficient, and FAR less overwhelming, I streamlined. I made sure I was following only blogs I know and love. I have no idea how my reading list got so out of hand, but I'm sure half of the people I was following aren't even blogging regularly anymore. Many I didn't even recognize. I don't think I've even looked at the list in two years. <br />
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Realistically, I am going to try to keep my reading list in the double digits. Below 50 is even better. Triple digits is WAY too high to keep track of and stay engaged on the blogs I really enjoy. <br />
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I already do this with my Instagram account (though my max number is higher). Every so often, I realize I've notched up and up and up in the number of those I'm "following." Then it gets unmanageable and I start to notice I'm missing half the posts by my friends and family back in California because I have way too many feeds getting in the way. Not that those other people aren't posting great stuff too. Of course they are! Great shops. Great quotes. Great everything. But I still can't have "great" cluttering out the people I actually love, the people whose children and hearts and lives I care about. <br />
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And none of this streamlining business is personal. I wish I could read and follow every great writer and IGer and Facebooker in the land. I truly know that I could learn from every single one of them. But in order to keep my life in balance, I need to limit my social media time. And if I want to write and read and Instagram, then I need to streamline that process. And streamlining involves (gulp) unfollowing until I have a manageable system, until I feel like I can still interact on a personal, real level. <br />
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Here's the core of the problem, in my opinion. <strong>When we spread ourselves too thin on social media, our interactions get increasingly thin too</strong>. We hurry through deeply meaningful posts by real people, often hurting people. Those real people are looking for community and real connection too, just like I am. And I have to ask myself, "At what point (in terms of numbers of blogs/accounts/FB friends I follow) does my connection to these real live humans get reduced to surface contact? Quick comments like, "Wow! Awesome," to huge, life changing announcements. Or a hastily typed, "Praying for you! XO" while at a stoplight, when you read that a friend is really struggling with chronic health problems. I'm not saying I need to type a paragraph-length comment to be authentic. But I simply cannot be authentic with 500 people. That's being spread too thin. <br />
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I'm speaking to myself, here, too. I've totally done that. I've not cared enough about serious business going on in people's lives because my thumb just keeps scrolling through the sea of images and words. But often I get this vibe, this premonition that social media is dangerous and doing something to us. <strong>It threatens to hold us at arm's length from the real humans with whom we are interacting.</strong> <br />
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I try to guard my life from superficiality in all its forms. So I cut and streamline and unfollow, if I need. And it is not because I'm insensitive. It's exactly the opposite. I can't be friends with every cool person. And at some point, too many "friends" makes me a bad one to all of them. <br />
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Try this: <br />
Go to your "follow" list, one social media platform at a time. <br />
In your head pick a reasonable number of "friends." <br />
Cut down your list until you get there. <br />
Then go through the entire list one more time and cut again. As much as you can. <br />
Repeat every month or two. <br />
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If I get cut from something of yours, I TOTALLY get it. I won't be bummed. I will understand that <strong>you need to be responsible with your time, your social media, and your limited relational capacity. </strong><br />
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Yep, that's where the truth comes in. We are limited. We are called to relationship, but we are limited. I think all of us in the blog world and on social media could improve at being more to fewer. <br />
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Don't you agree? <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-64904133967716899632014-04-05T09:50:00.002-06:002014-04-05T09:51:25.530-06:00The time I cried in Starbucks<br />
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Yesterday, in one of those short windows of time where you can't do anything productive so you take the kids to Starbucks to kill time, I had a parenting moment. The kind that makes you know that you know that this is all worth it, the kind where in the midst of the daily grind, your purpose as a mom gets recalibrated and your eyes get opened to all sorts of things you'd been missing.<br />
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My daughter, who was drinking chocolate milk, and who is 11, and who this year began the dreaded zone of life called Middle School, and who <em>almost never</em> opens up, said the following:<br />
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daughter: <span style="color: #134f5c;">Mom, there is this one girl in my math class that NObody likes. Actually people are sort of afraid of her. And she did a crazy thing which was shave off her eyebrows. (She's furrowing her brow, and I know she's asking questions by these statements, trying to make sense of this.)</span><br />
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me: <span style="color: #7f6000;">Do you think people are afraid of her because she's different?</span> <br />
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daughter: <span style="color: #0b5394;">Yeah...and she's like, not that nice either. She can be rude.</span><br />
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me:<span style="color: #7f6000;"> Let's think of reasons why she might be so different and have that kind of attitude.</span><br />
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daughter: <span style="color: #0b5394;">Because she isn't very loved by her parents? </span><span style="color: black;">(I think, <em>bingo</em>. She gets that kids aren't this way for no reason.)</span><br />
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me: <span style="color: #7f6000;">Yep, that could be one reason. Everybody needs to be loved and wants to be loved. That's why most people your age are trying SO HARD to be the same as everyone else. To fit in. She doesn't feel the same, she knows she doesn't fit in, and so she wants to make sure everyone knows she is different. Do kids talk about her a lot?</span> <br />
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daughter: <span style="color: #0b5394;">Yeah!</span> (she's surprised I know this)<br />
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me: <span style="color: #7f6000;">This happens in all ages, grown up girls too. It's because girls really struggle with comparing themselves with others and feeling confident in who God made them to be. It's hard when other girls gossip about kids who are different.</span> <br />
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daughter: <span style="color: #0b5394;">Yeah! And I feel weird about that...I mean, I want to do something, but I don't know what.</span> <br />
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son, chiming in: <span style="color: #38761d;">Well do you think if you tried to be nice to her, your other friends would stop liking you?</span><br />
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daughter: <span style="color: #0b5394;">Yeah...I'm pretty sure they would. </span><br />
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me: (saying nothing, because they haven't yet noticed I'm beginning to be overcome with emotion.)<br />
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And this is when I laughed at myself, because I was crying in Starbucks. Because my girl who doesn't say much and often would choose to read a book alone than be in a crowd of people, sees that different girl who shaved off her eyebrows in 6th grade. <em>Really sees her, </em>and feels uncomfortable by the gossip. I was in awe of her little 11-year old heart, and I knew it has been formed by God. I knew I could take no credit for this. <br />
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The kids started to look at me like I was crazy, by the way, crying in Starbucks. And so I had to go into this whole explanation. I blubbered out, "I am just <em>so proud of you</em>." <br />
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So many thoughts were going on in my head, and I didn't share all of them. I couldn't keep myself collected, for instance, if I unfurled my deep awareness that I know I'm NOT that girl, the one who <em>sees</em> the different girl. I am the one who feels awkward and afraid of extreme difference and doesn't know what to say. I'm ashamed of that. And I'm the one who, in my flesh and my ignorance, wants my daughter to be more a part of the crowd, to bond with the general populace, to engage in meaningless chit chat over the lunch table like a typical tween. But she doesn't. And I worry that she'll be standing there alone when the beehive of girls decides to buzz on to the next activity. I'm ashamed of that too, that wanting her to be different and...safer. <br />
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And so all I could sniffle out was, "<span style="color: #7f6000;">I am just so proud of you. God has given you this amazing gift of compassion! That is so rare, especially at your age. Most people are afraid of those who are different. But it is a special gift to be able to see those who are different and long to show them love! You are seeing her like Jesus does</span>." Sniff sniff. <br />
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And then I told them about this memory. <br />
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When my daughter first went to 2-morning a week preschool, when she was 3 years old, I wanted her to connect with the other girls in class. It was her first exposure to regular socialization, after all. I wanted her to "succeed" at it. One day at drop off, I brought her a bit early. In the class, there was a large box of dress-up things to which all the other girls flocked every morning to be the first one to pull the cheap Cinderella polyester over her head. I prodded my girl to join in; after all, she <em>loved</em> dressing up at home. But she would not go join in. She stood still. Alone. Staring. I felt increasingly uncomfortable, projecting that onto my 3 year old, so I prodded more, my anxiety rising that she wouldn't be a part of the princess crowd.<br />
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But little did I know she was taking everything in. Most of the class was little girls, currently fighting over the plastic click-clack shoes, but my daughter was seeing the one blond haired boy, off to the side looking unsure and afraid. After a time, she walked straight to the dress up box, grabbed a cowboy hat, walked over to the boy, and extended it to him without saying a word.<br />
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I will never forget that. No one saw that boy but she. No one felt inclined to include him or take notice of him. While all the other girls were living examples of the survival of the fittest concept, my girl showed mercy to the one on the outskirts. And still, to this day, I can hardly wrap my mind around her actions because I am not that girl. She is. And seeing it again, yesterday, made me <em>weep</em>. <br />
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Because I'm not that girl, and I don't have her gift, I couldn't offer much advice on how to reach out to the eyebrow-less girl in math class. But I could offer her the Wonderful Counselor. I said: <br />
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me: <span style="color: #7f6000;">Ya know, God knows whether or not you should reach out to her. I don't know if you are supposed to, but it seems He's put the desire and a lot of compassion in your heart for her. So if I were you, I'd pray and ask Him for an opportunity to talk to her if He wants you to. And if He doesn't want to use you in that way, maybe that chance will never come up. But I DO know this. You can't base your choice on what your other friends may think of you. If they did stop being your friend, then you don't want that kind of friend. And there is a possibility that they may even learn from you. What if your other friends thought, "Wow. I wish I was brave like that." What if they admire you for it, and what if they feel encouraged to be more loving to others too? At least your Christian friends will hopefully understand.</span> <br />
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Hopefully. Why is this so hard? This loving those on the outskirts? Why does it involve so much fear and strategizing? The only answer I can come up with is sin. We are all broken and can barely love the lovable well, much less those who are hard to love. As I've said, this stuff is hard for <em>me</em>, a grown up. I can't imagine how hard loving the unlovable is for the typical, crazy-insecure, still-developing middle schooler. But Jesus makes all things possible, and I truly believe that. Seriously, WHAT would we do without Him? He raises up His people to <em>see</em> the injured ones on the outskirts, to love them and embrace them like He does. My daughter may be called to be His hands and feet to the girl in math class. That is no small deal. <br />
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I hope this story isn't over. I hope there will be a Part 2. But if not, the conversation between my kids and I was an epic one. Perhaps the most valuable take away is that I learned more about my daughter's heart, her gift of seeing the unseen. I am aware that God in His grace is humbling me, weaning me off of wishing she'd be more engaged with the princess crowd. God in His grace is reminding me I have a lot to learn from my kids. And God in His grace is reminding me that my kids are His. <em>He</em> has knit them together. <em>He</em> has gifted them for purposes I cannot fathom. That goes for the Cinderellas, the odd girls in math class, and everyone in between. <br />
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Would I trade that divine handiwork knit into my girl just so she might be a look-alike with some other type of kid, might have more friends, or be more accepted?<br />
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Never in a million years. God knows what He's doing in my kids' lives. And I hope, desperately, that as a mother, I don't stand in His way. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-14868048853715759122014-04-02T10:57:00.000-06:002014-04-09T01:13:12.195-06:00Lessons from Hope Spoken: I don't have enough<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Before Hope Spoken last weekend, I had never read the blog <a href="http://www.flowerpatchfarmgirl.com/"><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>Flower Patch Farmgirl</strong></span></a>. <a href="http://www.flowerpatchfarmgirl.com/p/about.html"><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>Shannan Martin</strong></span></a> writes over there. I had always heard of her 'around town'; I knew her blog was popular and I guessed she was a lovely person, as are so many bloggers in the community. But since I'd probably be unable to cover all the good blogs in my lifetime, Shannan's was one I simply never got around to reading. So when I personally met her last Friday morning at <a href="http://www.thewiegands.com/"><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>Casey's</strong></span></a> house for the speaker luncheon, I was intrigued by her and wanted to know more. <br />
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When I hear "flower patch" and "farm girl," I imagine a girl who lives on a farm and skips down dirt roads with daisies in her hair, carrying a basket of berries. But despite her love for gingham, Shannan was so different from the Dorothy in Kansas character I expected. First of all, she lives in the city. She is quite tall and poised, with a lower-pitched voice like mine and a calm sincerity when she asks you questions. She's intelligent, and the type of woman you know is not just a bright person, but who is layered with fortitude of character. She's worked in politics and has a passion for loving the unloved in society. But she is also so humble that she'll plainly tell you her life has been a work wrought by God through years of struggle. <br />
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I attended her break-out session and she spoke of daring love, costly love, and allowing God to make you small. Trading your own sense of importance for His. Downsizing not only in material goods, but in position as well.<br />
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And in one of the most profound moments of the weekend for me, she redefined the story of Jesus feeding the 4,000. She brought up something that I've never considered, though I am so familiar with the story it threatens to feel stale. Jesus had a problem: 4,000 men (if you accounted for women and children, the number might be as high as 10,000) had been listening to Him preach for three days. They were very hungry and more than likely, He surmises, couldn't make the long walk home without fainting. You know the rest. Jesus takes a few loaves from the disciples and miraculously multiplies the small amount of food they have in order to generously feed the entire crowd with baskets to spare. <br />
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But God spoke to me when Shannan pointed this out: Jesus could have turned all the stones into bread to feed the people. He could have rained bread down from heaven. He could have done whatever sort of miracle He wanted to feed the people. But instead, He chose to ask the disciples, "How much do <em>you</em> have?" <br />
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I realize in the past I've assumed it was as if Jesus was at a loss in this scene. Like, He had to ask these guys for help. I forget that He is Lord Almighty. I start to think Jesus is just like me, trying to problem-solve by phoning a friend. But no. He knows what He is doing; He is not caught off guard by the deficits. And He is making a <em>choice </em>to involve us in His miracles. He knows the disciples don't have enough, but He wants their offering anyway. He will <em>make it enough</em>, but they have to offer first. <br />
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Friends, this is a profound lesson. Jesus and I often sit staring together at a problem. Let's say it's a problem in a friendship or with my husband or in our finances. Jesus could rain down bread. Of course He could. And sometimes, He does. <br />
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But much more often, He turns to me and says, "How much do <em>you</em> have?" I say, "Well, that's obvious, Jesus. I don't have enough for this. Not even close." He knows I don't have enough. He knows I may look at him with raised eyebrows. He knows that my heart sustains seeds of doubt. The question is whether or not I will take my chunk of bread, my measly offering worth next to nothing, and hand it to Him anyway. <br />
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The question is whether or not I have faith that He will make it enough.<br />
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I believed Him this past weekend. I spoke, and offered Jesus my measly chunk of bread by sharing my story in a break-out session. I'm certain He multiplied its value and spread it around and made it enough. But I question myself in parenting and in relationships and in so many other areas. I often question whether I have something to offer Jesus at all. <br />
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Friends, it's such good news. He knows you don't have much to offer. And that's the point. If you could feed 10,000 people yourself, you wouldn't need a Savior and He wouldn't get the glory. So He's given you a measly chunk of something that seems to be worth next to nothing. Yes, you need more. It's laughable how much more you need to solve the problems around you. But you do have <em>something</em> to offer. And He's asking you for it. <br />
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Today.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em><span style="font-size: small;">{to read the Bible story yourself, it is recorded twice, both in Mark 8:1-9 and Matthew 15:32-39.}</span> </em></span><br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-52217083454292621572014-03-31T22:22:00.000-06:002014-03-31T22:31:29.185-06:001 year.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last year, on this exact day, our family rolled into the state of Montana pulling a small U-Haul behind my Volvo wagon. <br />
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The four of us plus our blind, elderly wiener dog, set up camp in a hotel until our moving truck arrived two weeks later. There was a large deer mount above the fireplace, and biscuits and gravy were part of the daily breakfast offerings. It was the first time I've ever stayed anywhere with the pool indoors. Snow was still on the ground. <br />
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A couple weeks ago, a friend gave me this necklace. The word "home" is etched into the state. Moving has caused me to reflect a lot on what "home" really means. I even wrote about it <a href="http://www.topofthepagewithleslie.blogspot.com/2014/01/on-home-and-belonging.html"><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>here</strong></span></a>, not long ago, after our first trip back to California. <br />
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Funny that this anniversary is falling immediately after my trip this past weekend to <a href="http://hopespoken.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>Hope Spoken</strong></span></a>. I'm not exaggerating when I say that being among so many Godly and inspiring women felt a bit heavenly. More than a couple people mentioned on social media that being at the conference was like a slice of heaven. They guessed it was a glimpse of what it might be like.<br />
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On the plane home from Texas last night, I reflected on the fact that being surrounded by God's family - His redeemed ones - may feel more like home to me than any city on this planet does. It's strange, experiencing true fellowship. I have this theory that the Holy Spirit in me recognizes Himself in others, there is an unquestionable connection, and it feels different from any other type of relationship. It's palpable. Supernatural. Eternal.<br />
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If I never see any of those women again, I somehow know that one day when we are all in the presence of God, we'll pick right back up where we left off. We'll all sit together, chatting, eating some amazing lunch, laughing, and worshipping the Lamb who sits on the throne, just like we did all weekend long. But instead of sitting on conference chairs in an aging Doubletree hotel in an industrial part of Dallas, we'll be lounging in paradise in the physical presence of Jesus.<br />
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This first year living in Montana has flown by so quickly. I can't even believe it. But to think of eternity...forever with His redeemed ones....it's difficult to comprehend. I'm sure we won't be ticking off the years being home one by one. More like millennium by millennium.<br />
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Forever with God's people. I'm so thankful we have a chance at this. <br />
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California or Montana or anywhere else, better is one day in God's house than thousands elsewhere (Psalm 84:10). <br />
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<em>I have many, many more things to share from Hope Spoken and the amazing ways I witnessed God at work last weekend, so stay tuned. And if you are a Facebook user, you can now follow my new <strong>Unfolding Blog Facebook page</strong> by clicking the button up above for updates. Much love.</em> <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-67187689875733293182014-03-26T11:11:00.003-06:002014-03-26T11:11:50.983-06:00On leaving, without kids<br />
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Two days ago, I had a mother bear moment. <br />
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Now, this is Montana so the likelihood of actually seeing a bear is pretty high. But that's not what I meant. <br />
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I mean<em> I</em> was the mother bear and these crazy intense bear-like instincts kicked in because I thought my kids were in danger. Here's how it went down. The grocery store is blocks from our house. I needed like 5 quick things. The kids did not want to go with me. My oldest is almost 12, and said, "Can't we just stay home?" I said, "Um. Okay. Let's try that," knowing she doesn't have a phone, we don't have a land line, and this was a smallish risk. However she does have an iPod Touch, so she can text me. <br />
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I sped to the grocery store, and probably ten minutes into my shopping, I received this text, verbatim: <br />
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"Mommy com home!"<br />
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Exclamation point. Hm. Pushing down all the reasons why panic seemed appropriate, I replied, "Why?" And after the longest ten seconds of my life seeing no reply back, I abandoned my cart next to the asparagus and my fast walk quickly became a jog to my car.<br />
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First of all, my nearly 12 year old never calls me Mommy anymore, so I thought something sounded wrong. Second of all, under normal circumstances, she can spell the word, "come" so I wondered if she was in a rush as she texted. Was the house burning down? Was someone badly hurt? Why wasn't she replying??<br />
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My heart raced. My brain flooded with emotion and adrenaline, so much so that I was aware I couldn't process what was happening very clearly. I watched my speedometer steadily rise on the straightaway between the store and our neighborhood and barely halted the car long enough to fling the door open and sprint in the house.<br />
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I heard my own strained voice yell for my daughter, and her response was flat and teen-like: "What do you mean? I didn't text you." Then suddenly, my little guy was standing near me, looking sheepish and small. I started, "Did you take her iPod and text me? Is there an emergency?!" My intensity was starting to mingle with the variety of mommy anger that goes something like, "If you're not really in danger or badly injured, I'm gonna kill you!" <br />
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He quietly replied, "I just <em>really</em> missed you." <br />
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Now let's skip over the fact that I'd been gone ten minutes. The fact that I'd broken a handful of traffic laws to get home to save some lives. The fact that my kids are old enough to stay home alone for twenty minutes. And let's instead settle on just one simple fact that outweighs all the others by a mile: I am a mommy, and because of that, I mean the world to someone. Two little someones, actually. And we're talking about the literal world. <br />
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I am nearly their entire world. <br />
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Tomorrow I leave for four sleeps as I head to Hope Spoken in Texas. And as much as I want and, more importantly need, time off from my family for fellowship and friendship and ministry, it is always so hard to leave my babies. They're already 8 and 11, and still I know I will ache to be away from them. And they will ache too. We did extra big hugs and I sprinkled extra kisses on their faces at bedtime. I said, "You can call me whenever you want!" And I left paper X's and O's on their bathroom mirror, one set for each night I'm away.<br />
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We will miss each other and God willing, our reunion on Sunday at the airport will be full of joy-filled squeals. <br />
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This all boils down to two main points. <br />
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First of all, no matter what ministry opportunities God brings into my life, motherhood is my first and greatest mission field. <br />
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And secondly. My daughter may be getting that cell phone sooner than I planned. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-3923534660941323122014-03-22T00:06:00.002-06:002014-03-22T00:06:42.899-06:00When you get a chance to share your story<br />
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What's funny is that without my seeking them, God has been giving me pep-talks before <a href="http://hopespoken.blogspot.com/"><strong><span style="color: #bf9000;">Hope Spoken</span></strong></a>. It's like each time I open my Bible, He's got a word in there, something of which I need to be reminded for the upcoming conference. They are pretty killer pointers. (Thanks for that, God.) So I thought I'd share them with you for when you get a chance to share your story one day. <br />
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I say 'when', and not 'if' because there is a 99% chance that someday, someone will be placed into your life who needs to hear it. It may not be a room full of people at once. It may be your child. Or your boss. Or it may be an entire stadium full of thousands of people. I don't know. But God does, and He wastes exactly nothing of your pain, your life experiences. Do you know that? He wastes <em>nothing</em>. In God's amazingly awesome economy, every loss, every tear, every single bit of brokenness lines up on the conveyor belt of Redemption. And the output is a huge heap of testimonies. Beautiful, precious accounts of God's mighty hand at work in your life. <br />
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Lately, I feel my heart might explode due to how strongly I've come to believe in this truth: <br />
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<em><span style="color: #bf9000;"><strong>Our stories contain precious testimonies of the Lord, and one day, we will be called to the witness stand of life and be asked to speak them.</strong></span> </em><br />
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Well, I've had a few opportunities in the past, and I'm getting one next week at <a href="http://hopespoken.blogspot.com/"><strong><span style="color: #bf9000;">Hope Spoken</span></strong></a>. I'm completely humbled to have this opportunity to share my story, and the closer it gets, the more my heart absolutely <em>burns </em>with desire to tell about what God has done in my life. But let's be honest. It's always intimidating to be vulnerable, to speak to a group, and to be around hundreds of ladies dressed to the nines. <br />
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Thus, the pep-talks. As I've been reading through I Corinthians, here are a few reminders God has given me: <br />
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<strong>1. Even Paul was afraid and trembling before he spoke. He decided to ditch trying to deliver a "good" speech, He set aside everything but Jesus, and relied wholly on the Holy Spirit.</strong><br />
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<em><span style="color: #134f5c;">When I first came to you, dear brothers and sisters, I didn’t use lofty words and impressive wisdom to tell you God’s secret plan.<span class="text 1Cor-2-2" id="en-NLT-28357"><sup class="versenum">2 </sup>For I decided that while I was with you I would forget everything except Jesus Christ, the one who was crucified.</span> <span class="text 1Cor-2-3" id="en-NLT-28358"><sup class="versenum">3 </sup>I came to you in weakness—timid and trembling.</span> <span class="text 1Cor-2-4" id="en-NLT-28359"><sup class="versenum">4 </sup>And my message and my preaching were very plain. Rather than using clever and persuasive speeches, I relied only on the power of the Holy Spirit.</span> <span class="text 1Cor-2-5" id="en-NLT-28360"><sup class="versenum">5 </sup>I did this so you would trust not in human wisdom but in the power of God. (I Cor 2:1-5)</span></span></em><br />
<em><span class="text 1Cor-2-5"></span></em> <br />
<span class="text 1Cor-2-5"><strong>2. God is the one doing the teaching. (I can't reveal ANY spiritual thing to anyone on my own!)</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;"><em><span class="text 1Cor-2-10" id="en-NLT-28365"><sup class="versenum">10 </sup>But it was to us that God revealed these things by his Spirit. For his Spirit searches out everything and shows us God’s deep secrets.</span> <span class="text 1Cor-2-11" id="en-NLT-28366"><sup class="versenum">11 </sup>No one can know a person’s thoughts except that person’s own spirit, and no one can know God’s thoughts except God’s own Spirit.</span> </em><span class="text 1Cor-2-12" id="en-NLT-28367"><em><sup class="versenum">12 </sup>And we have received God’s Spirit (not the world’s spirit), so we can know the wonderful things God has freely given us. (I Cor. 2:10-12)</em></span></span><br />
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<span class="text 1Cor-2-12"><strong>3. Focusing on popularity is worldly. Focusing on servanthood is godly. (Even the early Christians were worried about numbers of followers!)</strong></span><br />
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<span class="text 1Cor-2-12"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><em><span class="text 1Cor-3-4" id="en-NLT-28375"><sup class="versenum">4 </sup>When one of you says, “I am a follower of Paul,” and another says, “I follow Apollos,” aren’t you acting just like people of the world? </span></em><em><span class="text 1Cor-3-5" id="en-NLT-28376"><sup class="versenum">5 </sup>After all, who is Apollos? Who is Paul? We are only God’s servants through whom you believed the Good News. Each of us did the work the Lord gave us.</span> <span class="text 1Cor-3-6" id="en-NLT-28377"><sup class="versenum">6 </sup>I planted the seed in your hearts, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow.</span> <span class="text 1Cor-3-7" id="en-NLT-28378"><sup class="versenum">7 </sup>It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What’s important is that God makes the seed grow.</span> <span class="text 1Cor-3-8" id="en-NLT-28379"><sup class="versenum">8 </sup>The one who plants and the one who waters work together with the same purpose. And both will be rewarded for their own hard work.</span> <span class="text 1Cor-3-9" id="en-NLT-28380"><sup class="versenum">9 </sup>For we are both God’s workers. And you are God’s field. You are God’s building. (I Cor. 3:4-9)</span></em></span><br />
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<strong>4. No matter how many people with whom I share my story, I always, always speak to an audience of One.</strong> <br />
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<em><span style="color: #134f5c;">As for me, it matters very little how I might be evaluated by you or by any human authority. I don’t even trust my own judgment on this point. <span class="text 1Cor-4-4" id="en-NLT-28398"><sup class="versenum">4 </sup>My conscience is clear, but that doesn’t prove I’m right. It is the Lord himself who will examine me and decide.</span><span class="text 1Cor-4-5" id="en-NLT-28399"><sup class="versenum">5 </sup>So don’t make judgments about anyone ahead of time—before the Lord returns. For he will bring our darkest secrets to light and will reveal our private motives. Then God will give to each one whatever praise is due.</span> (I Cor. 4:3-5)</span></em><br />
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<strong>5. All I have to give is Jesus, and every bit of my story is a gift from Him. </strong><br />
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<em><span style="color: #134f5c;">What do you have that God hasn’t given you? And if everything you have is from God, why boast as though it were not a gift? (I Cor. 4:7)</span></em><br />
<em><span class="text 1Cor-3-9"></span></em><span style="color: #134f5c;"> </span><br />
<em><span class="text 1Cor-3-9"></span></em> </span>So basically. I just have to remember all those things every second of the weekend and I'll be good. <br />
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(Right. Super easy. J/K. I mean. WHY did He pick me for this job again?) <br />
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But seriously. God's pep-talks are awesome. HE is shouldering the burden of life-change in people's lives. HE is equipping me in every aspect of my calling. And HE is the only one with the right to evaluate me. Doesn't that free me up to flat out <em>enjoy</em> the conference? Phew. <br />
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Thank you, Lord. <br />
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P.S. If you're coming to the conference next weekend, puhleeeze let me know then come hunt me down. Promise? K. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-28674070771125557822014-03-13T00:38:00.001-06:002014-03-13T00:38:47.678-06:00Grace on a Thursday: I sort of want robots<br />
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Motherhood is so weird. I've never come close to experiencing anything else like it. <br />
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Being an employee means your job is to <em>manage</em> something for a fixed amount of time. <br />
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Being a zoo keeper or a botanist means your job is to <em>nurture</em> something for a fixed amount of time. <br />
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But being a mother means your job is to BOTH manage and nurture something for a fixed amount of time. If you can think of something else in life that requires both of those things simultaneously, please tell me. <br />
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I don't think it exists; motherhood is unique. I have a set number of years to manage a wily, unreasonable, rebellious, and doggedly independent human at the same time as trying to nurture him or her into an incredible, educated, humble, loving, and powerful force to be reckoned with in the world. <br />
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I am at my wit's end this week trying to reconcile the fact that at times, I sincerely wish my children were robots, since that would make the managing part so much easier. Just think how much easier it would be if children were no longer unpredictable and wild? No more rock-throwing, street-running, grocery aisle-screaming, food-dumping craziness. AND at the same exact time, I whole-heartedly want my kids to grow up to be beautifully unique world-changers. Just think how wonderful it would be to raise free-thinking, truth-speaking, love-giving, light-shining citizens of Earth. <em>And I just flat out don't know how to do both at once - how to manage the one, and nurture the other. </em>(If you're thinking as your little kids get older, the wildness goes away, you're totally mistaken. The wildness just changes into different forms of things that make me crazy).<br />
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I simply don't know how to nurture amazingness when much of my time and energy is spent on managing the messes, the homework, the laundry, and the feeding of these tiny humans. And when I stop for stretches of time to focus on the nurturing, then the managing just doesn't happen. I get that that's okay from time to time. But personally, I can become discouraged because I can't ever do both well at once. If I'm doing one job well, the other is suffering. <br />
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As if the above wasn't daunting enough, a child's needs are always changing. When you have tiny babies, the scales are dipped more on the managing side. As they age, they start to be able to manage themselves in more and more ways, but the scales tip further on the nurturing side. As my oldest is nearing age 12, I keep reflecting that I'm almost out of time. She's almost ready to drive away to a friend's house or Starbucks every day after school. She announced yesterday, from the top of the staircase, "Mom! In ten years from now, I'll be graduating from college." Ten years. Shorter than her life lived already. God knows my deepest fear is that I've spent too much time on the managing end of the spectrum and missed opportunities to nurture her into an awesome human. <br />
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Several years ago in MOPS, we took personality tests. I don't remember how we were categorized, but I think it was by color. Let's just say I turned out to be a Yellow. Whatever it was, the leader of this activity went about summarizing each color's strengths and weaknesses. When she got to mine - and I'll never forget this - she said, "And if you're a Yellow, motherhood will be the hardest for you." I can't tell you the number of times I've wished I'd never heard that. I've had to fight off and push down that label, that weight around me which shouts, "Because of your personality, you'll have a harder time succeeding at being a good mom." The implication was that I'd have a difficult time moving from the managing job to the nurturing job. Ugh, and guess what? I didn't need a test to tell me that. <br />
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This post doesn't have a tidy moral. When it comes down to the hundred daily decisions I have to make as a mom, I am not confident I know the recipe for awesomeness. Some ingredients, yes, I know quite well. But the majority of my mothering decisions range anywhere from educated guesses to exhausted concessions. And I suppose the only reason I'm saying any of this is to let you know I'm there too, if you are, and am in desperate need of <em>grace. </em><br />
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Grace is the only salve for me when I feel stuck as a mom. Grace washes me off when I feel covered in Yellow. It's favor from the Lord that I can't earn and don't deserve. He just gives it because He loves me, and He fills in my gaps. The kids are His anyway, and I am not so powerful that He will let me completely mess them up.<br />
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Best of all, Grace whispers, <em>"You don't need to make your kids become amazing people; they already are, because I've created them to be. Nothing you will ever do can remove my fingerprints from them. And trust me; you don't really want robots."</em> <br />
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Well, I'll tell you one thing. If I come out on the other side of motherhood alive, then I do feel I will have earned at least a house-cleaning robot. Or something.<br />
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(After more than a year of a break from this Thursday series, I wanted to pick it back up. I'm missing my reflections on grace. We will never fully grasp the depths of what grace can do in our lives. But that doesn't mean I won't press in my whole life long to try to find out.)<br />
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Much love,<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-72525628792383490932014-03-06T00:09:00.000-07:002014-03-06T00:09:11.773-07:00Why you may need to stop working for God<br />
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I can't get this conversation out of my head. It's from Matthew, chapter 16 and my Bible study touched on it a couple weeks ago. Here's my paraphrase.<br />
<br /><span style="color: #cc0000;"><em>Jesus: Who do people say I am?</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #bf9000;"><em>Peter (still Simon at this point): Well, some people say John the Baptist, some say Elijah, some say a prophet...</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><em>Jesus: Actually, what I'm more interested in is who YOU say that I am.</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #bf9000;"><em>Peter: You are the Messiah, the son of the living God.</em></span> <br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><em>Jesus: Yep, and you're blessed to know this. God in heaven is the one who has revealed this to you. And now, I'm renaming you Peter which means 'rock'. I'm going to use you to build my church and you'll have great power to release my will on this earth. </em></span><br />
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There is a specific order here that I keep pondering. Look at these four steps:<br />
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1. Jesus presses Peter for a choice.<br />
2. Peter correctly identifies Jesus.<br />
3. Jesus redefines who Peter is (literally renaming him).<br />
4. Jesus gives him a mission and purpose. <br />
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Here's what I'm learning, a confirmation of something said at church a few weeks ago:<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">God will never tell you what to do before He tells you who you are.</span></strong> <br />
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If you let it sink it, it's a radical statement. It rubs against our very performance-oriented natures. Our instinct is to see our religion, our righteousness as defined by doing, effort, productivity. We are great at working for God, secretly believing we are earning something from Him. That's just what makes sense to us. We believe that the Bible is a book of rules and our biggest job is to follow them. <br />
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And even more, we are so quick to ask Him to give us a mission and a purpose before we have ever listened to Him tell us who we are. I have prayed countless times for Him to increase my ministry or bless my mothering or use me in "divine appointments" regularly. But I don't think I've ever once prayed for Him to tell me who I am. I don't remember the last time I asked God to show me what He sees in me, to root my identity more deeply in Him and His view of me. <br />
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I guess it's because I think I know who I am already. I'm not aware of how badly I need Jesus to redefine me. The attitude reminds me of my children, how they feel quite certain they are already complete. I know in my brain that I'm not complete. Yet I am never aware of struggling with identity. <br />
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Peter doesn't ask either. Jesus just gives, because He sees his need to be redefined. He sees the lies to which we grip that mar our identities. He sees exactly how to prune our false beliefs about ourselves. I would bet a dollar that Peter felt weak, ineffective, and insubstantial, and so Jesus calls him ROCK, a name to shock awake and demolish the misconceptions Peter held inside. <br />
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I think, too, of the woman caught in adultery (from John 8). She is literally dragged through the streets and no doubt called horrible names by the community and her accusers. Whore. Slut. Witch. Temptress. I'm sure the culture back then had a whole host of curse words to describe a woman such as she. But Jesus, this unexpected Savior, follows the same pattern as with Peter: redefinition followed by instruction. <br />
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He asks her where her accusers are (after He convicts them of their own sin and causes them to leave), and says, "Aren't any of them going to condemn you?" When she says, "No, Lord," he replies, "And neither do I. Go and sin no more." <br />
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While she is probably covered in more lewd names than actual clothing, Jesus breaks in and does not even address her bad choices until He makes it clear how He sees her. In so many words, He calls her Accepted. Forgiven. Loved. And only then does he address her behavior. <br />
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So why do we expect Jesus to call us out as soon as we make a mistake? Why do we think He is primarily concerned with our behavior modification? Perhaps because WE are primarily concerned with it. And we so miss the point.<br />
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Jesus seems to care much more about whether our identities are grounded in Him. If they're not, He goes there first, way before He gives us a mission or tells us to go to work for him. <br />
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It seems to me that fear and anxiety are excellent indicators of a shaky identity. We absolutely cannot be strong in identity and be gripped with fear and anxiety at the same time. That's why I John 4:18 says, "Perfect love casts out all fear." When we understand our incredible value to God and know His love, that kind of fear will not hang around. It can't. <br />
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Where is your identity right now? Wait, you probably don't know. I don't, really, either. But I do try to<a href="http://topofthepagewithleslie.blogspot.com/2014/01/a-beginning-and-word-for-2014.html"> <strong><span style="color: #b45f06;">listen</span></strong></a> and be aware of the signs that I'm not grounded in Him. <br />
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If you struggle with fear and anxiety regularly, then you may need to stop trying to perform for God and start listening instead. He will not give you a job to do or a behavior to correct until He tells you who you are, and until you are settled in being redefined by your Creator. Friends, it is not the other way around; we do not have to shape up or work harder before Jesus claims us as His and sees our worth. That you grasp your own inherent worth is so much more precious to God than your labor or your efforts to prove something to Him. <br />
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Real, Christ-centered identity is found in the undoing. The stopping. The listening. No one can rename us but Jesus. And somehow, that new name He gives - the one that shocks awake the lies - washes away every other name we've ever been given. <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3671303250243641170.post-2594599645395823422014-03-04T00:07:00.002-07:002014-03-04T00:07:56.505-07:00A new name, a new look!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well, pals. <br />
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A blog redesign has been long overdue. Was anyone noticing that on my last design, it still said 2011 in the top corner? Yeah. Overdue. <br />
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It's been just over 4 years that I've inhabited this little space with my words. A great 4 years. And it was time for more than just a visual change. I wanted to redefine what exactly this blog is about. If you click on the About Me link, you can see my revised mission, my hope for this space. <br />
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While I'm reflecting on the past several years, I'd also like to say a humble, emphatic thank you. I know many of you have been reading practically the WHOLE time I've been blogging. Wow. That feels like a big honor. <br />
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I'm humbled that you continue to share your time and words with me. I'm thankful that God has used the internet for good, has knit together this amazing community of believers, has put His words in our mouths for the building up of His work, His church. <br />
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Four years ago, I had no idea...I just had no idea what this space would or could become. I had no idea how my writing voice would journey here and there, through different seasons. And I guess, in a way, I still don't. Who knows what God is up to. But I have the deepest gratitude for all that has already taken place. What an immeasurable blessing blogging has been to me, primarily because of you all. Your encouragement, love and passion for the Lord push me forward and sharpen my resolve to seek out the abundant life. <br />
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I'm also so thankful that the Lord chooses to use strugglers like I am. I can tell you one thing: any good fruit that has grown from my words on this blog has been as a result of grace alone. The only good in me is Jesus. I pray you find Him every single time you visit. <br />
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So feel free to click around. I hope you like the new look, and I hope you linger to read about what's unfolding. <br />
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{be sure to add the new URL to your reader! <a href="http://www.unfoldingblog.com/">www.unfoldingblog.com</a>}<br />
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Much love, <br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i72.photobucket.com/albums/i171/heathervanl/leslie_signature_zps09f87867.png" /></a>Leslie @ top of the pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10003880675646742286noreply@blogger.com3