Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

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Safe travels

I drove today. Nothing shocking in that statement; I just had a lot of time to think. None of us left the house for any reason yesterday, which was a rare treat. Still, there are days I wish we had somewhere to go.

When I worked for newspapers, I did a lot of driving. Not a truck driver’s worth of driving  or anything, but more than I was used to on a regular basis. I usually enjoy the chance to let my mind wander and ponder. On many nights driving home from a late school board meeting, I’d write the story in my head so I’d have less work to do when I got to the office. Now, I find that I do most of my in-head writing while I’m washing dishes. I suppose I should be thankful for all the dishes needing washed. The novel I’m working on takes on new dimensions every time I find myself tethered to the sink with a mound of dirty dishes.

I’ve become sort of a homebody. Almost hermitish. If I don’t have to go somewhere, I don’t look for excuses. Home is comfortable. And safe.

© Xposeld | Dreamstime.com

But I’m starting to miss the movement. I want to be on my way. Our family feels a little stuck right now. Like when I was on my way today, stopped in single-lane traffic around a curve in a construction zone not-so-patiently waiting my turn. I’m always sure that just when I pull up to the flagger holding the sign, he’s going to flip it to “stop.” That’s what life feels like, a little. Just when we feel like we’re going somewhere, God says “wait.” Or “stop.” And we sit there, letting all the oncoming traffic pass us by.On the way home, at the same construction zone, I got behind a dump truck when it was our direction’s turn to use the single lane. Part way through the zone, the dump truck pulled off to the construction side of the road and I found myself eerily alone on the one-lane road. And I thought how much trust I had placed in the flaggers to do their job and not send a horde of oncoming traffic into my path. The same is true for this zone of life we’re in. I have to trust that God can see what’s around the bend and when He flips the sign telling us it’s time to go, we can trust that we won’t be headed for a nasty crash.

Trust. So easy to talk about. So hard to live out.

As I planned my route into a city I’m not so familiar with, my husband gave me an alternate route that tested my sense of adventure. I’m forever terrified of getting lost in a “foreign” city with no one to rescue me. I’ve taken enough wrong turns–literally and figuratively–in life to make me want to avoid them at all costs. My sense of direction and driving instincts are pretty good, but sometimes I panic and take the wrong turn because I don’t trust myself to know the right way.

But I made it to my destination. Even parked in a parking garage and crossed the street to the coffee shop like a big girl. I never thought of myself as a country bumpkin but every time I have to pay for parking or dodge traffic to cross the street, I’m reminded of just how much rural there is in my system. (I’m by no means a farm girl, either. I live somewhere in between city and country.)

Trusting. Pushing boundaries. Leaving what’s comfortable. Taking a new path.

All of this plays in to the current chapter of our story. It doesn’t solve anything. But it fuels me for the continuing journey.

I’m still not sure where God is taking us, but I know we’re safe in His hands.

Saturday smiles: Random edition

Playing Frisbee with the under 5 crowd is an almost-sure path to appearing on America’s Funniest Videos.

Who says miracles don’t happen? Every day when I put dinner on the table and manage to not kill anyone, it’s a miracle. Bonus miracle if it’s edible and/or nutritious. I’m thinking of pitching a show to Food Network that involves cooking while your kids are wrestling each other at your feet, chasing themselves around the table, and clinging to your leg. Phil thinks child and family services wouldn’t approve. He’s probably right.

Books in the mail. Especially from two great authors. I’ve already finished the one on the left.

Great coffee. A couple of months ago I discovered there was a local roaster in our neighborhood, literally a block from our house. I wish I’d known this earlier. Or maybe I don’t. Regardless, I’m now enjoying a pound of fair trade locally roasted Sumatran coffee.

I tried three kinds this morning and later had to drink a cup of coffee to take the edge off of my morning coffee buzz. This is what addiction looks like, isn’t it?

At storytime, while the fabulous storytime leader was reading a book about a dragon, she asked if any of the kids could blow smoke out of their nose. Izzy didn’t miss a beat and said in all seriousness: “We can only blow snot out of our nose.” Truer words never spoke.

The kids pray at meal time and almost fight over who gets to do it.

Turning on PBS to find Pennsylvania Polka is on. I almost got up and danced. Almost.

Receiving a digital postcard from one of my favorite authors. I love her books and am really excited to be part of her “street team” promoting her new works. And it’s not every day you get to see your name in front of a historical, biblical site in Ephesus.

Totally made my day. Since my travel budget is non-existent right now, I’m happy to travel vicariously.

Thanks for traveling through randomness with me tonight.

It was there all along

My high school French teacher posted this beautiful fall picture to Facebook today.

Photo by James Higby

And as beautiful as fall colors are and as much as they make me miss the beauty of my hometown, the words he attached to the photo were even more beautiful. He said:

Of course, we know that the red has been there all along, hidden by chlorophyll production that began as the leaves formed and sprouted in the spring. When diminished daylight and accumulated stress cause the tree to shut down the green, the brilliant color underneath treats us to its autumnal show.

I love when nature teaches me a lesson about life, and I thank God that He created a wide, wonderful world full of pictures of His love.

Diminished daylight. Accumulated stress. I’m no tree, but those sound like good descriptors for my life right now.

What if in these times of trouble, these painful changes, these dark days, God is unleashing a beauty that’s been there all along?

What if in the days we don’t understand, God is making our true colors known to the world, letting us stand out from those around us?

In the Bible, Psalm 1 talks about a person who loves the Lord, who keeps good company, and knows the Law. That person, the psalmist says “is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season.” Only recently did I catch that last part: in season. The tree may be planted by streams of water but it may not always be yielding fruit. The tree’s not dead; it’s dormant, waiting for its season.

Are you there?

I am.

And I’m thankful for the reminder that when my season comes, it’ll be as beautiful and brilliant as the colors of fall.

Issues? What issues? Review of She's Got Issues by Nicole Unice

I started this book almost two months ago, and I’m usually not a slow reader. But where some books I read are like a bowl of ice cream I gobble up in a few minutes,  She’s Got Issues is like a multi-course meal I wish wouldn’t end. Author Nicole Unice gives us–women, especially–plenty to chew on.

At first glance, I wanted to deny. Issues? What issues? Then I scanned the Table of Contents: fear, anger, insecurity, unforgiveness. Oh. Those issues. The journey into and through your issues, whatever they might be, can be scary, but Unice is like a seasoned travel guide through the darkest valleys. She doesn’t preach from on high. She’s talking to us from the trenches of transformation. Her style is humorous, fresh and real. She doesn’t hide her own struggles, and she doesn’t want us to hide them either.

I started journaling when I began reading, and I’m glad I did. Otherwise, the whole book might be underlined. Unice offers thought-provoking questions, surveys and quizzes, as well as honest prayers. At the end of each chapter is a link (and one of those smartphone doodads) to watch a video related to the chapter. (Yeah, I’m tech savvy.)

Here are some of the truths that have stuck with me:

  • A blessing is the infusion of something with holiness
  • Every woman becomes either beautiful, bitter or beaten (having given up on life) by the time she’s 40. We either face our stuff or we don’t. Six years from the big 4-0, I’m tracking toward bitter or beaten. That’s a hard truth to face, but my eyes are open to how I can face my issues and let God work through them.
  • There’s a Lord for that. I don’t have to hold it all together.
  • Growth is awkward. What if we began to think of our insecurities not as shameful places to hide but as opportunities to see God working in our lives?
  • Secure women know their strengths and aren’t afraid to own them. They also know about their weaknesses and aren’t scared by them. They admit when they’re wrong but don’t beat themselves up. They take risks and fail but try again.
  • When it comes to comparing myself to others or wishing I had someone else’s life, this statement punched me in the gut: The competition is between you and the you God wants you to be. Ignore everybody. Stay in your own lane.
  • Among Christians there is a fear of rage, a surplus of resentment, and a shortage of indignation.
  • Sanctification is about the very interruptions and issues I want to ignore.

Seriously, get a copy of this book. It’s not self-help because Lord knows, I’ve tried to help myself through these things. No, it’s more like a self-can’t-help book. It’s, as the subtitle to the book says, “seriously good news for stressed-out, secretly scared control freaks like us.”

Check out Nicole’s Website, or connect with her on Facebook or Twitter. The book has a DVD curriculum, too, which I’m guessing would be a great Bible study/women’s group resource.

Not bad, for a Monday

Consider yourselves warned: This post may be a rambling mash-up of what’s in my brain. It’s after 8 p.m. I’m just now eating “real” dinner, and I’ve been alone with the children all day (with more solo parenting tomorrow).

But when your Monday starts out like this:

How bad could it get from there?

Five minutes after my husband left the house, our son was in time out for pulling his sister’s hair. Sigh.

The day could only get better. And it did. When my husband is gone overnight (or turns into a zombie while writing papers for seminary) I have to keep the rest of us busy or risk going completely crazy. Last night I made a list of what I wanted to accomplish while he’s gone. After making the list, I thought: Whoa. Too ambitious.

But we forged ahead and our list is shrinking quickly. (Even after I added things to it, just so I could cross them off. Tell me I’m not the only one who does this.)

Anytime we make it out of the grocery store without a fight, a bathroom break, or any sort of yelling, I’m happy. Grocery store first thing Monday morning is not busy with shoppers but is busy with stockers, so I was glad to make it out of there with little to no incidents.

After the store, we did this.

The kids were busy for close to an hour decorating, and naming (which is an involved and humorous process), their pumpkins.

They take their art quite seriously.

Isabelle inherited a decorating gene somewhere along the line. She spent more minutes than I would have arranging the pumpkins “just so” for the picture.

While they colored, I made doctors’ and dentists’ appointments and texted friends.

We made an afternoon run to the bank. On the way, we passed a cemetery. Near the road a girl, maybe a teenager, maybe older, sat cross-legged on the ground next to a freshly dug grave. A man leaned against a car on the side of the road. Watching? Waiting? It took us only a moment to pass them, but the image stays with me. And the writer in me wants to know that story. And I wonder how many people we pass everyday, with a fleeting glance, on our way to other things, have a story to tell (answer: all of them). A hurt that needs healing. A struggle that needs encouragement.

After the trip to the bank, we finally redeemed our coupons to The Ice Shack. We’ve had these coupons for a free ice (Italian ice?) since Vacation Bible School this summer, and the place closes in a month. So, yeah, it was time. Now I’m wondering, why the heck did we wait so long? We each had a generous scoop of icy, sugary goodness. Izzy chose watermelon. Corban chose cherry. And I had root beer. It might not be summer anymore, but we sat outside and slurped these icy treats in the sun. (Not to self: shortened nap time plus sugary snack equals CRAZY afternoon.)

Then it was off to the library to exchange our books. Corban is in a construction book phase, so he searches the shelves for any and all construction book. And shouts with joy–in a quiet library–every time he finds one. His sister is no better. Every 3 seconds, it was “Mom! Mom! They have …” Her current favorite is Fancy Nancy. I love that they love books. I guess I can’t really ask them to curb their enthusiasm for reading.

When we got home from the library, they voluntarily sat quietly on the couch “reading” their new books while I checked in with the rest of the world (i.e. Facebook) and paid bills. We walked to the mailbox, met our friends on the way back, and found ways to bide our time until our dinner playdate at the park. Took a spin through the McDonald’s drive-through for a large sweet tea because man, oh, man, was I tired by 5:30. McDonald’s sweet tea: liquid happiness and it only costs $1. (We’ll see how easily I fall asleep tonight.)

Met the aforementioned friends at the park and played our little hearts out until dusk.

Kids sweetly sleeping. And I’m voluntarily listening to the Bears game on the radio. Seriously. My husband isn’t home to make me pay attention to sports and I’m paying attention to sports. What is wrong with me? I’m not intending to stay awake till the end.

Tomorrow we’re looking at a rain day, so we have some indoor activities planned. I may try making applesauce for the first time ever. And we have some clothing to sort through for friends. And there’s always laundry and dishes. (Ick and double ick.)

All in all, not bad for a Monday, and Tuesday’s looking good, too.

Saturday smiles: words are not enough edition

When someone shows up at your front door with armloads of groceries, pumpkins for the kids to decorate, toys and an offer to use their home exercise equipment anytime: words are not enough.

When you invite friends over for dinner and they bring with them more groceries than the meal you’ve prepared: words are not enough.

When friends who are, themselves, struggling to make ends meet load a box with food from their pantry and deliver it to your house: words are not enough.

When you’re offered canned goods from a family’s personal store: words are not enough.

When your family doesn’t hesitate to send you hundreds of dollars, more than once, so you can pay rent, afford car repairs and pay bills: words are not enough.

When the UPS man drops two boxes full of food and an envelope with cash on your doorstep: words are not enough.

When you can laugh and smile even when you’re not sure what tomorrow holds: words are not enough.

When you look around and see a roof over your head, two smiling and healthy kids, a man whose love for you runs deep laboring side by side with you, and countless blessings that make you feel rich in all the right things: words are not enough.

When words written centuries ago burn in your soul as you read them today and you know–really know–you aren’t alone in this world: words are not enough.

When it rains one day and the sun reappears the next day: words are not enough.

Words are not enough to tell you what I’ve felt, seen and heard this week. For a writer, that’s frustrating. But also humbling. Because for some things in life, there are no words. At least not the spoken kind. For some things, your soul speaks in a language all its own and though you can’t translate the message into your native tongue, you know what’s being said. And you agree. It makes you want to shout and sing and write poetry and paint and tell people what you’ve experienced. And when you try to put it into words, you just don’t get it quite right.

Today, words are not enough.

And I’m okay with that.

What a day

I woke up today with hope. A rare emotion these days but not on the brink of extinction. A job interview was scheduled for the afternoon, and though I was nervous and all kinds of freaked out and worried, I was excited.

A sense of expectation settled in next to hope. It had been more than a week since vials of my blood crossed the country in a box via FedEx to be tested against my cousin’s blood to determine whether I could be her kidney donor. That call might come today, I thought.

Our car was headed to the shop early this morning. A leaky something-or-other (yes, that’s the technical term) and even though our funds are tight, we felt the repair was needed.

By 9 a.m. hope and expectation slid over and made room for their oversized uninvited guest worry, who hardly ever comes to the party without his sidekick fear. I was on the phone with my mom, asking for money because the leaky thing in our van turned out to be the radiator and the parts and labor were the equivalent of a month’s rent. (Why is it never hard to ask your parents for money when you’re a teenager? The older you get, the harder it is to ask for money, even if it’s for important reasons.)

By noon, hope was passed out on the couch. The job interview had to be rescheduled for tomorrow and the job I applied for has been restructured in the past couple of days. Long story short, the company is hiring for two similar positions in two to four months. But I still get an interview. Hope isn’t dead; but she’s fighting for her life.

By 3:30, expectation had taken his leave. The call came from the hospital in Peoria where my cousin’s transplant coordinator is based. My blood and her blood didn’t like each other, so I’m not a match. And she still needs a kidney.

Where does that leave me?

Confused. Frustrated. Scared. If not this, then what, Lord? That’s what I’ve been asking. We had hope that when my husband had an interview, we were on track for the next step. Not to be. We had hope that this position for me would enable us to make the move we long to make to Lancaster. While that door isn’t closed, it isn’t exactly open right now either. We don’t have the funds to get us through two to four more months, and we’d feel lower than low at having to ask our parents month after to month to help us make rent.

Angry. Where did we go wrong? This isn’t funny anymore, God. What more can we give? Oh, sure, we’re learning some hard lessons right now, but I think it’s time for a summer vacation from lessons. I don’t believe God is cruel. He’s oh-so-good, better than we deserve. And we’ve seen His goodness. Over. And over. And over again. Still, when days like this come, I wonder if He’ll keep on being good to us or if He’s punishing us for bad decisions.

Doubtful. Are we sure we heard right? That we’re supposed to stay in Pennsylvania and move to Lancaster? Is my husband called to be a pastor? Yes to all those things but when life doesn’t match up with the way you plan, you begin to wonder if you took a wrong turn somewhere. And if you heard God at all.

Stressed. I want to take up a contact sport or learn to box. Years ago, I would have taken my tennis racket and a can of balls and just hit, hit, hit against the wall at the tennis courts until I was worn out. Maybe I’ll play a game on the Wii tonight. It won’t be exactly the same, but it might help.

Tired. Trusting, worrying, wondering, it’s exhausting work. I’m tired of life the way it is. Tired of answering questions at the WIC office about whether or not my kids eat breakfast every day. Tired of making eggs for supper because we’re rationing our meat. Tired of choosing which bills to pay when. Tired of feeling like a failure because two college-educated adults can’t find jobs to make ends meet. Tired of easy answers to hard questions. Tired of feeling like I’m deflating people’s hope balloons when they pray for us and nothing (so we think) happens.

Humbled. It’s not MY plan. It’s not MY way. It’s not what I think SHOULD happen. Or WHEN I think it should happen. It’s God. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. I can’t see where this is going. I don’t know what to do. But I know Him. And yes, it sounds easy to say all I can do is trust Him. That He’s good. And has a plan. These aren’t empty words I say to make myself feel better because they don’t always make me feel better. They are reminders of what’s true. Like my husband loves me, even when he doesn’t show it. Or the sun is in the sky, even if it’s covered by clouds.

These are the ramblings of a girl trying to work out in words what she’s feeling in her heart, mind and soul.

Today was a day.

Tomorrow is another.

In the meantime, I’m hitting up the freezer for some ice cream. And praying the kids fall asleep soon so I can cuddle up with a book and go to sleep early.

Thanks for reading.

The book of Acts for the modern-day church: Review of A Big Life by Peter Hone

Before I started reading A Big Life by Peter Hone, I encountered the book of Luke in a new way. Reading the first four verses reminded me that Luke was like an investigative reporter writing on the life of Jesus, and Acts, his sequel, was like field reporting on the growing church and the life and ministry of the apostle Paul. Hone’s book reminds me of Luke’s biblical books.

In A Big Life, he tells the story of a ministry that touches thousands of lives in India, and it began with one man on a mission. John Heerema is an ordinary man who suffered extraordinarily as youth. Born with club feet, he endured the pain of surgeries and braces and bullying. He let his relationship with the Lord grow cold in his college and post-college days. Later, his life (and his wife’s) would be changed and together they began seeking the heart of God. They began to be exposed to missions work and John eventually was part of a group that led baseball clinics in Iran. The door to Iran closed after 9/11 but another door opened to India.

The Big Life story is a big story filled with numerous accounts of Indians giving their lives to Christ, of opportunities for the Gospel to spread in Iran, India and Nepal. The stories are dramatic and moving. John and his wife Kathy’s obedience to the Lord is humbling and challenging. They left lucrative jobs to devote more time to missions. They sold their house and downsized. They lived in faith, trusting God to financially provide for the ministry even when that seemed impossible.

The first chunk of the book is an overview of John’s life and how the ministry began and introduces us to the partners in the ministry, such as Benjamin, a gifted Indian preacher who became the first employee of Big Life. It’s compelling and well-told. I was surprised at how quickly I read the book. The second part of the book is the author’s first-person tale of a trip to India to meet some of the people involved in the ministry. Overall, it reads like a fly-on-the-wall account, even though it’s clear that the author conducted interviews and weaved the story together. At times I felt some of the observations and details were unnecessary, but with the amount of information to pick from, I think he did a good job of not letting the story get bogged down.

I don’t know if the Big Life story will become a Christian household name, but it’s an inspiring journey and gives hope that the Gospel is, indeed, changing lives in remote parts of the world.

And it’s encouraging and challenging to read what can happen when one ordinary person lets God have control.

A Big Life is available from Big Life Ministries, Tate Publishing and Amazon.com

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In exchange for this review, I received a free copy of the book from the publisher.

Swimming in the deep end

Today’s post is part of the second leadership synchroblog by Evangelical Seminary. This week’s topic: How do we define “depth” in leadership? (You can also read my contribution on the topic of “What makes a good leader?”)

I’m not a big fan of swimming. Oh, I can watch Michael Phelps or Missy Franklin or any other Olympic swimmer do their thing in primetime, but to suit up myself and do some laps? No, thanks.

Truth be told, the water sort of scares me. I’m good in the shallow end, where I can touch the bottom, but lead me into deeper waters and I start to envision drowning and dramatic rescues. My lungs start to burn thinking about holding my breath and I get leg cramps and … well, you get the idea. It’s not pretty in my head.

I sometimes feel the same way about depth. Deep people scare me a little. They’re so in tune with who they are and what they’re about. They’re comfortable with their weaknesses and failures and they don’t seem to care what other people think.

Me? I’m over in the kiddie pool of conversation, deflecting questions to other people like a beach ball in a game of keep away. I’m unnaturally curious about other people (it’s the journalist in me) but asking me to go deep is like asking me to jump off the high dive in front of an audience. It’s not going to happen. At least not without help.

And that’s where deep leaders come in.

© Lisa James | Dreamstime.com

If we stick with the swimming analogy, they’re in the deep end already. They’ve faced their fears and forged ahead in spite of them. They’ve been in over their heads, learned how to keep their heads above water without losing focus. They’ve gained strength and stamina from being in a place where few people tread. They’ve made the decision to step away from the easy, shallow waters and make waves in the deeper water.And deep leaders don’t exclude others from the deep end. They not only say, “Come on in, the water’s fine,” they swim back to those in the shallow end and guide the willing into deeper waters, sharing their experiences of going deep. They acknowledge that, yes, the deep end can be scary, but it won’t overwhelm us. Like these words from Scripture:

When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.

Some of my deepest moments have come because of others who were willing to share the deep parts of themselves with me first. And they’ve been deep waters I’ve needed to pass through. Without a hand to guide me, I would have been overwhelmed.

Deep leaders have passed through the deep waters of life and are still swimming.

How would you define depth in leadership?

Saturday smiles: circus edition

My job title on Facebook says: Ringmaster at Bartelt 3-ring Follies. I’ve considered changing it for a more impressive sounding title like domestic goddess (which would be a lie; I’m a terrible housekeeper) or CEO of Bartelt, Inc. or Supermom, but really, the ringmaster title is the most appropriate.

Exhibit A:

The amazing upside-down, look ma one hand Isabelle!

And Exhibit B:

Munchkin on a trike.

And Exhibit C:

My cousin Abby had a birthday this week and she asked everyone to dress in purple and send pictures. This was our crazy humorous attempt. The kids are wearing my husband’s high school graduation gown. Their heads are poking out through the sleeves. Note to self: buy the boy some purple. He wore this and a princess dress to show his spirit.

Ringmaster fits me well. I tend to be the one trying to keep things under control, moving in some kind of order. And I feel like the words to that old song:

“Clowns to the left of me; jokers to the right; here I am, stuck in the middle with you.”

I’m sure that song has a completely different meaning than how I’m using it, but today, it works for me.

Maybe we’ll take our show on the road soon. My son already has rolling in the center aisle down to an art form in churches. And he’s constantly asking if our pastor is God. He’s also a human snot factory and thinks it’s hilarious to blow it out of his nose before he has a tissue anywhere nearby. (Two-year-olds are SO gross!) And Isabelle can show off her talent for making stories out of dinosaur shaped fruit snacks and penguin shaped cheese crackers. Give her anything resembling a human or animal, and she’s using them to tell stories.

Creative? Yes. Annoying sometimes? Definitely. Worth an audition on America’s Got Talent? Probably  not. But I won’t rule it out. (Yes I will. I don’t want that kind of fame.)

For now, we’ll stick with our favorite venue: home. And if I’m not too busy keeping the circus contained, I’ll post more pictures of the show.

I’m drawing the line at lion taming, though. The closest we’ll come to that is adopting a cat.