An Election Lament

The country has waged a full-blown civil war,
but there’s nothing that’s civil about it.

The underground chasms that lay so long dormant 

have surfaced and broaden the rift.

A two party system that forces two sides,

while neither is full friend or full foe.

Demanding decision - come on, where’s allegiance?

Make a choice…cuz the aisle’s now closed.

The vision of eyes has narrowed enough 

that enemy is all that we see.

Unless of course, you have the “good sense”

to only agree with wise me.

We’re force-fed opinions and ear-splitting derisions,

all the while, we dismiss one another.

We can’t insist freedom for our slice of the pie,

while oppressing the life of a brother.

We swallow the thought that louder means lovely

but sometimes, loud is just loud.

With deafening speech and a short-sighted voice,

the decibels shatter our trust.

Parents aren’t havens when drafting their children

so families are torn full apart;

Friendships unravel, relationships scatter,

as words drop like bombs on our hearts.

The keyboard’s become our nuclear codes.

And social media? It’s almost all anti-social.

For we forget that we’re interdependent, 

not made by God as precocial.

Removing the safety, the crosshairs in sight,

sound-off with your words, sons and daughters.

Go ahead, kill me quick, neighbor of mine,

for we’re all being led to the slaughter.

No longer neutral in this no-man’s-land,

where life isn’t meant to exist.

Every square inch has become full-on noxious,

seems futile to try and resist.

To just keep on fighting brings no victory,

for all of us end wounded warriors.

So holding my hands in a silent surrender

I shed my heart’s prejudiced borders.

Retreat, in this case, is not my defeat,

instead it’s the spartan brigade.

For people aren’t targets, they’re not punching bags,

I won’t sling my words like grenades.

So I am defying the conventional orders 

of a most unkempt civil war.

Civil disobedience is my battle cry,

as I seek to give another the floor.

Don’t cut my taxes, instead cut my losses

and I’ll start to reorient my view.

Until freedom and justice is granted for all

this meaningful fight we can choose. 

The most foreign of policies we could ever espouse 

is to fight for the rights of another.

So foe becomes friend, yet again in this land,

and enemy transformed to a brother.

Until we decide to mutiny our fear,

we can’t be the home of the brave.

A country united for the good of each life,

let that be the banner that waves.

Hidden Tangerine Sky

Last week, I was sitting on the back porch. With the wind in my face and the smell of rain in the air, I looked up into the sky and watched the charcoal grey clouds roll in. Indian summer was allowing me to wear shorts in this Michigan October, but the turning of the leaves don't let me forget the ticking of time. In three short weeks, our family's ministry of nearly two decades will be ending at the congregation that welcomed us as new college grads.

We are now wrapping that season up; choosing to resign and step back from ministry for a while. We are tired. We have given much. We've invested some of the best parts of ourselves for the sake of a hurting city and a people we love. 

But do anything for 18 years and you see the best and worst of that career. We've cried tears of joy as we have helped others encounter Jesus and be changed. We've had the privilege of leading a team in developing a God-honoring vision. We equipped a core of individuals to work toward that vision. We've seen people bravely keep in step with the Holy Spirit, even when it didn't line up with popular opinion.

But that close-up look at the good, also bought us box seats to the darker edges of humanity too. The spaces where people of faith fight for control instead of trust. Where those you've forged relationship with begin to think the worst of you. Where lips are a concealed weapon to spread untruth.

In so many ways, pastoring has broken me down. It's not for the faint of heart and it has exposed my own weaknesses and flaws. While I have cherished the partnership in ministry that Paul and I have shared this last 2.5 years, I have also come to recognize my own limitations. And so we have made an unusual, renegade kind of decision - to enter into a season of rest from the pastorate.

Sometimes, you just know it's time. And for us, it's time. Time to circle the wagons around our family. Time to make one another an utmost priority. Time to be singularly focused for a bit. Time to remember that a congregation's success doesn't rise or fall on our shoulders. It is, therefore, both safe and preferred to place them in the hands of God, even when the questions about the future can't be answered.

And then I consider our family's own uncertain future. At the end of this month, the paychecks will cease, and as of yet there's no job to step into. Until there's a job to step into, we won't know where to move. Until we know where to move, we can't fully settle into this season. Until we fully settle into this season, we will feel a strain. And over and over, the opaque nature of our tomorrows weighs on me.

Those clouds that rolled in last week were like a haze of ash concealing all that lay beyond.  Just like my own personal horizon - obscured, dim, and dark. 

And God knew. He'd heard me cry out for clarity, for help, for peace. 

And that's when I came face to face with this scene.

From one corner of that sky to the other were gathered clouds of steel, but straight ahead, the clouds had parted. A window to the heavens. Front and center in my view was a reprieve from the pewter lining that sealed up everything else in the atmosphere. And the glimpse I was given was beautiful. The opening revealed a bright, gauzy eye of coral glowing through. 

Color is never so striking as when it shows up in the middle of monochromatic gray. And here I was, all alone outside, in awe of the God who imagines this kind of beauty. How could God waste a perfectly brilliant sunset made invisible behind the clouds? And why, when He offers a view, it seems only a single person is witness to it? Is this not a careless and extravagant sculpting of creation? Does He not need to spare expense in this beauty? I could almost see God throwing His head back in delight at my wonder and then answer, "This is for you, child. I will make more tomorrow."

Just when the sky seemed a never-ending canvas of nebulousness, God peeked through in piercing beauty. And I saw my future in that tangerine-shaded aperture. A gentle reminder that even when all seems dark and indistinguishable, I don't know what God is doing behind the curtain of gray. 

The God who would dare to indulge me with a breathtaking sunset, can certainly be trusted with my uncertain future. I live in the mighty and unshakeable Kingdom, so I do not have to be in control. I am one in whom Christ dwells, and can be assured that God can redeem anything and use all things for my good, so I will not be afraid. I have nothing to fear from the One who loves me most.

In three weeks, we make our final step into the unknown. From here, the sky may look ominous, but I can't see everything. From my vantage point, the cloud cover may seem unending, but that's only one perspective. My future may be unclear, but I have nothing about which to worry. When I least expect it, God will show up in radiant colors of faithfulness and provision to remind me of His exorbitant, lavish, and excessive goodness and mercy. I have everything I need and more. 

Dear Dad (One Month Later)

Dear Dad, 

Today is the one month mark since you’ve been gone. I have been attempting to prepare for this day for a whole week. Dreading it is the more appropriate word. When I woke up Thursday morning, having dreamt of you and feeling rested and relaxed, the world became a crushing weight as full consciousness reminded me you weren’t here. My grief over your death is still so fresh. It dwells at the surface. From here on out, to say that you’ve been gone for more than a month feels like I've lost some nearness to you.

I am still learning how to say goodbye to you. It’s a process; a lesson to learn. I figure you could have talked me through something like this with great wisdom had you still been here.

One month. 31 days that have lingered swiftly. Drudged on rapidly. Like they last forever, but are over too quickly. Not one of those days has gone by without thoughts of you. So many thoughts of you. 

One month ago I heard your voice for the last time. Weak as it was, I heard you, Dad. You love me. I carry that certain truth with me now and it brings me comfort. But oh, how I long to hear your voice again. To hear the jangle of the phone and answer it to find you on the other end. Most of the time 400 miles separated us, and the sound of your voice was the embodiment of your presence and influence in my life. Yes, I want to hear your voice.

I wish Minnie could have spent her 60th birthday in her classroom for a family party like you had planned, not in the funeral home making arrangements. She did really well though, Dad. She misses you something fierce, but she is taking one step at a time. 

I wish you could have experienced all the love being offered at your funeral visitation. Lines of students, parents, coworkers, life group members; all present to honor you. With tears in their eyes, they would recount stories of the difference you had made. Do you hear that, Dad? All the moments you spent questioning your investment and the trajectory of your life…it all mattered. I imagine you must have realized that fact in grand measure when you entered heaven, but it was a sight to see on earth too.

I wish you could have seen Paul. He fulfilled your request to officiate your funeral. You would have been so proud of him. I certainly was.

I wish you could see the way Justin is supporting his mom in her grief. He’s helping to make sure all the details of life are understood for Minnie.

I wish you could have heard my words at the funeral. It’s what you asked of me - to speak on the topic of reunion. Had it been up to me I would have stayed in the pew silent, but only you could have persuaded your ordained daughter to give the funeral sermon from the pulpit of a Southern Baptist church. Paul and I figure you would share an ironic laugh with us about that one.

I wish you could have been sitting at the funeral service when “Pancho and Lefty” began to play in Valley View’s sanctuary. I still don’t know why you wanted that song, but in a strange way it gave me strength in a hard moment. It was just so you and it was like a gift you gave us. Thanks for that.

I wish you could have hugged your grandkids in the moments when the grief has gotten to them over this last month. Alex was there, Dad. He helped Minnie pick out your tie, he sat in the background of the funeral not wanting to draw attention, but he was present. Eliana finished the book you gave her for Christmas and was able to whisper to you what she liked best, just like you wanted. Johanna buried her head in April’s side as she shed tears. Levi said he would sell all his Legos to have you back. Moriah sat with me at midnight and missed washing dishes with you. Sweet Brandyn stood at your casket saying he loved you. And “little” Mackenzie; she took it all in stride, keeping track of all that was happening. It would have made you smile.

I wish I could have kept you up to date on all that  has been happening with our family here in Flint. So many decisions, changes, transitions. You have always been one of my biggest fans - loving, supporting, and praying for me. I really need that right now.

I think to the future and all the coming moments that I will be missing you. Like next week when Eliana will turn 12 and there won’t be a call from you. Like next month when it will be one year since we explored Washington D.C. with you. I am forever grateful for those precious moments. Like the 17th of every month. Like the first Thanksgiving and Christmas without you. Like when I won’t need to buy you a 65th birthday present in January. Or maybe I will anyway. So many moments I will miss you, and I will cry, and I will learn a little more about to say goodbye.

Dad, I guess all of these words just boil down to one simple truth…I love you. It sounds so trite and so expected, but in all the world there are no better words to sum up everything else I feel. My life is better because of you. And I miss you terribly, and have been for a month. But nothing will ever change how much I love you. 

Always and forever, 
Your little girl

On Faith and Foolishness: Our Family's Next Steps

I suppose there is a fine line between faith and foolishness; between doing something risky and being plain stupid. Paul and I are walking that tightrope right now.

At the end of October, we will conclude over 18 years of ministry at West Court Street Church of God in Flint, MI. We have served in various roles over the years, but the most challenging and rewarding have been these last 2.5 years serving together as Co-Interim Pastors.

It is at West Court where we were loved into ministry. West Court is where we cut our pastoral teeth. Where “wet behind the ears” newlyweds became seasoned ministers. Among this congregation we have learned how to be married, we have both become ordained, we have become parents three times over, and we have shared some of the most important moments of our adult, married life.

But the time has come for us to step back and press the reset button on our lives. We have felt the leading to “circle the wagons”, as Shauna Niequist says, and put family on the front burner. The season has come for us to rest from such active and demanding ministry. 

We have poured our lives out, for the sake of the gospel, among this congregation. We love these people. We love this community. We love this city. Yet, we are looking to love ourselves and our family a little more than we have been able to do at a break-neck pace of life. We are desiring a time when our minds can be still to focus on a singular goal instead of spinning with the weight of many.

We have NO idea what’s next. Neither of us have a job yet. We will need to find a place to live. We are not seeking a new ministry position. We are waiting on God to show us the next step. Until that becomes clear, we are working on the assumption that we will stay in Flint, at least for the time being, using our connections and knowledge of the city we love in the hopes of landing somewhere we can continue to serve others and pay the bills. We are looking to find a house within the city limits so maybe our presence can be hope when so many are looking to leave.

But all of these are what-ifs. Uncertainties. Unknowns. Where this adventure ends up is yet to be seen. We are doing our best to trust God in this process. He’s always had our backs before and we don’t expect Him to stop now. If we are sure of anything in all this craziness it’s this…the God who led us to this place will be faithful to see us (and the congregation of West Court) through it.

If you are a praying sort, would you pray for our family and this body of people we love during this time of transition? If you are a networking sort, maybe you can point us to someone who might need a new hire. 

We are moving forward in faith, hoping we don’t trespass into foolishness. We are taking a risky step that might make us appear just plain stupid. Or maybe, God will show up in the middle of this mustard seed faith of ours and we will see mountains in our rear-view mirror (Matthew 17:20). 

Whatever the outcome, our family will walk it together. We’ll keep you posted. 

So much peace and hope to you today.

Four Words that Have Redeemed Our School Year

I had been trying to find a way to sum up this school year in my mind. And I was having trouble. Perhaps it’s because I still have one straggler who has three more math pages to finish before all my kids can say, “School’s out for the summer.” Three pages. Just three. So help me, God.

Life has been crazy and hectic. Our pace vacillates between fast and faster, it seems. I frantically finish spelling lists and copywork pages the night before school begins for the week. Then the proverbial bell rings and we are off on another week, all of us doing the best we can with what we have. Along the way, it has created many different emotions in me.

It’s the second year in a row I’ve been home educating while working a part-time (but feels like full-time) job. A toll that is showing itself to have a high cost. I have felt constantly divided in my focus and energies. Giving what I can to all things, but feeling it’s not enough for any of them.

It’s the second year in a row I have been teaching three different grade levels at the same time. 

I never got it right last year. So I began this year with a new game plan, and it has helped all of us thrive a little more and learn better time management. It’s required more work for me in the planning, but I think it’s paid dividends.

BIBLE consisted of the kids keeping a prayer journal. 

We did a series on the names of God. We learned about manners and etiquette. We read through my all-time favorite children’s bible (again). 

And we started reading a book filled with Bible facts that the kids love. One of my favorite times of the day is sitting at the breakfast table reading our bible material and waiting to see where their questions will take us. I never know. I am often surprised. And I am humbled by their hearts. This time of study and prayer together is tender and sweet, and has also spurred an idea for a writing project for me - to put to paper a prayer exercise I often do with my children.

This year for SCIENCE, the children chose a Chemistry and Physics curriculum. I’ve never loved science and because I am no fool, I tried to schedule science when I was in the office. Times when my husband or a good friend was with the kids. It’s a scary proposition when your children remember more about things like viscosity and atoms than you do as the teacher. We got with some friends and explored the periodic table through cookies. 

We made a homemade smoke bomb. We discovered the pros and cons of various energy sources. And while we only completed 10 of 14 chapters, I feel good about what the children were exposed to and had the opportunity to learn.

SOCIAL STUDIES meant using September to finish up a study on the 50 states that we began the year before. We celebrated the completion of this study with a trip to our nation’s capital. It was a wonderful and memorable trip that we will not forget.

 We then studied world history from nomads to Ancient Rome. And the kids loved it. Absolutely begged me to read more everyday. I love history, but to have my kids loving it too, well, that’s not shabby! We finished that volume early and while the kids wanted to move on the the next book, I told them they would have to wait until next school year. 

(Insert sad kids faces here).

All the other subjects were personalized to the child’s age and ability.

That meant my creative 5th GRADER loved any writing assignment given to her and made some up herself. It meant I sat through tears as she learned about all things fractions. To add, subtract, multiply, divide, find greatest common factors, and solve for unknown with a fractional coefficient. It meant wanting to beat my head against a wall that my daughter who loves writing still can’t spell “available” correctly even after 3 weeks on her spelling list. It meant watching as she began a typing program that now has her typing in better form than I have. That meant watching as my little girl grew into a young lady who gave a full voice recital, and is willing to step in and serve wherever help is needed.

That meant trying to manage my 3rd GRADER’s anxiety just because I mentioned that there would be a writing assignment later on. He didn’t inherit the same affection for stringing words together like his mother or older sister. It meant watching in wonder as he would effortlessly do mental math and easily mastered his times tables. It meant watching this reluctant reader blossom into a bibliophile. It meant hearing complaint after complaint as he began learning to type only to find he now will complete his assignment without any commentary. It meant spending lots of cold Michigan mornings watching soccer games, but it was worth the sacrifice because my shy homebody was playing his first team sport and liking it. It meant watching this boy begin to grow into a young man whose sensitive heart cares about what is right and just.

That meant sitting with my 1st GRADER, day and after day, until she understood the difference between 13 and 30. It meant spending lots of time with place values on decimal street so she could accurately read a three digit number. It meant redirecting my daydreamer time and again so she would finish her work. It meant questioning my abilities as my 6-year old struggled to grasp the idea of three letters forming a word she can decode.  Reading was such a struggle. Like "never saw it coming, what in the world I am doing" kind of struggle. It meant marveling at the details she observed that had passed everyone else by. It meant watching her grow more comfortable using a computer. It meant watching her eyes light up as she went to her first live musical. It meant watching her quietly and patiently support her brother and sister in their endeavors, never wanting to take the spotlight from their accomplishments.

ADD IN TO THE MIX an 11-day trip at Christmas to see family in Kentucky and Missouri. A trip that brought us home to the glass patio doors being shot at and shattered. 

A month later we were back in the Bluegrass State for 9 days while my dad hovered close to death's door.

And then I turned 40. That was surprisingly hard. Don't let the smile fool you.

Throughout all of this, our family like thousands of others, have been living with a water crisis the has no end in sight. I am sure many in our country are tired of hearing about Flint and it’s water issues. Frankly, I am too, but when you live here you can’t forget it. The filters need to be changed, pipes need to be flushed, bottled water needs to be picked up. 

And in the back of my mind, although I will never really know for sure, I wonder if the water has had any effect on my youngest. We’ve been told that children ages 6 and under are a high risk for lead absorption. And we didn’t take all the hype seriously until last September just before the city finally issued their health warning and told people to stop using the water. 17 months after the switch to the Flint River. 9 of those months having a 6 year old consuming unfiltered water. Maybe my 1st grader just has some processing issues. Or maybe, the nagging voice in my head whispers, the water situation impacted her too.

There’s no way to know really. All 3 children had a blood test in October and they tested at normal levels. 

That isn’t surprising since lead only stays in the bloodstream for 30 days and we had been using filters for nearly a month. Nevertheless, the test gave me some peace of mind moving forward.

ALL OF THE ABOVE doesn’t cover the tasks, responsibilities, and stressors of ministry. This doesn’t take into account the toll we all experience from waking up to headlines like Paris, San Bernadino, and Orlando. Lord have mercy.

Bottom line: It would be easy to give in to the temptation to see all the ways I have lacked to do all I expected, hoped, planned. I’m really, really good at beating myself up. Even after listing the ways I can celebrate my children, their character, their accomplishments, and the impact I've had. (But that’s a whole other psychotherapy session.)

I’ve said a lot of stuff here. (Most that probably seems irrelevant to you because it's really for my future benefit when I need to recall specific challenges of various school years.) But if you are still reading, I want you to know that today I found a way to sum up this school year.

Four words have made the difference. Four words that have made it all worth it. Every tear. Every night I lay in bed thinking I was not doing right by my kids. Every questioning doubt I’ve faced about whether I could do this home education thing anymore. Every anxiety I breathed out in a prayer. Every desperate word spoken to Paul at the end of a seemingly fruitless day. It all mattered. Every single bit - the good and the bad. Worth it. Today, four words redeemed our school year for me.

My 1st grader…the one with three pages of math left. The one who struggled to discern 13 and 30, who has fought to decode words like ham, red, bit, cup. The one who has generated more blood, sweat, and tears from this momma than is natural. This one, after reading a 12 sentence story today, looked straight up into my eyes and said, 

“I want to read.”

“I want to read like sissy and Levi do. Big books that are mysteries."

"I want to read.”

Four words. 

And I knew it had all been worth it. Every single second. Every single moment of research. Every single phonics worksheet. Every minute of practicing sounds and blends. Every doubt and tear and stifled scream. All of it. I would do it all over in a second if it still brought her to this place of desiring to learn.

This school year has been hard. And it’s not quite over. But, in a few days, when that math book closes complete, I have a few words I will use to sum it all up now. 

Worth it. 

Successful. 

Proud. 

Relieved.

And over!