Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

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What kind of mother would do that?

I’d like to think that the longer I’ve been a mother, the more forgiving I am of other mothers. (And of myself, if I’m honest. I’m my own harshest critic.)

Some days, I am. Other days, I’m just as critical as ever. In an effort to justify my own choices in motherhood, my own parenting policies, I judge another mother’s decisions as if there is one right way to do this whole motherhood gig.

News flash: there just isn’t.

I hear the same plea for acceptance from the mom who homeschools as I do from the mom whose kids go to public school, from the mom whose kids are close in age and from the mom whose kids have a bigger age range. Whether we’re swimming in money or struggling to make ends meet, all the moms I know want what’s best for the kids, and I know that no matter what it looks like, love drives those decisions.

Where I struggle to find the same kind of compassion and identification is with moms around the world. (I’m hoping our trip to Kenya this summer will show me how universal motherhood is no matter our place on the planet.) Especially when it comes to stories where kids have been sold into unspeakable situations. Sex trafficking. Slavery. Debt bondage.

How could they do that? I think. What kind of mother would sell her children?

Maybe you read the news or Facebook posts with the same questions hovering in your brain.

I’m so thankful for the folks at The Exodus Road who can take those tough questions and give us a glimpse of an answer. What follows is a partial repost of blog written by Laura Parker of The Exodus Road. In it, she addresses the circumstances that led to the rescue of a 15-year-old girl (Sarah, though not her real name) in 2012. You can read Sarah’s story here.

mother-child

“As mothers in a first world country, we understand that there are resources that can put food on the table, that can protect us when natural disaster strikes, that will help pay the doctor’s bills.

We live in the reality of free public education, a democratic government with laws and a police force that seeks to protect our little ones. We can afford basic vaccinations, and we do not live in fear of a mosquito bite or dirty water or stomach worms that can eat a person from the inside out.

We parents in the West have also been born into a culture where women have incredible value, where females are seen (theoretically) as equals, and where an infant girl is just as celebrated as a newborn baby boy.

But, this, this, is not the reality of most mothers around the world. Many women in developing countries taste the fear and desperation of motherhood on an entirely different playing field than we mothers in the first world do. And while these third world moms are often noble, strong, and brave beyond belief, they still have to look into the eyes of their small ones with the understanding that there are too many mouths and not enough rice.

And extreme poverty forces a parent to make extreme decisions. For good or for bad, people are in large part products of their environments.

And this decision by Sarah’s mother? Well, we don’t know what factors played a part in the unfolding of it. It could have been made out of ignorance or deceit, out of a deeply-seated cultural belief about girls, or even out of a desire to protect the survival of several siblings with the sacrifice of one.

And while I’m not saying that Sarah’s mother was justified, that her decision to sell her 15-year-old’s virginity was acceptable, I am saying that even Sarah’s mother deserves our compassion, too.

Because were she born into a different country, under better circumstances, chances are Sarah wouldn’t have tasted life in a brothel, at the hands of systems that made such a horrific decision feel like the best one.”

–       Laura Parker  |  2012  | The Exodus Road

—

I thought of this post as we approach Mother’s Day this weekend, and while it’s not your typical Mother’s Day topic, I think it’s an important time to remember the struggles of mothers of all kinds. And that we can give ourselves, the moms we know and the moms we don’t, a lot of grace for the grueling, gratifying work of motherhood.

And maybe thinking about moms whose choices are not simple will move us beyond compassion and lead us to make a difference.

That’s why I blog monthly for The Exodus Road. To remind you that slavery is a real part of the world we live in. To tell stories of rescue and freedom and bravery. To remind myself that my problems are not the only ones that matter. And to encourage us all to do something–tell, share, give–in the support of freedom from modern-day slavery.

The Exodus Road has lots of ways to get involved. You can check them out here.

Thin line between love and hate: Review of A Nice Little Place on the North Side by George F. Will

Spring is synonymous with baseball, and even for a backsliding fan like myself, the sound of a bat hitting a ball brings a certain amount of comfort and nostalgia.

north sideIt’s these sorts of emotions George Will caters to in his book about Chicago’s Wrigley Field. A Nice Little Place on the North Side is part baseball history, part commentary on the Chicago Cubs, and I had a hard time deciding whether Will was for or against the city’s landmark stadium. (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book from the publisher through the Blogging for Books program.)

Will’s book is saturated with stats, which make my eyes glaze over but provide context for the enigma that is Wrigley Field. For all the losing seasons the Cubs have had over the years, attendance at Wrigley should reflect that. But it’s almost the opposite, Will says. No matter the team’s record, attendance at Wrigley is steady. He chronicles the shift in the team’s leadership from creating a winning ball team to creating a winning atmosphere where people can commune in picnic-like conditions, whether the team is any good or not.

The book was interesting, especially in reading about some of the historical players, lineups and circumstances. I’ve been a Cubs fan for 30-plus years but even that doesn’t scratch the surface of the ball club’s storied history.

Fans of baseball history and longtime Cubs’ fans will enjoy the nostalgia the book provides. Stats enthusiasts will like the array of facts. Fairweather fans, or those with fond memories of Wrigley Field will bristle at times at Will’s suggestion that Wrigley Field is part of the problem when it comes to the Cubs having a winning team.

It’s a thin line between love and hate, and Will rides that line in the book. Only at the end do I sense a fondness for the park despite the decades of despair it has contained. Not a bad read, just not exactly what I was expecting. But I’m forever a Cubs fan and I have many fond memories of Wrigley Field that my husband and I are now passing on to our children. Win or lose, Wrigley Field is a special place for us.

When you have a birthday

I woke up on the first day of my 37th year full before the day began.

This is not the norm for me.  On my birthday or any other day.

The weather promised to be perfect–sunny, 80 degrees, not too humid.

And the day was pregnant with promise.

Birthdays are, for me, a love-hate affair. I enjoy the celebration. I love cake and ice cream. But in recent years, my birthdays have been anti-climatic, to say the least. While my husband was in seminary, he almost always had finals the week of my birthday and May 4 would become like any other day. I got used to lowering (or abandoning) my expectations for the day. I’m not big on surprises, but a part of me has always wanted to feel special on my birthday.

That’s normal, right?

So, on Sunday night, knowing that Monday was packed full of meetings and a birthday celebration was going to be hard to squeeze in, I did something I rarely do.

I asked for what I wanted.

“It doesn’t matter what we do,” I said, as we finished up dinner. “But tomorrow, I’d like to do something special for my birthday.”

Rather than feel selfish or needy by that declaration, I felt grown-up and free.

Maybe that’s why Monday dawned with such hope. I was grateful before the day began for this life I’ve been gifted, with all its messes and miracles.

What happened throughout the day was icing on the proverbial cake. (There was actual cake, too.)

As my husband got up to make my coffee and breakfast for me and the kids, I read tweets from my brother, and opened an e-mail with a generous gift inside from him and his wife. Breakfast is my favorite meal, so it’s always a gift to have someone else make it. (And for it to not be cereal or toast. Egg sandwiches, in case you were curious.)

Phil and our son left to head to the grocery store to plan a special dinner, and the Facebook greetings rolled in from across the country and across the years of my life. I said, in reflecting on the day, that a Facebook birthday is like “This is your life.” College friends. Hometown friends. Online friends I’ve never met in person.

Some made the tears come, like this one from a pastor friend in Illinois:

Today, look back in awe at how God has shaped and led you; then look forward in anticipation of all that God will do to complete the beautiful work of art that is you. Experience God’s blessing on your birthday!

Look back. Look forward. Both together, not either or. A day before, I read this quote from Madeleine L’Engle, and it is fitting for birthdays:

madeleine quote

I have wanted to lose some of the ages I’ve been, but in my 37th year, I am increasingly grateful for the ways those years have shaped me.

When the guys returned, I headed out to my counseling appointment. Going to counseling on my birthday might not seem like a treat, but it’s becoming a valued part of my life and routine.

“Don’t cry too much on your birthday,” my husband said as I left because I have left a lot of tears in my counselor’s office. I did cry, but they were mostly happy tears because maybe for the first time in my life I love who I am and who I am becoming and I feel loved. By others. By God. By me.

I spent the afternoon with my son. We volunteered at the school library, which we hadn’t done for a couple of weeks. We enjoyed the outside weather. The porch is my favorite place in the spring/summer/fall. I read. I tended my small collection of plants, including a hanging basket of flowers that arrived while I was gone. A sweet couple from church dropped them off just to say “thanks.” I continued to read the messages of well wishes. I talked to my grandparents. I picked up my daughter from the bus.

And I watched my husband prepare a birthday feast for dinner. He grilled some of my favorites: bell peppers, shrimp, steak. Paired with rice it was a satisfying and special meal, topped off with a moose tracks ice cream cake. The day would have been perfect without it, but I’m glad I said something the day before.

We headed off to church for meetings my husband and I lead, once again grateful that we are part of a community of faith that recognizes and values our gifts and lets us use them.

We fell into bed exhausted and my heart was fuller than it had been when I woke up. I can’t think of a better way to have spent my birthday than being with people I love, doing ordinary things, celebrating life and health. It was extraordinary in its ordinariness.

This morning it was a little harder to get out of bed, but more birthday wishes trickled in, including a video from our 3-year-old nephew. In the middle of singing “Happy birthday,” he asked his mom if they could come to our house and share cake. We are too many miles apart for that, but the sentiment warms my heart.

We still have cake, and a birthday date night scheduled for Friday, but for all intents and purposes, the celebration is over.

The gratitude continues, though, and my hope for the year to come is to find these ordinary graces in my life no matter the day.

I am 37, and it is good to be alive.

How I'm celebrating my 37th birthday

I turn 37 today, which is by no means monumental. It’s not like 30 (been there, done that) or 40 (it’ll be here before I know it) or even 35. It’s just a random number in the middle of a decade, but every year that pushes me closer to a new decade is becoming significant. Don’t ask me why because I really don’t know.

Already, this year is changing me for the good as I work toward wholeness. And for my birthday, I want to add to that. So, I’m planning a year-long celebration. Sounds fun, right?

Well, I’m using the term celebration loosely. What I really want from my 37th year is better physical health. I don’t know if it’s feasible, but I’m setting myself a goal to lose 37 pounds in the next year. It totally won’t be fun, at least not all the time, but if I reached even half my goal, I’d be doing myself some good.

Why do I want to do this? Well, for starters, I’m embarrassed when I take the kids to the park and I can’t keep up. On scooters or bikes, they zoom ahead, and even if I lightly jog, I can’t keep up and I end up trying to catch my breath, legs and lungs burning. I want them to have an active life and I don’t want to sit on the sidelines.

Second, this whole back pain episode from last week scared me a little. I know that fitness alone won’t keep me from having pain or physical problems, but I can certainly do better for myself and my body.

Third, winter is the worst time for me to make a decision about increasing my physical activity because I don’t have a gym membership and I’d rather walk or run outside, anyway. So winter is the wrong time for me to set any kind of goal. May, however, is the perfect time. The weather is consistently nice. The downside of May is that mid-month, I lose my mid-week preschool mornings.

But a plan can help, so I’ve got one. And I’ll need to anticipate challenges and problems so I don’t get discouraged.

Jordan McQueen | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Jordan McQueen | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Here’s what I think it’s going to take for me to make progress toward this goal:

  • Meal planning and calorie tracking. I often dislike both of these things, but the meal planning keeps me from feeding my family and myself junk all the time and the calorie tracking helps me make better decisions about what I eat. If there is good stuff to eat in this house, then I will eat it. If there is not, then I make poor choices. I’d rather track calories than go on a diet that excludes something because I want to be in charge of my choices.

    Daria Nepriakhina | Creative Commons | via unsplash

    Daria Nepriakhina | Creative Commons | via unsplash

  • Exercise. (Duh.) But specifically, I need to plan it in my day. I’m hoping to get in a daily walk and eventually start the couch to 5K program again. I’ve been inactive long enough that I think walking will be best to start. Once I’m feeling better about making room in my day for a walk, I’ll start running again. And as motivation, I’ll sign up for a 5K for the fall. It’s been many years since I’ve run a 5K (it was just the one time) but I enjoy the challenge. Most of the time.
  • Weekly weigh-ins. I know numbers on a scale don’t tell the whole story, and I usually dread stepping on it once a week, but I need some kind of measure of progress.
  • Accountability and discipline. I’m going to need to plan exercise into my day because it won’t just happen on its own. And I will need the accountability of others asking me how it’s going or checking in with me. That’s partly why I’m blogging about it. I don’t like to admit that I’m not happy with my body or level of fitness, but if I don’t tell anyone that, I won’t make any changes. I’ve tried and failed before to make a good plan for weight loss, but it fizzled for whatever reason. Don’t let me fizzle, okay?

I know everyone has a different idea of what works, and I’d love to hear about your journey to get in better physical fitness or health. For now, this is my plan.

Do you have a health/fitness goal? How do you stick to a weight-loss plan or a fitness regime?

What are the challenges you face or have faced when making decisions for healthy living?

The best books I've read so far this year

The first four months of this year have flown by, it seems, and I’ve yet to give you a round-up of the best books I’ve read so far.

According to my Goodreads stats, I’ve read 30 books in 2015 so far. Some of them I’ve reviewed, and some I haven’t. I know for sure that I’ve branched out this year, reading mainstream memoirs, popular non-fiction and general market fiction as well as Christian fiction.

Here are some of my favorites so far:

Best memoir: Yes, Please by Amy Poehler. Besides being funny, Poehler is also insightful about creativity and women who pursue their talents in male-dominated fields. The book was funny, yes, but also encouraging. Though I have no desire to act or do stand-up comedy, I found Poehler’s stories relevant to the field of writing (because she does that, too). And I loved the behind-the-scenes commentary on her time at Saturday Night Live. I found this book at the library, but I’d easily buy this and keep a copy on my already-stuffed bookshelves.

Best non-fiction: Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand. This massively huge story of Louis Zamperini is never dull and reads like fiction. I’m impressed and amazed by Hillenbrand’s writing and research processes, which makes the book that much more impressive to me. This was another library find. the tomb

Best Christian fiction: The Tomb by Stephanie Landsem. Biblical fiction is one of my favorite genres because it takes familiar stories and breathes life and detail into them. We only get the highlights of these stories in the Bible, and I love a good imaginative telling. The Tomb gives us a story about Martha that is rich and full and gives a new slant on her story.

Best general fiction: Secrets of a Charmed Life by Susan Meissner. A World War II/contemporary story set in England. Do you need more explanation? Plus Meissner is one of my favorite authors. I love her writing.

do overMost life-changing: Do Over by Jon Acuff. A blend of humor and practical advice for anyone who feels stuck in their work/calling/vocation. Acuff lets us learn from his mistakes and encourages us to develop the skills we need to have a job/career/calling we love.

Runners-up: Two-Part Invention: The Story of a Marriage by Madeleine L’Engle; Matilda by Roald Dahl; The Beautiful Daughters by Nicole Baart.

It’s always hard to narrow it down. I’m trying to be selective about the books I read so that I’m only reading the best stuff. These books rise above. If you want to see what I’m reading on a regular basis, check out my Goodreads profile in the sidebar, and check in here every Wednesday for a review of a book I’m reading.

What great books have you read so far this year?

When it's hard to move on: Review of The Beautiful Daughters by Nicole Baart

With some authors I love, I’m reluctant to pick up their newest book and read it because I’m afraid this will be the one book they write I don’t like, or I’m afraid I’ll like it so much I won’t want the story to end. That’s the case with anything Nicole Baart writes. Two years ago, she wrote a book that was my favorite of the whole year before the year had even started. Sleeping in Eden is still on my list of all-time favorites.

the beautiful daughtersSo, when this beauty, The Beautiful Daughters, arrived a few months ago, I set it aside. For later, I said. (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book from the publisher in exchange for a review.) Its release date was set for April, so I had some time.

Well, now it’s April, so I had to take a deep breath and dive in.

As usual, I had nothing to worry about.

Nicole Baart writes some of my favorite words and sentences. She plumbs the depths of human emotions. Her characters are haunted by a decision or a circumstance, and the drama that plays out as a result of their choices is riveting.

beautiful daughters quote pin

So it is with The Beautiful Daughters.

Adrienne, daughter of an Iowa dairy farmer and Harper, the stunning girl from who-knows-where, formed an unlikely friendship in college. With Adri’s brother Will, his friend Jackson and the aloof heir to the Galloway fortune, David, they become The Five, a makeshift family. When a post-graduation trip to British Columbia ends in tragedy, Adri and Harper run from each other and the memories–Adri to West Africa as a nurse for a non-profit and Harper to a hellish existence she thinks she deserves. Five years later, they both return to Blackhawk, Iowa, where memories haunt them and the truth is revealed.

I’ve been reading Baart’s books for a few years, and her stories are better each time. While she used to write for the Christian market, her last couple of books have been in the general market, and her writing is the better for it. Her stories are grittier and more real and peppered with appropriate language for dark circumstances without being gratuitous. Yet, they’re still filled with hope.

The Beautiful Daughters is a story of darkness and light, of identity lost and found, of friendship and love and how choices can change the course of our lives, for worse and for better.

Nicole Baart releasing a new book is good news.

Want more good news? I have a copy to give away!

Leave me a comment here on the blog and I’ll enter you for a chance to win The Beautiful Daughters. (U.S. residents only.) Contest is open until Sunday, May 3, when I’ll pick a winner using random.org.

Have you read any of Nicole Baart’s books before? Check out her website and let me know which of her books sounds most interesting to you. (I wish I could give you your pick of books!)

 

When all you can do is be still

I woke Sunday morning with back pain so bad I had trouble walking. The tightness would grip me and I would cry out and lean against someone or something or drop to my knees. Anything to relieve the pain.

It was the most helpless I’ve felt physically since giving birth to my children.

That was enough to convince my husband that we needed to head to urgent care where I would at least get some medication to help with the pain. Two hours of waiting and I was given painkillers and muscle relaxers to manage the pain until it passes or I decide to take another course of action.

So I spent a lot of Sunday being still, not by choice but by necessity.

Yu-chuan Hsu | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Yu-chuan Hsu | Creative Commons | via unsplash

It’s a humbling thing to be in so much pain and rely on others to get you the things you need. I reserved my energy for the effort it took to get off the couch only for necessity (the bathroom).

And I realized that I don’t sit still very well. All day I fought the urge to get up. For food. For drink. To help the kids. Just to do something different. And I found myself getting frustrated because all I did was sit. And rearrange my position for comfort. When I was hungry or needed water, I had to ask. When the rice sock needed re-heating, I had to ask. Apparently I’m not very good at asking, either.

So, it was a hard spot for me to be in. Today I’m a bit better, but still trying to take it easy. My husband is home today, but he won’t be tomorrow and I want to be able to participate in our lives again. It’s a scary prospect, not knowing when or if you’ll be able to do regular life stuff again.

Being still has been my only choice, and I’m surprised at how hard it is.

Is it harder because I didn’t choose it? Because it’s the result of pain?

There’s a psalm that says, “Be still and know that I am God.” And I want to believe that I can do that in the midst of everyday life, but when stillness is a necessity and I resist it, maybe I’m in desperate need of it after all. Maybe I need to, even when I’m not bound by pain, behave as though I am. I am a master at starting a dozen different things and finishing none. I am notorious for sitting down to do one thing and remembering 10 other things I could be doing.

Be still? Who has time?

And yet, being still is a gift.

From my vantage point on the couch, I saw a robin land on the tree branches in our front yard, and I watched him watch us, sitting there for minutes. I heard my kids say actual words instead of just hearing their noise. I was aware of everything going on around me because I was undistracted by anything else. And I was dependent on others, so I felt I needed to be present mentally with them. Our daughter snuggled close and I appreciated the closeness. Some days, I’ve been touched too much and can’t handle another sensation, but last night I needed it.

I also took a 2-hour nap, aided by the medicine, I’m sure, but that’s almost unheard of for me. Twenty minutes on rare occasions is about my limit. I’ve resisted naps for as long as I can remember, afraid of missing out. Maybe this is why I choose not to be still. I’m afraid I’ll be missing something.

Stillness is both a necessity and a luxury, and I need to treat it as such.

To the world around me, stillness might look like idleness. But it’s not the same thing.

And maybe that’s what I’m afraid of, too. That if I’m still, I’ll be looked at as lazy. Ours is a culture that values the doers, not the be-ers, so I convince myself to do and do and do until I’m done. (And honestly, who of us is ever done?) Or overdone.

This back pain/muscle strain is a combination of overdoing it (cleaning, walking, chasing the kids at the park) and underdoing it. I have neglected my health for years, and this is just one more indicator that I need to take care of myself.

Otherwise, I’ll be celebrating my 37th birthday next week like an 87-year-old–limitedly mobile, with body aches and pains, ingesting medicine to keep me functioning.

There is a time to do and a time to be, and I pray that I will know and sense the difference. And give equal value to both times.

Something else this forced stillness has reminded me: I want to be well. I don’t want to keep telling the children I can’t do this or that with them because my back hurts. I don’t want this to be my life, and it doesn’t have to be. At least not yet. I have options to relieve my back pain that doesn’t yet involve surgery or chronic pain. Exercise, chiropractic care, yoga, orthopedic footwear. All of these are possibilities, and I am thankful for the choices.

Being still is also a choice. I can say “no” to busyness, “no” to doing one more thing, “no” to my value being only in what I do instead of in who I am.

I don’t have to like it, at least not at first, but stillness is a gift, forced or unforced. And I will learn to appreciate it.

Have you ever been forced to “be still” because of illness or injury? How did you handle that time? What keeps you from regularly being still in your life?

News travels fast (and then what?)

We wake up to the news that an earthquake has devastated Nepal.

And my day begins with a burdened feeling for people I don’t even know. I search Twitter for news. For photos. I scan Facebook for news about people I know who live/work/travel in the area. I am hungry for information and in the information age, news comes as quickly as fast food through a drive-up window.

Quick. Now. Instant. I want to know everything and I want to know it now.

On the one hand, it’s a blessing. Tragedy strikes and we can know within hours if loved ones, friends, acquaintances are safe. We can mourn in real time with those who are suffering. We are connected across oceans in ways that still astound me.

News travels fast.

Pavan Trikutam | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Pavan Trikutam | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Sometimes, though, it’s a curse. News travels so fast that it’s often just as quickly forgotten.

Today, we are focused on Nepal. And maybe tomorrow we will be, too.

But our attention will fade long before the work is done. We will move on and those who have suffered loss will remain in their pain.

We swear we’ll never forget but we do. All the time.

Remember Ebola? There are people in Liberia and other West African nations who have daily been unable to forget because they are on the ground in the midst of the outbreak, doing the work.

Or what about the university attacks in Kenya?

Or how about Hurricane Sandy? Or the Midwestern tornado that leveled an Illinois town called Fairdale? Or any other countless disasters that wreck lives on any given day?

We can’t remember them all. We’re human, aren’t we? And the world is so messed up that bad news seems to be the only news, and who needs that to drag them down day after day? Right?

I confess: it’s easier to turn off the TV, or not watch the news in the first place, or scroll past the Tweets or Facebook posts about tragedy, or scan them with a “not-another-one” attitude. I do it all the time.

I’m not proud of that.

When I was a newspaper reporter, the pressure was high to publish breaking news and follow up on that news in the days after. But every day was something new and sometimes one tragedy trumped another. We’d make it to the one-year anniversary of an event and I’d think, “Has it been a year already?”

News travels fast and time passes quickly and life goes on.

But what if it’s your tragedy?

We can blame the media, but it’s not really their fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. (And yours. But I can only deal with my fault. You’ll have to deal with yours.)

As I scrolled through Twitter today, looking at pictures from Nepal, I wondered about the role of the photographers. I questioned the sanity of people tweeting while running from an avalanche on Everest. I even wondered if I should believe everything I read on the Internet.

When news travels fast, it’s not always accurate, at least not at first, but there are circumstances where some news is better than no news, even if it’s wrong. (The journalist inside me is screaming “NO” at that statement.)

It is good for us to see that people are huddling in tents in Kathmandu as night falls. And it’s good for us to be reminded that the water supply is dwindling. And it is right that we know that the death toll is climbing. Because the more we know, the more we’ll connect, and the longer we’ll remember.

At least, I hope so.

We want to help, I think. Most of us do, anyway. So we send money. We pray. Or if it’s a closer-to-home tragedy, maybe we bring food. Send a card. Take a team to help.

Maybe you respond to suffering and tragedy like I do. You want to do something NOW. You want to spring into action. Head to wherever the tragedy is, to whomever is suffering, swoop in and fix it.

The truth is that there are no quick fixes to tragedy, and lots of organizations (the Red Cross, Samaritan’s Purse) respond immediately. Even individually, we are good at clearing our consciences by helping or offering to help right away.

But what happens a month later? Or a year later? Or 10 years later?

The woman who has lost her husband unexpectedly continues to grieve well after the funeral is over. The mother who loses a child aches forever. When the camera crews go home after a hurricane or a tornado, the work continues. The rebuilding doesn’t stop. I remember standing in the moldy, water-stained house of a family in North Carolina a year after their community was destroyed by a hurricane. Almost everything they had belonged to FEMA, and our little crew from Indiana barely remembered the storm.

My heroes are first-responders of any kind. The men and women who rush in when others are fleeing. They are a special breed of human, and sometimes I think that if I am not built to be a first-responder then maybe I can’t help at all.

We need first-responders. Desperately. But we also need second-responders. And third. And tenth. We need–and need to be–people who show up not just on the day of but on the day after. And days after. Who step in when the wounds we can see have been bandaged but the wounds we can’t see are still oozing.

I don’t know how we do that except to be responsible for our own intake of information. Maybe we need to clear our Twitter feeds of celebrity gossip and TV shows (guilty) and fill it with news sources, relief agencies, charitable organizations. Maybe we need to watch the news once in a while or read a newspaper.

Maybe we need to do more. (Check out what a couple of guys from our denomination are doing to support the Ebola relief in Liberia.)

Maybe we need to read the articles and look at the pictures and sit with our grief when these things happen. We don’t need to feel good and happy all the time. We can mourn with those who mourn. (I should also say that there are times when we need to not to do this, too. Say, if a personal tragedy is still fresh and raw. We can step away for a time from situations that will cause us more grief personally. It’s just easy for that to turn into an all-out avoidance of any kind of suffering. I know this from personal experience.)

What other ideas do you have?

An inspiring book on this subject is Eugene Cho’s Overrated. What a challenge to us to stop being in love with the idea of changing the world and actually start changing the world.

And if you’ve never heard the song “Now the News” by Eli, check it out and let yourself be challenged by its message.

What do I do with the money issue?

I love money.

There, I said it.

I’m not supposed to say it, especially since I also love Jesus. You know, that whole Bible verse about not being able to love God and money at the same time. And the other one about the love of money being the root of evil. It’s not something any God-fearing, Jesus-loving, Bible-reading person should admit to.

And yet. I can’t deny it anymore. wpid-20150423_131110.jpg

I love money. I love earning money for work well done. I love having enough money to pay our bills and buy things we need/want and give to others.

But I also hate money. Especially when there’s not enough. Or someone else has what I perceive as too much money.

Then, I want to find a way to live without money. To simplify my life in such a way that I don’t need as much money just to get through the day.

I love money. I hate money. And I get so frustrated trying to find the middle ground, a place where I can be grateful for what I have without developing an insatiable desire for more.

Money has always meant security for me. If we have enough to pay the bills, then I breathe a bit easier. If we’re cutting it close, I worry. Paying bills and buying groceries and doing the checkbook math give me anxiety until the next payday. And when we come up short, I grasp at any opportunity, however slim, to fix it.

In January, I applied for a part-time work-from-home job I wasn’t qualified for because our income was unexpectedly lower. In the first part of this year, we used our credit card for the first time in years to make up the difference until our tax return came. And because our tax return was later than we expected, the weeks held more anxiety than I wanted, and I was thinking about money. All. The. Time.

Things are better now. Not great but better. And I’m still thinking about money a lot.

How much we have.

How much we need.

How much we’ll get.

It’s a tough spot. In our house, my husband makes the majority of the money and I do the bill paying and budgeting. (I’m terrible at the latter.) My husband has such a generous heart. He always wants to give. And I’m such a worried hoarder that I always want to keep what we have. Just in case. Thankfully, we don’t fight about money. Though, I’m sure we could.

But it’s a problem for me, the whole money=security thing. And I’m tired of pretending it’s not.

Tell me I’m not the only one pretending I don’t love money.

In case that’s not a shocking enough confession for you, let me also say this: I’m a sporadic tither. I used to be pretty great at it. Ten percent or more in the offering plate every time I or we got paid. I believed what they told me, that if I gave God a little, I wouldn’t miss it. And I didn’t. But there are so many weeks that the math doesn’t add up, and I can’t understand why God would want me to write Him a check if it meant I couldn’t feed my family or pay the heat. Yeah, it’s been that bad at times.

What’s the answer? Somebody tell me because I don’t know. I want to do good with what we’re given, and I know I fall short. A budget is a start. Using my talents to earn money is another step.

But what about that whole trusting in God thing?

Last week, in church, we talked about “blessed are the poor,” the words Luke uses. Not the “poor in spirit” that Matthew uses. And the prosperity gospel nonsense of belief leading to material blessing. I have seen God provide for impossible circumstances for our family, in ways we could not have imagined. But I have also seen faithful Godly people struggle to make ends meet for a very long time through no fault of their own. And let’s not even talk about global poverty and the kind of faith among the truly impoverished that puts mine to shame.

I can’t undo that I live in this country. That my husband and I have college degrees. That we have two kids. That the “cost of living” is what it is where we live. (Sure, we could move. But there are always trade-offs.)

So, what can I change?

For starters, my heart. (Why does it always go back to my heart?!) I can choose to not let money be my god by trusting God no matter what. And I have to kill my pride by submitting to a system that helps me track where our money goes. I like to think we spend our money wisely, but I know better. We aren’t extravagant, I don’t think. But we aren’t disciplined, either.

Somehow, there’s a balance between being wise and being gracious. A writer friend recently said that he and his wife don’t make any decisions based on money, either earning it or spending it. And they’ve been in a place of deep debt with desperate need for income. We made that mistake once, and it cost us dearly.

Maybe to tame the money beast I have to acknowledge my fears. What is it I’m afraid of? And why do I think money keeps that fear at bay?

I don’t have any great wisdom for you today. I wish I did. I just felt like I had to put into words what I’ve been wrestling with in my heart and my mind.

Maybe you struggle this way, too. If so, just know you aren’t alone. If not, then maybe you can share your experience with us.

What do you think? How can we relate to money without loving it?

A book that bares its soul and offers connection: Review of Scary Close by Donald Miller

For all the controversy he generates, I need the reminder that Donald Miller is just a guy trying to make sense of his world and himself through his faith, experiences and relationships.

scary closeOne thing I admire about him as a writer is his willingness to share his failings as well as his strengths, to acknowledge the controversies but not necessarily apologize for his words. It’s been a long time since I read one of his books but his latest, Scary Close, to me, felt like an honest, heartfelt baring of the soul. The Donald Milller I thought I knew from previous work is not the same writer of this book. That’s encouraging.

(Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book through the Booklook Bloggers program in exchange for my review.)

A writer like Miller might be tempted to withdraw and stop telling stories. But Miller opens up, however reluctantly, and talks about how relationships changed him. Healthy ones and unhealthy ones.

He writes much about his relationship with his now-wife Betsy and what he’s learned and is still learning about intimacy. I like to think I’m pretty good at going deep in relationships but Miller’s words challenge me to discover the real me behind the mask I wear.

Scary Close is written memoir-style but the truths Miller shares, what he’s learning about intimacy, are lessons for all of us to consider.

I’m glad my husband read this book before I did so that now we can talk through some of the things we read. Miller’s words make me want to improve my relationships across the board and offer the kind of vulnerability he’s received. (After reading Bob Goff’s generous and gracious foreward, I was so moved by his use of the word “love” that I told a friend I loved her. I don’t usually do this for people who aren’t family.)

Though Miller addresses topics like dating, marriage and parenting, his words apply to relationships as a whole. I love the hope he offers for those of us who have gotten the intimacy thing wrong.

Miller offers grace and encouragement for the journey.