Book lovers rejoice. My copy of Seduced by Bacon has been recovered.
Guess where it was?
whoomp there it is
On the cookbook shelf in the kitchen. Who’d have thunk it? Mere weeks ago I feared it was a casualty of our move.
Found it by accident while looking for my smoothies recipe book—which incidentally is now missing. Happened upon Seduced by Bacon as I combed the cookbook spines.
Sometimes what we’re looking for is exactly where it’s supposed to be, maybe even right in front of us, whether we see it or not.
Gives me hope Cassatt will turn up, too. And I’m thinking of a new motto:
Leave no book behind.
Works for lost books at home and returns to the library. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with the bacon that’s long overdue.
“I was ready to respond, but no one asked for help.
I was ready to be found, but no one was looking for me.
I said, ‘Here I am, here I am!’
to a nation that did not call on my name.” Isaiah 65:1 NLT
Year of the Tiger loved Year of the Dog the first time he saw her.
lanterns
He pursued her until she loved him back. They were inseparable. They married and ran away from home.
Time passed slowly. Finally they were blessed with one child, Year of the Monkey, a Solitaire.
Monkey made the days and nights seem longer, while the months escaped into years.
Tiger and Dog ran away from home again, this time taking Monkey with them.
They are best, these three, when they pull together. Best when inseparable.
The work of living takes Tiger far away sometimes. It cannot be avoided.
Year of the Dog and Year of the Monkey become a pair. They eat Chinese food or pizza and wait for Year of the Tiger to fly back to them.
Today there will be no waiting. Today they are home, all three. Together they will eat cake. They will feast on the decades and dream of the future.
Happy Birthday, Year of the Tiger. The Lord has been good to us.
Satisfy us in the morning with Your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as You have afflicted us,
for as many years as we have seen trouble.
May your deeds be shown to Your servants,
your splendor to their children.
May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;
establish the work of our hands for us—
yes, establish the work of our hands. Psalm 90:14-17 NIV
A gift: Perfect Moment by Darden Smith. Love don’t travel in straight lines.
Birthdays are a natural time to take stock of our lives. What’s the state of things in your world today? What or who can you celebrate?
Today is the National Day of Prayer. There’s a lot of hubbub surrounding the alternative National Day of Reason—as if faith and reason are mutually exclusive. Seems fitting to turn our attention to the skeptics, people who express disbelief of Biblical truth. For that, we call in an expert.
Meet the Skeptic by Bill Foster
Meet the Skeptic, by friend Bill Foster, reached number one in Amazon’s Science and Religion category earlier this week. Congratulations, Bill!
In Meet the Skeptic, Bill presents skepticism as an opportunity to see where the need for truth lies in each individual. Bill is Gen X, so expect references to pop culture alongside illustrations and Biblical support. All this is packed into a mere 144 pages. You can read that in one sitting, people.
I asked Bill a few questions about his book. He was gracious to share these answers with me.
What inspired you to write this book?
Bill: Two main things. First, my own frustrations in talking with skeptics and feeling like I wasn’t getting anywhere even when I had answers. Second, realizing there are a lot of apologetics resources out there but people are intimidated by many of them.
What makes this different than other ways to share the Gospel?
Bill: Meet The Skeptic is more about asking the right questions to get underneath surface-level objections than it is about trying to answer every objection. It’s more about understanding worldviews and where a conversation will likely go than it is about regurgitating data. Facts and evidence are always valuable and the more knowledgeable we are about a subject the better. But I think the evidence is best used as supporting information after the skeptic’s worldview is uncovered rather than as lead-off material.
What one thing would you like people to know about sharing the Gospel with the skeptic?
Bill: We don’t need to “win” the discussion. Intellectual arguments alone will never convince anyone, only God can do that. When we engage skeptics and really try to find the deeper obstacles to their faith, we have a better chance at seeing whether or not God is working on them. If He is, great! They may be receptive to truth. But if He’s not, it doesn’t mean that He never will. It just might mean that on this occasion we’re only scratching the surface of hard ground rather than gleaning the harvest.
Find Meet the Skeptic books and study resources on the book’s website and on Amazon. God bless you, Bill, as you aid in the harvest.
“The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field. Go! I am sending you out like lambs among wolves.” Luke 10:2-3 NIV
My Aunt Leah was rarely sick and always bounced back. Fell and broke her hip this past Christmas. Returned to work by February. And she was 74 years old.
Quiet, gentle, dignified, but tough as nails when it came to perseverance. Leah was steady. Without pause, always there, sure and steady.
A nurse by profession, she once took in my mother and I when we needed a place to go. Years later, when my mom was dying, Leah came to be with her youngest sibling for a week. She stood in my mom’s kitchen stirring soup made of carrots and celery she’d diced into tiny cubes.
Leah was the first person to French braid my hair. I’d come to visit that summer. I may have been 10, perhaps younger, so I don’t remember sitting still as she weaved the plaits tightly, an exercise she missed with her three sons. A picture remains to bear witness to those perfect braids.
Most of her life she lived in an old house with a rambling yard and a vegetable garden so big that I never did walk to the end of it. Her youngest son and I traversed that garden one evening as children. We navigated between squash and cucumbers and bushes of beans.
We climbed to the top of the compost pile. Then he said, “Snake!”
I never saw it. I bolted out of the garden all the way back to the house. Aunt Leah yelled from the yard for me to stop that ridiculous screaming.
Last summer, I returned with my husband and son to visit my Aunt Leah and Uncle Abe in their newer house. Their big garden was left behind, but the table was forever full. Salads and sauces and pasta to eat in the late afternoon.
She was the eldest of six children. The mother of three. Grandmother of six. Faithful wife of Abe for 53 years. She was unwavering in prayer for our family. The pages of her Bible were falling out from use.
It happened this spring, a cascade drawn out over weeks that started slowly and picked up speed as days rolled along. Leah had trouble breathing. Leah went to the emergency room. Leah developed pneumonia.
Leah was hospitalized. Leah was given oxygen. Leah was in critical care. Leah’s lungs sustained damage. Leah was on life support.
Then this past Tuesday, at 2:34 p.m., my Aunt Leah died. Surrounded by family here on earth, she was ushered into the arms of family there.
another view
It’s been almost 16 years since my mother died. Sixteen years since my family last experienced death. Years filled with so many challenges, but such a long stretch without funerals.
I wonder what they’re talking about now. Has Leah told my mom she saw me last summer? That I have a son with hazel eyes? Are they sitting with my Grandma and Grandpa V?
Are they sipping cups of tea while Grandma has coffee? Is Grandpa wearing his fur coat? Are they gushing and waiting with ease for the rest of us to meet them at the table? For dinner to begin in the late afternoon?
Over the next few days, I’ll be off the grid. Look for me in real life as I travel alone to gather with the family that’s left. To pay tribute and grieve our loss of Leah, steady and true.
We’ll miss you, Aunt Leah. Wait for us there. Unwavering, wait for us.
Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his faithful servants. Psalm 116:15 NIV
This past Monday, we celebrated National Poetry Month here on the blog. The response to Poetry Slam Party has been intelligent, thoughtful, and moving. Ariel Price graced us with poem by John Donne in the comments. Seems fitting to end this week with another of Donne’s most excellent works.
Death, be not proud (Holy Sonnet 10)
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Who is waiting for you in heaven? How do you grieve here on earth?
Last night, I read in said book about a Japanese novelist who awoke at 4 a.m. every morning for seven months to write his most important work. He would write for five hours, then jog. Requires discipline and strength, he said. Writing and running, that is.
So at 4:27 a.m. today, unplanned, I awoke. Beckoned by the power of suggestion. I can explain it no other way.
I lag behind the author from Japan. Twenty-seven minutes and umpteen books to be exact. He’s accomplished. I’m but a lowly blogger. Unsure. Beginning.
The blackness of the morning yields itself to the task. A complement to the blank white of the screen, the darkness hangs in the air, and all is quiet.
Requires concentration, I read in the book. Uninterrupted stretches of lonely pounding out, writing and jogging. Words to page, feet to pavement.
Two and a half hours, a thousand words later, the sun is up and I’m going back to bed. No jogging for me. It’s Saturday after all.
Will I do this again? Wake up in the third watch and write? I can’t say. Strength can come at any hour.
I’ve lost count of the tests and books, the hours of discussion, the rabbit trails run to determine what I’m supposed to be when I grow up.
Another career consultation looms today. Part of the relocation package. Help for the uprooted spouse.
I wonder how many people go through this. Figuring out how best to care for your family while also using your abilities to contribute meaningfully and financially with work outside the home.
Meaningfully. Oh, how I’d like to be passionate about my work.
Financially. Oh, how I’d like to be compensated for it.
I’m not much for the process. Just get to the point. Tell me the answer without the ambiguities.
But life’s not like that, is it?
The Israelites stood on the banks of the Jordan River at flood stage, waiting to cross. It had been quite a journey and Moses was dead.
The officers circulated through the camp. They told the people to watch for the ark of the covenant, the symbolic box where God lived. It would lead the way.
road full of promise
“Then you will know which way to go, since you have never been this way before.”
“Keep a distance of about a thousand yards between you and the ark; do not go near it.”
The pastor I heard teach this from Joshua 3 said the ark was far ahead of the people so all of them could see it. The distance symbolized the separation between God and the people’s sin.
Joshua then told the people, “Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do amazing things among you.”
And God did. That very day He parted the river waters for them to cross.
I don’t follow an ark. Christ’s death and resurrection closes the separation between Him and my sin. He comes near to me. Emmanuel, God with us.
Chin up, buttercup. Keep walking. Who knows what amazing things await?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness (or your Righteous One) will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard. Isaiah 58:8 NIV
Regardless of how you feel, how you’ve been treated, what you’ve done, or what’s happened to you. You house a soul.
at Panache Chocolatier in KC
Asking life to “respect” you and not “squeeze” too hard is a nice thought. Nice, but ineffective. The squeeze is going to happen.
You may be experiencing the squeeze. In the doctor’s office. At work or home. At the gas pump, like I did yesterday.
Or when you hear three Milli Vanilli songs in two days after not hearing them since 1989 and you become painfully aware of your age.
One day this life is going to squeeze so hard, we will die. Illness, age, accident, crime, tragedy, or injustice will kill us. Harsh reality.
Easter celebrates the reality of Hope. The triumph over the squeeze.
At Easter, we remember Christ died to pay the penalty for our sin. And He came back to life again to pave the way for his people to follow Him in life. Full life. Forever life. Not as hollow cores.
He knows your name. He knows your soul. He offers life. High time to take it.
bunny on the plaza in KC
But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 2 Corinthians 4:7-9 NIV
I Know Your Name by Michael W. Smith is a favorite of mine. Love the lyrics. And Michael doesn’t lip-sync. Girl, you know it’s true.
To make a long story short, I decided to read Rachel Held Evans’ book Evolving in Monkey Town after reading her blog a few weeks ago. See this post for more.
Evans’ 2010 book is a memoir of her faith crisis. She was raised in a Christian home in the Bible belt. She’s lived much of her life in Dayton, Tennessee, a town famous for the Scopes Monkey Trial of 1925. Hence her book’s title.
Evans began questioning her faith during her college years. The spark of the crisis seemed to come when she watched a Muslim woman being murdered by the Taliban in the 2001 documentary by Saira Shah entitled Behind the Veil.
This Gen-Xer won’t hold it against Evans for being a Millennial. I like Millennials. They understand Twitter which confounds me more often than not.
I won’t even hold it against Evans that I disagree with some of her reasoning and find parts of her book troubling.
What I like about her is that she boldly questions in the first place. And she will accept “I don’t know” as an answer.
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far way, I sat in a church Bible study circle when a newcomer asked a difficult question. Something to do with personal tragedy resulting in doctrinal confusion.
Fresh from my own angry rounds of questioning God after my mom died, I believed there wasn’t a definitive answer to the newcomer’s question. So I spoke up and said, “We don’t know why that happened.”
Then I sat quietly. It would have been wise to add, “We have to go by what we do know. What the Bible tells us that we can understand.”
I didn’t get the chance. The study leader panicked, fumbling to answer the woman’s question. To him, an insufficient or unsatisfactory answer was better than admitting, “I don’t know.”
I can’t fault that leader. Questioning makes me nervous, too. Throughout Evans’ story, I found myself wanting to say exactly what her theologian father said. “Rachel,” he said gently, “be careful what you say (p. 100).”
There are strong passages of assurance in Scripture. And there are instances where God doesn’t explain to our liking or understanding. Much as we need to know, some answers remain hidden.
The thing is, no matter how harrowing the questions may be to us, God can take it. He knows what we’re thinking anyway. With honest hearts, open to hearing Him, let the questions fly. Pursue Him and His Word, and the places of “I don’t know” might just lead to a deeper faith.
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1 NIV1984
Hello. So nice of you to stop by. Sorry I missed you.
It’s spring break here in Wichita. I’m unplugging for a few days to spend time with the family.
God willing, I’ll be back on the blog next week. See you then.
Now go. Get out there and live the gift that is your life.
And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. 2 Corinthians 9:8 NIV
Sometimes what I really need to do is run away. Travel can hold the ticket to a clearer, better perspective.
over Alaska
I may go to a faraway place and detox from the real world. But there are closer, shorter voyages that achieve similar, lifesaving results.
Drive 200 miles to see an old friend. Spend the hours alone in the car. Singing with the radio. Turning it off to discuss things with God. Questioning. Talking it over. Being heard. Listening.
Or take a long lunch to catch up with someone I haven’t seen in a while. Break down the state of the world as we know it. Pick up where we left off as if the time never passed at all.
Or simply bow out of the room for five minutes. Walk around the block. Step back. Breathe. Remember what’s important. Re-engage with peace.
on the beach in Bali
My favorite psychology professor in grad school once told my class a secret. He said he recommended depressed people go to the mountains or the ocean. I imagine the plains, desert, or forest would work as well.
It is in such places they could come face to face with how small they are and how big God is. Surrender to it and find refuge. Then come home able to move—even if ever so slightly—forward.
Perspective is easy to lose, but not so hard to regain either.
Here you thought it was gone forever, but look. There it is a few miles up ahead.
God’s love is meteoric,
His loyalty astronomic,
His purpose titanic,
His verdicts oceanic.
Yet in His largeness
nothing gets lost;
Not a man, not a mouse,
slips through the cracks. Psalm 36:5-6 The Message
The incredible photos in this post are compliments of Janis and Jeff Jones, my traveling friends who see the value in venturing.
Traveling with the Jones
Between the two of them, they’ve traveled to 80 different countries, all 50 states, and 175 cruise ports around the world.
“Travel, for us, is about personal growth,” says Janis. “It gets us out of our routines and our comfort zones; it broadens our horizons and breaks down our misconceptions. Through our travels, we’ve found people are basically the same despite living under vastly different circumstances and cultures.”
I’ve gone to church all my life, except for The Wander Years between 18 and 24.
visitor parking
During that time, I was guilty of all sorts of unspeakable atrocities, including voting for Bill Clinton in 1992.
I jest. Sort of. My super smart PoliSci roommate was right about him all along.
Those years are replete with fascinating stories. Alas, that’s another post. Or maybe a book.
This post is about church.
Since relocating, we’ve been visiting churches. We’re weighing several factors: the doctrinal soundness of the teaching, the content of worship, the children’s ministries, how naturally we could fit it and participate.
Finding a church is a little like finding a doctor or hair stylist. There are a lot of good ones out there, but only a few you’d be comfortable seeing regularly.
Having been in church so long, I’ve experienced some vibrant, healthy, edifying communities. And I’ve seen my share of scandals, splits, legalism, and hypocrisy.
Hypocrisy. With trepidation I list it. The trespass all of us commit because none of us is perfect. That’s an important lesson I began to come to terms with to emerge from The Wander Years and give church another try.
first time guest parking
People will fail you. It will happen.
One pastor I know said people often ask him if they will be hurt by becoming part of a church.
“Yes,” he said. “If you stick around long enough, yes.”
So why go? Well, that’s part of the lesson too. People will fail you; God will not. I go to church because it’s an integral part of following after Him.
My individual walk, my personal prayers, my Bible study are imperative, but incomplete if I’m not relating with other imperfect people who are also following after God.
As surely as some of those people will fail me, I will fail some of them.
More often on this trajectory though, glimmers of Christ-likeness shine through. We support one another. Pray with and for one another. Learn together. Stand together as a smaller community and as part of The Church, the greater congregation of believers across the ages.
Looking for a church is not easy. Some weeks I get discouraged. But I’ve been around this block before. I know the search is worth it.
If you’re looking for a church community, take heart. Don’t give up. Keep visiting. Pray for wisdom. Trust God to provide. Follow after Him.
If you’re in a good church, by all means go. With thanksgiving and gratitude, go. Be a participant, not an observer.
And if you’re in a church where you’ve prayerfully done all you can and it’s still not working for whatever reason, it may be time to move on. Quietly, without making a fuss, leave in order to find a healthier situation.
white cross on blue ground
Being part of a good church is too important not to pursue.
Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of His return is drawing near. Hebrews 10:24-25 NLT
