Parsin' Parsley

A couple of weeks ago, I started the tedious process of transplanting and re-locating my plants. My dad had made a comment about the fact that we were supposed to have measurable snow by November 1st this year, so I wanted to make sure that I saved as many accent plants as possible for graduation next spring. Since the parsley had been doing well all summer, I decided to move the pot into the house and set it by the kitchen sink.

As I was doing dishes this evening, I glanced over at the parsley. Over the past couple of days, the leaves had been a little droopy and yellowed. Clearly, the plant was dissatisfied with its current location; it longed to be outside where it had been warm, productive, thriving, and ok, I'll just say it, happy. As if to underscore that fact, the stems and leaves were straining toward the sunlight tonight (see picture).

I can totally relate.

I never seem to weather the seasons of life very well. I don't throw tantrums or objects. I don't cuss (out loud) or bawl (in front of people), but I generally don't like it, mostly because I'm sad about something I know I'll never get back again. Likewise, I tend to grieve the seemingly stupid things in life. For example, even though he is almost 20 years old, I remember rocking Nick to sleep every night - his weight and smell. There is a flat spot on Erika's nose where a kiss used to fit perfectly; now, kisses are no longer allowed. When Nick started to drive, we all gained some freedom, but I missed our rides to school together. Turning 16 opened a door to Erika's social life, but it meant that she chose to close off a part of herself from me. The situation brings Robert Frost's poem, "Nothing Gold Can Stay" to mind:

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

In my head, I know that these are all changes that must be weathered; in my heart, I feel as though I keep losing more than I am gaining. And so, I can empathize with my parsley as it leans and stretches towards its heart's desire.

I think it's normal to grieve that which is gone; I don't think it's ok to erect a statue to those memories and close them off with a fence around my heart. The fact that I'm sad that those days and memories are gone means that I enjoyed them, and that's a blessing in and of itself.

While I don't know what will happen next, I think I would be wise to follow the parsley's example - stretch to the light. Just as the light is necessary for the parsley to live to the fullest, the same is true for me. Likewise, I have been created with eyes facing forward, not on the back of my head, which means my focus should be on what's to come, not where I have been. That doesn't mean that the past is irrelevant; however, choosing to stay there means missing out on intended blessings.

James 1:17 "Whatever is good and perfect comes down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow."

The Un-Fairy Tale

Once upon a time. . .those magic words instantly transport a reader to place where loveliness, justice and kindness are the cornerstones of existence.  It is also a place where happy endings are the rule and not the exception. In order for a happy ending to occur, it follows that a period of sadness, tragedy, and darkness must precede. It is in this very darkness that our heroine found herself.

                She awoke as if from a dream and had no supposition concerning the time and location. Neither had she any idea how long she had been in her current location. How had she come to be to this place? It’s such a simple question, but even far wiser, more aged travelers than she would have difficulty in answering it. Sleep, while a soothing tonic for hurt minds and bodies, is by definition a natural suspension of consciousness. One does not need to have her eyes closed in order to be asleep; thus, a slumberer can easily become bewildered and displaced. Such was the case for the woman.

                All around her was an inky blackness, which made it difficult for her to determine the depth and width of her surroundings. Imaginative since birth, her mind immediately began to create scenes on the other side of the black curtain. For the extraordinarily creative and sensitive, such an enterprise can be both good and bad. Since boredom is the ultimate anathema, an active imagination is the antidote. In the same token, such vivid visions can easily turn grotesque, thereby creating fear. Such was the case for the woman, who since childhood, had harbored an undisguised dread of darkness.

                Her only saving grace was a thin shaft of light over her head. A seeming pin hole some distance away, the light created a perfect orb around the area on which she sat. It was from this light that she was able to see that floor was dark brown and either rock or cement. The light was not necessary in order for her to deduce that it was very hard and cold.

                While she collected the sensory details and tried to make sense of them, she heard a noise high above her. It originated from the pinhole of light far above her head. At first, she heard the light scuffling of shoes – like sand being ground in circular patterns on the ceiling. Forgetting her fears, she strained her ears to analyze the rhythmic cadences and concluded that whoever was above her was dancing. Then, soft tinkling of laughter as well as a fine layer of dust drifted downward, covering her head. Encouraged, she smiled and tilted her head toward the light. Surely, there was someone kind above who would be able to hear her and help her.

                A flash of pain jolted her from her reverie. It was her back, by her rib cage. The pain throbbed in time with her heart beat. As she reached around to touch the place, her fingers detected a bump; she knew without looking that it was already red and would quickly form a bruise.  Then, there was a stab of pain on the opposite side on her neck. Her hand instinctively went to her neck, and she spun around to determine the origin.  Then, she felt a grinding twist of pain on her right thigh.

Something or someone was pinching her. As she was reacting to a different pain, a new wound was inflicted from the opposite direction. Wildly, she began to spin in circles, clawing at the air, screaming at whomever or whatever was tormenting her. Once the physical pain subsided, she furtively twisted in all directions, finally collapsing, exhausted and defeated.

For a long while, she wailed and sobbed. At first, there were tears; then, the tears ran out and only the most miserable, inhuman sounds erupted from deep within. A new and different pain emerged from her chest; her heart had broken. It was an utter soul-emptying experience. Never had she felt so alone and desolate. Finally, when sorrow gave way to despair, she lay motionless, her cheek pressed to the cold floor. Just when she thought it was over, a new torment began.

You realize there is no way out, don’t you? No one knows you are here. No one misses you. Do you think someone will help you find your way out? And what would you do even if you found your way out? All around her, voices hissed, and the darkness seemed more ubiquitous than it had ever been. As she clamped her hands over her ears, the voices only seemed to intensify, echoing more loudly and insistently.  Finally exhausted and overwhelmed, she lost consciousness and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep once more.

In her youth, she had always slept soundly and deeply, waking refreshed and rejuvenated. As of late, her nocturnal dormancy was anything but a respite. Often fitful with bouts of insomnia, she began her days in a fog of languid torpor.  Even now, as her eyes opened, her lids felt thick, swollen, and heavy – lingering remnants of her previous melancholy. Her limbs were stiff and achy from the unforgiving stone floor.

Slowly, she lifted herself into a sitting position and morosely scanned her surroundings.  Nothing had changed.

Are you done now?

Since the voice was barely perceptible, she wasn’t sure if she actually had heard someone speak or if it was her imagination at work again.

Almost as if it had read her thoughts, the voice continued, Yes, what you hear is real. Are you ready to listen?

In considering her last experience with who or whatever was out there, the woman slid away from the voice to the edge of the shadows.  Where there was one, others must surely be as well.

There are no others. They have gone. For now, it is only you and me, the voice continued.

Panicking, the woman stood and continued to back away from the voice, moving away from the light and further into the darkness. Confused and suspicious, the woman remembered that the voices had brought pain before; she would rather venture into the unknown than re-live that ordeal.

With the blink of an eye, the lone light source was suddenly extinguished. All around the woman was an impervious wall of black.  Completely disoriented and entirely alone, the woman closed her eyes, as they were entirely useless to her.

In an ordinary circumstance, she would have been alarmed and might have even screamed. However, at the moment, she was oddly apathetic. She had experienced the full gamut of emotions and was therefore, overwrought; there was just nothing left to feel. All of her senses had been sapped. The only one that was currently of use to her was her sense of hearing.

Do I have your full attention now? The voice rang clear and loud; it seemed to be only a few feet away. Come.

The woman stood still and held her breath. A war of indecision raged within. Should she trust the voice and walk toward it, or should she stay still?

What benefit will it be to stay where you are? Nothing will change, and you will still be all alone. All I am asking for you to walk toward me.  Now that you have no choice but to listen, consider my voice. Does it sound like the others you heard earlier?

As she pondered the question, the woman conceded that the voice was calm and soothing where the other voices had been sibilant and harsh. Exhaling slowly, the woman hesitantly took a step toward the voice. . then another. . and another until she heard the voice stay Stop. It sounded mere inches from her face. Sit, please.

The woman obediently lowered herself to the ground. As her hands steadied her body, she was surprised that the patch of concrete was slightly warm.

Yes, you have returned to the place where you were lying earlier. Now, are you ready to leave this place?

Rather than answer, the woman sobbed in anguish. The combined prospect of remaining in torment as well as the anticipation of leaving overwhelmed her, leaving her speechless.

All right. Here is what you need to do. Remove the stones beneath you.

The absurdity of the command caused her to cry harder. Remove stones? There was no way it could be done. She had no tools. She was not strong enough. Since there was now no light, she would not be able to even see what she was doing. Was this cruel mockery?

Tools? Strength? Light? You already have them. Your limited thinking is keeping you from what you desire.  Tools do not just fit inside a hand. Strength is not limited to the body. Light is not perceived only by the eyes.

The woman considered what she had been told. How could she remove the stones? What tools did she possess to aid her in this task? As she thought, images began to form in the darkness. Like negatives on film, the woman saw the stones lift and float upward, one by one, from their resting places on the floor. With the removal of each stone, a dim shaft of light broke through the darkness to the ceiling, ultimately illuminating a staircase that led further underground. Gamely, the woman extended her leg, testing to see if the vision was a mirage. Her foot had, indeed, landed on a step; it was real.

 As she made her way down the staircase, she laughed at the realization. Of course, she had always possessed the necessary tool, which was her imagination. If only she had realized it sooner!  

The farther down the staircase she went, the stronger the light became until she emerged and found herself blinded by the afternoon sun. She was no longer inside the dark, cold cavern; she was in a lush, green meadow. A soft wind whispered through the trees as songbirds and butterflies flitted and frolicked in the warm air.  She sighed contentedly as she sank into the grass beside a small pond.

Although she was happy to be restored to a place of loveliness and beauty, she couldn’t help but think that something was missing. The voice – where had it gone? While it had been loud and strong in the darkness, she had not heard it since she had started down the staircase. In the quiet solitude of her peaceful surroundings, she had strained to hear the voice but heard not even a whisper. How had it known the way out? How had it known that she possessed the tools? How had it known the source of strength and light? How had it known her so well?

Lazily, she picked strands from the grassy knoll as she considered all this. The songs of the birds, the rustle of the wind through the tall grass, and the gentle lapping of the pond lulled her into drowsiness. Soon, she was fast sleep, which, as we have learned, dear reader, can lead to a variety of consequences. . .or adventures, depending on one’s viewpoint.

Undoubtedly, our heroine lived happily ever after, and yet, not in the way fairy tales have traditionally taught one to expect. In order to live happily ever after, our heroine has learned (even though she might not realize it yet) that the darkness (and subsequent sadness and/or tragedy) is necessary and even coveted because it means a reunion with the voice. Without the voice, she can never truly be happy, she can never rise to her true, intended potential, and she can never find the direction she must go. By focusing on and obeying the voice, she will, indeed, live happily ever after.

“And this is the message we have heard from Him and announce to you, that God is light, and in Him, there is no darkness at all.” I John 1: 5     

No One Wins

Have you ever noticed that when it comes to moral dilemmas, people generally fall into two categories? There are those who run from them and avoid conflict at all costs, and then, there are those who may not necessarily run TO them, but certainly get some satisfaction in being a part of the resolution. I don't think I fall into either category. I don't go looking for dilemmas, but somehow they seem to find me nonetheless.

            Since I have been a classroom teacher to high school juniors and seniors for the past 21 years, I have certainly been a part of my fair share of moral dilemmas. As a Christian and teacher, I have navigated these dilemmas fairly successfully because I have a well-tuned sense of right and wrong.

            However, when my own two children became teenagers and dovetailed with my professional environment, the rules of the game suddenly changed. Navigating the morass of teenaged angst became a whole lot more complicated because now my kids were players in the drama that fuels the high school environment.  Fortunately, my kids never have had starring roles. . .until this year.

            To explain, my daughter and her bestie are involved in a second-tier (possibly third, since it's not really recognized or supported by the school) winter sport. While this particular team is not exceptionally athletic, they enjoy a strong camaraderie and have been satisfied to cocoon themselves away as their own brand of "nerd herd." In practical terms, they choose each other's company for bon-fires, movie nights, etc. Likewise, each of the kids in this group are high-achieving and intelligent and comes from homes where there is a mom, dad, supervision and structure.

            Imagine my surprise when my daughter and her friend casually mentioned that the guys in the group had started smoking marijuana. My inner mom impulse was to flip out, but after years of practice, teacher mom knew that I had to stay cool if the flow of information was to continue.

            Before you get all indignant on me, I am fully aware and agree that "good" kids are not exempt from doing drugs. In fact, in our school, many of the biggest drug users and dealers are jocks and preps (the popular kids). Likewise, in the high school in which I currently teach, marijuana is the drug of choice these days, superceding its old-fashioned counterpart, alcohol. The reasons for use (alcohol or drugs) is still the same, no matter the decade: courage, pressure to conform, and escape. My strong reaction stemmed from having a "mama bear" moment. For those of you that are unfamiliar, it's where a normally placid woman turns into a teeth-bearing, protective mother.

            As both a teacher and mother, I was in a quandary. What was I supposed to DO with this information? Initially, I had a private conversation with my principal. In essence, he assured me that I was under no moral obligation to report it.  He further disclosed that he had encountered a parallel circumstance in which he learned that his son's friends were smoking pot. He had let the issue run its course; the boys under question ultimately screwed up and were caught. My principal said that my first and only responsibility was to my daughter, and I should do nothing to compromise my relationship with her.

            So that's what I did: nothing. I kept my mouth shut even though every time I saw the parents of these kids, I felt immense guilt.

            Yesterday, the rules of the game changed again.

            After a meeting for the sport in which all these kids are involved, my husband and I and a pot-smoking boy's parents coincidentally (yeah, I know it's not coincidence) decided to eat at the same fast food restaurant at the same time. They asked to sit with us, and we complied.

            Throughout the conversation, we listened to the boy's parents talk about how proud they were of their son - that even though some people he knows are/were smoking pot, he had assured them that he was not doing that. I grew more and more uncomfortable as I listened to them talk. Everything they said was in clear opposition to what our daughter had told us.

            Naturally, at the close of dinner, I immediately called my daughter and told her we had to talk to her. We relayed the conversation, and I point-blank asked her, "Have you seen ____ actually smoke pot?"

            In detail, she described where the boys kept the pot, how they prepared it, how they smoked it, what they did to combat the physical "tells," and how often they smoked it. She ended by saying that if needed, she would tell these boys parents. When I asked her why she would throw herself under the bus like that, she said, "I am tired of them getting away with it. They are proud of it, and because we are friends with them, other people think that_____(bestie) and I do it too. I don't want people to think I am a pothead." And yes, shoot me. Call me naive. Say my judgment is clouded, but I believe my daughter when she says she is not, and has not, smoked pot. She is ready to take a pee test at any time, and what would her motivation be for telling me if she was actually doing it too?

            So make life easy. . .she should just make new friends. When I first heard about the pot-smoking, I told her to quit hanging around these guys. She argued that even if they smoke pot, they are still her friends. She continued by saying that their drug-use decision, while not hers, was not a deal-breaker for throwing the friendship away. Likewise, it's her senior year. Friendships are securely established by this point, and even though it's a large high school, the seniors are comfortably nestled into their chosen cliques. She is an adult, not ten anymore; while I can offer guidance, I cannot choose for her.

            With that in mind, while I admire her bravery and conviction, I am worried about the backlash (and all that the word encompasses). . for her, ____(bestie) and us if we move forward with this. But on the other hand, I feel immense guilt. . .and responsibility. If it was MY kid, I would want to know. As painful as it would be, I would prefer to know than not. Likewise, what if something happens to these boys as a result of drug use? I would feel implicated because I KNEW something and didn't say.

            I came in early to work today and talked to another, different assistant principal. His kids are grown, so I wanted to pick his brain from the voice of experience. You can probably imagine what he said. . .like five times:

            "If it was my kid, I would want to know."

            Ugh. Ugh x 2. I am struggling, and yet, this morning's devotions came from Mark 6:30-44, which is the feeding of the 5,000.  The writer said, "We come as we are, sometimes lost, sometimes discouraged, and sometimes having little faith. But as long as we are willing to give all that we have, God will do the rest. As long as we are willing to surrender them completely, God will multiply what faith and talents we have to equip us with more than we need to bless those around us."

            I am praying for wisdom to make the right decision. Like I said, I have a strong  moral inclination of knowing right from wrong. However, I am asking for the best course to do the right thing. I covet your prayers. . .and any wisdom you can bring to this issue.

The Ultimate Oxymoron: Church Conflict - A Church United Becomes A Church Divided, Now What?

For almost a year, I have been grappling with church-related angst. My struggle has not involved the concept of church; it has stemmed from the actions and ideology of one church in particular. The trouble began last November with the building campaign at the church of which I am a member. Without getting into detail, I struggled the approach and integrity of the campaign. Apparently, I am not alone. At various intervals and without intentionally seeking the conversations, I have listened to the struggles and concerns of other church members with regard to the same issues as I over the past year.

Throughout it all, I have tried to address my angst in a Godly way, asking Him to be very specific and blunt with me (since that is really the only way anything gets through my thick skull). To explain, my prayer has been that God be very clear to me concerning what is a sickness of my own heart and what is a sickness in the church and most importantly, what He wants me/us to do.

A couple weeks ago as I was pondering and praying over the issue again, God reminded me that the best course of action was to consider the source: His Word. In addition to an intimate relationship with Him, His Word is the answer to every question that arises. As I started thinking about a place to start, I was reminded that church conflict and conflict amongst believers plagued the Corinthians. So I opened to 2 Corinthians and started reading Paul's letter in which he details his observations and advice with regard to the conflicts that were erupting. While I am not, and do not claim to be a theological scholar, here is what I gleaned from the process. Consider it food for thought.

1. Through God ONLY should all decisions occur. (1:12) Decisions regarding church, including policy, the body, the building. . everything should only be made from God's leading and prompting. In the same token, all decisions that a person makes in his/her life, including family matters, financial matters, spiritual matters, etc, should only be made from God's leading and prompting through "holiness and godly sincerity, not fleshly wisdom" (which is typically faulty and self-oriented.)


2. In 2 Corinthians 2:7, Paul reminds believers that we are called to forgive one another. It seems like such a simplistic thing to do, but our first impulse is ourselves - to protect our pride. However, when conflict occurs, this has to happen first.

3. Once forgiveness has occurred (genuine forgiveness), Paul reminds us that we are to reaffirm our love toward God and one another in 2 Corinthians 2:8.

4.  In 2:15, Paul reminds the Corinthians that we are being watched by unbelievers. "For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are being punished." When there is conflict within the church body, Satan is thrilled with the result. He is achieving his purpose, which is to weaken the body. When unbelievers see supposed-Christians fighting amongst themselves, it serves to reinforce any excuses or stereotypes they have regarding Christianity. And isn't a Christian's greatest purpose to bring glory to God and make disciples? "Therefore, also we have as our ambition, whether at home or absent, to be pleasing to Him" (5:9)

5. In 3:6, Paul reminds believers that they are servants of a new covenant, which means their adequacy - all that they are, all that they need and all that they will ever be is from God, not themselves. In short, we are not our own. Therefore, the desires of our hearts and the endeavors of our hands are not our own. He basically reinforces #1 in this verse.

6. In 3:16, Paul talks about the fact that our human condition means there is a "veil lying over our hearts." This veil prevents us from clearly seeing God's purposes and desires, which then allows selfishness to control our thoughts and actions, which, in turn, leads to conflict. Whenever a man turns to The Lord, a "veil is taken away" (3:16). In 4:6, Paul states that when this happens, "a light shines out of the darkness."

7. As a point of encouragement, Paul reminds the Corinthians in 4:17 that even in affliction (conflict), God is using His people for His purposes. This particular verse is an encouragement to me. It has been a difficult year in many ways for me, but through it all, I am reminded that every difficulty and struggle is helping me to rely on God more and myself less. Even though I am not enjoying the process, I am encouraged that God cares so much about ME that he allows these difficulties in my life so that I can ultimately become the person He wants me to be. The same thing is true for His church. Even in the present circumstances and struggles, God knows exactly what He is doing and why He is doing it. Ultimately, it will bring Him glory.

8. Likewise, in the midst of these struggles, Paul states in 5:7 that we "walk by faith, not by sight." While we do not know the why of the situation, it's not our job to worry about the why. God has been very clear and firm throughout the Bible that our job is to be obedient to His voice and promptings. Our obedience to His voice in the small and seemingly simple circumstances in life means we ultimately follow His Will for our life. There is no need for us to know or see the big picture; however, there is a need for us to keep our eyes and ears trained on the Maker of the pictures.

9. Again, in chapter 5, verse 20, Paul states that believers are "called to reconcile." We are to put God first, above and beyond ourselves. It is not God's Will that we squabble and bicker with one another; both are products of a selfish nature.

10. Further, in 6:12, Paul reminds the Corinthians that we are own own worst enemies. Like the Corinthians, we limit our Godly potential because we are "restrained in [our] own affections." In conflict, we put our desires and "affections" first, which distracts us from God's desires.

11. In addition, Paul continues his line of reasoning by reminding the Corinthians that WE, as believers, ARE THE BUILDING, the sanctuary, the church itself. "For we are the temple of the living God. . .I [God] will dwell in them and walk among them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people" (6:16). In 5:1, he presents a related idea: "For we know that if the earthly tent, which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Squabbling about a physical building is a non-issue because a physical building is not the church. It will ultimately rot and disintegrate.

In thinking about this concept, I am convinced that the discord within the church regarding the building campaign is symptomatic of a deeper issue. The building campaign has just been the vehicle that has been used to bring the issue to the surface.   What do we do about it? Start at number one and continue through the list again. Rinse and repeat as necessary.

12. In addressing this issue, Paul advises the Corinthians to "stay away from anything evil and cling to what is good." We are to recognize that which brings glory to God and run from anything that might prevent it.

13. Paul returns to the purpose of suffering in 7:9 by reminding the Corinthians that the reason for their present sufferings is to make them more like Christ. The same is true for us today:  "You were made sorrowful to the point of repentance; for you were made sorrowful according to the Will of God, in order that you might not suffer loss in anything through us."

14. In order to be successful in resolving conflict, humility is an undeniable and absolutely necessary quality and condition of the heart. The purpose of pride is protection of the ego; it is a defensive mechanism that reacts when self feels threatened. If resolution is to occur, pride has to be left at the door. "For if the readiness [humility] is present, it is acceptable according to what a man has, not according to what he does not have" (8:19).

15. Just as humility is a necessary ingredient to resolution, so is the realistic examination of one's motives. If there is no true, Godly change of heart or if resolution does not involve forgiveness and reconciliation, conflict is bound to arise again. "Now this I say, he who sows sparingly shall also reap sparingly; and he who sows bountifully shall also reap bountifully" (9:6).  When a Godly nature and heart is applied, it follows that blessings will overflow.

16. Yet again, in 10:5, Paul reminds the Corinthians that the most important point to consider is obedience to Christ, not obedience to a group. . .or idea. . .or worship style. . .or building, etc. "We are destroying speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of Christ, and we are TAKING EVERY THOUGHT CAPTIVE TO THE OBEDIENCE OF GOD." God is the filter through which every thought and action occurs.

17. In 10:7, Paul asks the question: Whose are you? Examine YOUR own heart. To whom do your thoughts and heart belong? What are your motivations? What drives you? "You are looking at things as they are outwardly. If anyone is confident in himself that he is Christ's, let him consider this again within himself, that just as he is Christ's, so also are we."

18. In 11:3, Paul dares the unthinkable and tackles the unmentionable by asking the Corinthians, are we being lead away Satan? Is the present conflict a result of Satan's influence? "But I am afraid, just as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, your minds should be led astray from the simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ." Likewise, what, in our present circumstances, has led us away from the "simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ"? Have we allowed the details, rules, and window dressing to get in the way of what is most important?

19. In asking the question, Paul provides the solution in 13:5 by again reminding the Corinthians to examine their own hearts. "Test yourselves to see if you are in the faith; examine yourselves! Or do you not recognize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you - unless indeed you fail the test?" Ouch. It's important to ask the question, but be prepared for the answer - even if you may not like it.

20. Lastly, Paul reminds the Corinthians (and us) to do what is right. "For we can do nothing against the truth, but only FOR the truth" (13:8). Our purpose is to be conveyors of true, light, salt, and good; all actions and thoughts are held accountable to that purpose. And when we slip and fall (such is the condition of conflict), "we rejoice when we ourselves are weak but you are strong; this we also pray for, that you be made complete" (13:9).In all and through all, our pray should be that God's Will be done (as He would have it, not us). Paul ends his letter by saying that above all, we should "live in peace" (13:11).

So now what? Is this the ultimate butt-chewing? Are we supposed to be remorseful? Ashamed? Defeated?

Not at all. Through His Word, God has shown us (me) very clearly the motivations of conflict, the dangers of conflict, and ways to resolve conflict - whether it be church, family, work-related (etc) conflict. Rather than focusing on who is right and who is wrong or what I want or don't want or what I like or don't like,  my (our) job seems to be, in its most basic form, to focus on what God wants.

The Church Picture Family Farce: If I Laugh At Us First, Then You Can Laugh Too

I certainly have never claimed that that we are the Waltons; if anything, we are the anti-Waltons. While it's true that we get along 100% of 52% of the time, that's mostly because we see each other in passing. Friday night, however, required cooperation and a coordination of four schedules; the result of which I am pretty sure lowered our family average to 51%.

The event under question was the scheduling of church pictures. Every five to six years, the church hires a photography company to snap the pics of current, occasional, tri-holiday *, and wanna-be members. This has never been a big deal for our family, mostly because previous pictures were taken before a) the kids learned how to voice an opinion, and b) the kids could drive and be employed. Thus, the first arduous task of said venture was finding a workable time. After three or four attempts and subsequent rescheduled dates, we finally agreed on September 20 at 8:00 pm. I knew that the 8:00 pm time slot would be a challenge for me because a) it would be a Friday night**, and b)  it would be t-minus one hour from my usual bedtime. However, since the kids were amenable to that time slot, I would take one for the team.

At least, I thought we had 100% agreement on the time slot.

On Monday, as I was depositing clean clothes in Nick's room, I glanced at the calendar on his door and noted that he had written "Family pictures" on the September 27. I wrinkled my brow, walked over to the calendar, and corrected the error. As I exited the room, a flicker of doubt passed through me. Originally, I had schedule pics for the 20th, but due to a work conflict with one of the kids, I had re-scheduled for the 27th. I had told him that, right?

I sent a text to Erika, and she confirmed that she was off Friday night. Good. One down. Now, to check with the other.

As Nick headed out the door to work on Thursday morning, I reminded him of pics on Friday night. "Uh, no," he replied sarcastically, "You told me the 27th. I have to work on Friday night." *** After bickering for a few minutes, he left in a huff, and I was indignant. After all, I had told him the 20th, and he had screwed up . . .or . . .did he?

As I sat back in my chair, I thought to myself, "I did tell him about re-scheduling, right?" I have now reached the age where I-think-I-did and I-did merge together to create its own special reality. The only difference is that as one ages, s/he becomes exponentially stubborn about admitting that such a phenomenon occurs. Later, after a kind entreaty, Nick softened a bit and said that he might be able to get off an hour early. . .if he got all his work done early at Cub. Ok, I could live with that.

On Friday afternoon, I sent a text to Erika to remind her: "Remember church pics at 8."

Erika: "How long"

Me: "IDK"

Erika: "I need to know"

Me:"I suppose it depends on how on schedule they are and how cooperative we are"

Erika: "Guess"

Me: "1/2 hour at the very most"

Erika: "OMG why"

Knowing that all the burgeoning drama was due to the fact that a) there was a home football game, and b) there was a new young suitor on the line, I suggested that she wear her clothes for the pic to the game and shoot across to church (which is directly across from the football field ****and meet us there at 8. There were a few more pointed texts about attire *****and the time of rendezvous ******, but Erika was taken care of. Check.

By 7:45 p.m. Mike and I were sitting in front of Cub, waiting for Nick to exit *******. When he didn't appear, Mike went in to get him. When he exited, shaking his head, I knew that it wasn't because there was a pack of angry bees swarming his head. As he opened the door and slid into the seat, Mike reported, "He said he will be out in five minutes. He wants to work until 8."

"But we have to be there at 8!" I yelled ********.

After five minutes, Nick still had not appeared. I tapped the steering wheel. I reached for the ignition. . .three separate times. Then, I opened the door, and as I exited the vehicle, I could hear my long-suffering, exasperated husband say, "Oh, my. Here we go."

As I entered Cub, I made eye contact with #1 son, waved, and mouthed "we're leaving" as I abruptly turned around. As I was making my way out, I saw two of his co-workers and stopped to say hi*********. Nick was close on my heels, and I could tell by the flaring of the nostrils that the bull had been poked.

Speeding somewhat**********, Nick changed in the backseat***********, and we "shared our feelings with one another" on the way to church. As I entered the parking lot, my phone began buzzing loudly in my purse. "Will someone get that, please?" I asked, "I'm sure it's Erika, wondering where we are."

Right. The phone continued to buzz again and again. "WILL SOMEONE PLEASE ANSWER MY PHONE?! I AM DRIVING HERE!" Loath to dig in my purse, neither made a move. For whatever reason, the boys in my house seem to think that a woman's purse is like a giant snake pit into which no one of the male species is ever allowed to enter.

After parking the car, I grabbed my phone out of my purse. Sure enough, Erika had called me. . .five times. Grumbling and muttering, we ran across the parking lot; Erika was waiting for us at the front door: "Um, you told me I had to be here by 7:45. You're late."

"It's your brother's fault," I said pointedly. "He wouldn't leave work."

"Solid color, huh? Then, why is Dad wearing that sweater?" She replied, pointing at Mike. To explain, Mike was wearing a solid gray sweater with an argyle front.

Not wanting to get stuck in one of Erika's tangled verbal labyrinths************, I simply said, "Because he looks good in that sweater" as I brushed by her."*************

As we approached the check-in desk, it was just as I feared; they were behind schedule. Normally, I don't care, but since I had pulled Thing 1 and Thing 2 from their preferred activities, I knew I was never going to hear the end of it.

As usual, I was so right.

First, Nick started in, "So we are going to be late, huh, Mom? I had to leave work early. . " Then, Erika cut in and tag-teamed, "Oh my gosh, seriously? We have to hurry up. I left _____ at the game, and I didn't tell him where I was going. . ."

Ugh, even though I didn't have to use the restroom, I escaped under the guise of needing a potty break. After a few deep breaths to restore my equilibrium, I was ready to head back into the ring. After fifteen more minutes of bickering **************, it was our turn.

And just like that, aliens (presumably) entered the bodies of our two children, and they turned into cooperative, cajoling subjects for the Lifetouch guy. "Do you two get along?" he asked in attempt to put them at ease.

"Oh yes," Erika smiled and gushed, "We're the best of friends."

I choked, and Mike rolled his eyes. Then, he looked at me, shook his head, and started to smile.I wasn't quite to the point where I thought this was a charming moment, but then again, Mike has always had a much higher tolerance threshhold. It's part of the reason why this marriage works so well.

And so, we cheesy-smiled our way through the portrait session where our family picture will soon be found in the church directory. After it was all said and done, I received a text from Erika that said, "Sorry for the sass."  Nick, too, must have been remorseful because as we were dropping him off at a friend's house, he gave me a pat on the shoulder, which is as close to an apology as I am going to get.

As we drove home, I thought about the fact that this would probably be the last family picture we would take for church. In five years, Nick will be 24, Erika will be 22, and both will more than likely no longer be living at home. While I had wanted a Waltons moment . . .for the last picture to be memorable ***************, I should have known better. We are, and have never been, the Waltons. Rather than reminisce about fun trips and happy events, my kids prefer to re-tell and giggle over our family faux pas and embarrassing moments. Ok, I guess I will take that; those stories definitely bind us together. And now, thanks to Friday night, we'll have a new one to laugh about. . .eventually.


* Members who only show up on the three important church holidays:
Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter

** Cupcakes (aka jammie pants) are applied by no later than 7:00 pm on
weeknights. On weekends, and if it has been an especially trying week,
cupcakes are on by 6:00 pm, and are accompanied by a glass of whatever
wine happens to be in the house

*** Note to self: 6:00 a.m. is not a good time to discuss anything with a
teenager. EVER.

**** How convenient

***** Wear something long-sleeved and solid-colored

****** Erika: "I will be there at 8" vs. Mom: "Be there at 7:45"

******* Nick's car had been sold at 5:00 pm, so he had no wheels and had to be
picked up from work.

******** Prior to having children, Mike and I were the most punctual people on the
planet. . .for realz. We were ALWAYS fifteen minutes early for everything.
Then, we had kids and blew that track record clean out of the water.

********* As a teacher, rudeness is never an option.

********** Ok, excessively. Sorry, law enforcement officers. Usually, I am a very
temperate, responsible driver. However, stress and driving is an ugly
combo for Missy.

*********** Yes, I had picked out his outfit AND ironed his shirt.

************ If Erika had been the lawyer at OJ Simpson's trial, that man would never
have seen the light of day again. Word.

************* Yes, I went there. I pulled the parental "because" card.

************** One-sided. I refused to play. I opted for the silent treatment, which is a
deadly weapon to kids. They know how to combat tears and volcanic
explosions, but silence plays with their minds.

*************** For the record, it WAS memorable.

Navigating Through the Perfect Storm

To live is to experience stress; that is a basic law of life - as natural as breathing and eating. While there are, indeed, two types of stress - eustress (good kind) and distress (bad kind), it is the latter we tend to experience and lament the most.

My spin on this topic has always been that any stress can be endured as long as it is an isolated case. For example, if I have a bad day at work, it is much more bearable if everything is ok at home/with the family or at church. But when all three are out of joint, the stress is overwhelming.

Every once in a while, the perfect storm ignites - when the gales from the different shores of one's life become so turbulent that one loses his/her sense of balance and direction. I can't say that I am in a storm right now, but I can certainly smell rain in the air.

As usual, God is good and dropped just the perfect scripture into my lap to combat the brewing storm.  First, yesterday's devotional verse was Romans 5: 3 - "Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit whom He has given us."

Then, this morning's verse was from I Samuel 17: 37 - "The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine." Even though David was talking about himself, the verse could be talking about anyone of us; all we would have to do is insert three different nouns. The God is the same, and so is the power.

My particular talent is waking up in the middle of the night to agonize over things that a) I cannot control, and b) I certainly can do nothing about at 3 am. This morning, however, God brought the Fruits of the Spirit to mind. Rather than five smooth stones, here is the way in which He is helping me to approach the Philistine of stress in my life:

(Inhale) Love. . . . . . . .(Exhale) Hate
(Inhale) Joy. . . . . . . . . (Exhale) Sadness
(Inhale) Peace. . . . . . .(Exhale) Chaos
(Inhale) Patience.  . . . .(Exhale) My timeline
(Inhale) Kindness .  . . . (Exhale) Bitterness
(Inhale) Goodness. . . . (Exhale) Judgment
(Inhale) Gentleness. . . .(Exhale) Harshness
(Inhale) Faithfulness. . . (Exhale) Doubt
(Inhale) Self-Control . . .(Exhale) Selfishness  

Dream A Little Dream With Me

“The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head.” This quote from Tim O'Brien's book, Things They Carried. As O'Brien writes book about the Vietnam War, he tries to reinforce that storytelling is an act of love; it is a way for us to bring life to those who are no longer here. September 14th marks the day on which my cousin, Lisa Jarveis, would have turned 43. Dream along with me as I relay fourteen memories about her.

One toy that I always wanted as a kid but never got was a Sit 'N Spin, but Lisa had one. It was blue with the tell-tale rainbow swirl in the middle. I remember us both sitting on the Sit 'N Spin, one on either side, our legs straddling each other, so we could both be on it at the same time. We would spin and laugh until we were ready to puke, or until the person's legs on the bottom had become numb. Then, we would switch places and do it all over again.

When Erika was born, Mike and I asked Lisa and Jason to be her godparents. After baptism, everyone was back at our house on Quincy to have lunch. At the time, Erika was about a month old, and she was struggling with digesting formula. Long story short, right after eating, Erika would projectile vomit, and of course, that's what she did that day as well. I remember taking Erika back to her room to change her clothes, and Lisa quietly walked in behind me. Almost in tears, Lisa said, "What's wrong, Miss? Is she going to be all right?" When it came to kids, no one had a bigger heart for them, especially babies, than Lisa. I included this memory because I was touched that day by her empathy - tearful because my baby didn't feel well and wanting to know how she could help.

When Grandpa and Grandma Ryks first moved to town (Prinsburg), our uncle, Harvey, lived with them, and the basement must have been his domain. Anyway, there was a turntable down there, along with all of Uncle Harvey's disco records. I remember laughing and dancing as Lisa and I tried to figure out what the heck a "Hustle" was supposed to look like. Our favorite disco record was KC and the Sunshine Band; the orange shag carpeting completed the disco vibe for us.

As long as we're talking about Grandma's basement, there was a time when all four of us (Lisa, Brad, Ross, and I) were together, and it was time for lunch (the-farmer-schedule-3pm-midafternoon-snack-lunch). We decided to eat downstairs at the card table, and Grandma brought the food, including a freshly-made pitcher of grape Kool-Aid. While pouring up the juice, Lisa felt confident that it was a spill-proof pitcher and decided to test the laws of gravity by tipping the pitcher upside down.  She was right. . .for about two seconds, and then, there was a purple flood. . .which trickled over the sides of table to the orange shag. It was not our best moment, but we all hustled to get the mess cleaned up.

As a kid, there was nothing better than playing in the grove. When Lisa's family moved to the "home" place, we cleared out parts of the grove, just west of the house. At the time, Harvey's raccoon "palace" still existed, but we were told we couldn't play in there. Instead, we removed the brush and sticks in several "pockets" of the grove to create a house with rooms. We even got a broom and swept the dirt of our "house." As most people know, the grove is usually a treasure trove of broken and cast-off pieces of household crap. This was true for us as well, so we spent lots of time scouring the grove for broken plates, old frying pans. . .whatever junk we could use to make our "house" better.

For my 30th birthday, Mike, Lisa, Jason, and I all went to Stillwater to take a river cruise. We had dinner aboard the paddleboat and listened to a Dixieland Jazz band while cruising the Mississippi. Since our lives had gotten so busy with our kids, it was nice to be able to spend a little time together, so it's a special memory for me.

Every once in a while, Lisa and I would get to have a sleepover. It was more fun at Lisa's house because she had a huge queen-sized bed. I remember very distinctly, lying side-by-side, whispering late into the night. As the night went on, the deeper and darker secrets would be revealed with a solemn promise that went something like this, "I'm going to tell you this, but you can't ever tell anybody." This was the closest moment I have ever had with regard to having a sister. Even to this day, there are things that Lisa told me that I have never revealed to anyone.

As far as I know, Lisa never wore blush. Did you know that? Since she was a Mary Kay dealer for a long time, I would occasionally buy stuff from her, and one day, I asked her what kind of blush I should buy - creme or powder. She explained that she didn't know because she never wore any. She said she didn't like it because it looked fake. Random, I know, but I thought it was interesting.

Another toy that Lisa had that I coveted for a long time was the Barbie Dream House. You know the one. . .with an elevator and multiple floors. It was the bomb. Every time I was over there, I wanted to play with the thing because I was a Barbie girl, hard-core. While Lisa was fine with playing Barbies, she was a baby doll girl. She loved and loved her babies. I guess she was preparing for her career and greatest passion, motherhood. Sidebar: My mom and dad made me my own Barbie Dream House and furniture, which I received somewhere around 1978-80 for Christmas. I still have it, and my children have never been allowed to play with it.

One Christmas, Lisa and I were at her house when they lived on the home place. We usually celebrated with the Ryks bunch on Christmas Day. After eating and opening gifts, we were bored and went outside. Her dad (I think) had just bought a brand-new snowmobile, so after getting the green light to use it, we took off - she was driving, and I was behind her. If you knew Lisa at all, the word, "slow," was not a part of her driving vocabulary, so naturally, she had that throttle mashed wide-open as we jetted across the plowed field. The same was true on the return trip to the yard, only as we were headed toward the driveway, she didn't slow down. . . at all. I don't know if she didn't see it, or what, but we hit the driveway approach at full speed. . .and were full-on, Dukes-of-Hazzard airborne for a bit. We landed hard, and by an act of God, we didn't flip. As we stopped to catch out breath, neither of said a word, looked at each other, and burst out laughing. When we ran into the house to tell the adults what we had done, no one believed us. We still laughed about this incident in later years.

Back in the day, the Ryks children were subjected to an annual activity that occurred at the very buttcrack of summer. . .swimming lessons. Usually, our parents would book lessons for us at the Renville pool during the first or second week of June. Did I mention that the Renville pool was an outside pool? The first week of June was brutal because the water was ice-cold, it rained often, and we would have them in the morning or around noon. Anyway, Lisa and I had a hard-core crush on one of the lifeguards/instructors; his name was Shawn Grabow, and even in June, he had a deep Coppertone tan and feathery David Cassidy hair. One of the tasks we would have to complete in order to move to the next lesson level was jumping off the high dive. Honestly, there was no logical reason we had to do this if we are talking about swimming lessons, but that was what we had to do. Confession:  Lisa and I would pretend that we were scared to jump off so that Shawn had to climb the ladder and "threaten" to push us off. It was so silly, but we loved the attention because he was hott. Ha!

My memory is faulty with regard to the actual vehicle involved with this next memory. The car I most associate with Lisa is the minty greenish Caprice Classic; she beat the poop out of that guy, so I am going to say this incident happened with that car. Anyway, one night when I was out on a date with Mike, we spotted Lisa and Amy, and so we started a game of chase on the side streets of Willmar. We were ripping around the corners at a pretty good clip on the southwest side - over by Redeemer Lutheran Church; it was all in fun. However, it's all fun and games. . .until a cop is involved. While we got away, Lisa was pulled over. I can't say if she got a ticket or not, but I can tell you this. The next morning, bright and early, the phone rang at my house. It was Lisa. "Hey, you know what happened last night?" she asked. "Can we keep that to ourselves?" (Translation: I don't want my mom and dad to find out.) I think it's safe to spill the beans on that one now. ;)

Even though we weren't sisters, there are three months between us, and there were some connections between the two of us that were more than coincidental. For example, my name, Melissa, was a name that had been seriously considered for Lisa as well. My mom and dad didn't find that out until later.  Later, the name, Gretchen, was on my list for any girl children we might have, and Lisa named her firstborn Greta (a lovely name with a strong heritage). I don't know if I ever told Lisa about that. When our son was born, we named him Nicholas, which was also Lisa's number one choice of a boy's name.

Number 14 is a memory that I can't share but am so thankful for. On March 16, 2012, I drove out to see and chat with Lisa. By divine appointment, we were alone in the house, so we were able to talk about whatever we wanted to, and we did. For about two hours, we chatted, cried, laughed, and discussed. Had I known then what was about to transpire, I would have stayed much longer. Even so, I am thankful for the time we had.

Every time I think about her, it's like enjoying the warmth of a favorite sweater then pulling a thread and unraveling a sleeve. The memories make it feel as though she is still here, but there are so many questions. In any case, I am thankful for the memories, and there is joy and comfort in knowing that she is spending her birthday in the best possible place.