We were at an amusement park this weekend with our kids.  On the way down to Kansas City, Bart was trying to talk Jenna into riding on a rollercoaster again.  Sarah wanted to know why people like riding on rollercoasters, and so I was telling her about "good scary."  I told her there was "bad" scary, and "good"  scary.  The bad scary is the kind of scary that gives you nightmares, and deals with naughty things, and things were people get hurt.  The good kind of scary is that thrilling feeling you get when you are going down a 200 foot hill, but there's no danger of being hurt.  It gives you that funny feeling in your stomach, and we call it a "rush."

 

We started the day riding one of the tamest rides at the park: The Sea Dragon.  It's basically like a giant glider on a swing set, but only shaped like a viking ship.  It swings you gently back and forth in the beginning, but with each swing, it gets higher until you feel like you're going to fly off to glory.

 

It was the most terrifying 2 minutes of my life......well the most terrifying 2 minutes since last year when I got talked in to riding on "The Detonator" (which is the thing that shoots you straight up in the air, and drops you straight down again)  The rest of the day was spent looking up at my family and smiling from the railings around the rides, being incredibly grateful in my mind that I was standing on solid ground.

 

I've decided that in my world, there is no good scary. 

 

Sidebar:  My six year old asked me a great question while we were walking through the park.  She wanted to know why all the rides had scary names....The Detonator, The Fury of the Nile, The Monsoon....  I thought that was an AWESOME question.  It's not like these rides need to be hyped up.  They could have called The Detonator....."Large Pole With Seats That Shoot Up In The Air", and I would have still gotten shaky knees just looking at the thing. 

 

I think I'm going to start calling the car:  "The Moving Death Trap"  when my daughter turns 16.  Maybe it will help.....but then she might think it's "good" scary.

Dear God,

 

Is it too much to ask to be astonished by You today?  Whether it be through revealing  to me a stunning reality of You through something mundane, that I've seen time and again.... or in a whole new circumstance, or maybe even through a very obvious-huge-bells-and-whistles-shake-the-world-kind of way, could I be astonished by You today?  I feel desperate for that right now.  I feel the need have a taste of what it will be like when I don't need faith anymore...when I'm right before You, feeling You embrace me with Your nail scarred hands.

 

I feel weighted down by the reality of life.  I feel weak and dull of sight in this moment.  My focus seems unfocused, and fear is distracting me to the point that I feel a bit overcome by all the bad stuff in life.  

 

If I'm asking to go to the mountain top when You want me in the valley, then give me faith to walk the valley.  If I'm asking for a feast when You're wanting me to be content with bread and water, help me to be satisfied with even the smallest morsel.   Maybe that in itself will be the astonishing thing....that I can face this morning with a renewed peace and joy in You, though seemingly nothing has changed.

 

Early in the morning I order my prayer to Thee....and eagerly watch. (Ps 5:3)

 

Your kid,

 

Lisa

My daughter asked me to show her how to shave her legs yesterday.  She's been getting more embarrassed about her hairy legs which are due to the stage of life in which she's entering but also from her father who is fondly called the human sweater.  Since none of her friends know about my blog, and even if they did, they wouldn't read it, I feel confident I can discuss such matters without too much fear of facing the wrath of my 10 year old because she's embarrassed.  So, you 5 readers of mine, please don't tell my daughter you know she's shaving her legs.  That means you Maymo Kathy and Maymo Mary!

 

I'm not ready for her to grow up.  I'm not ready for her to shave her legs, and wear bras and act weird around boys.  I'm not ready for her to ask me, tearfully, how to make friends and be popular.  I'm not ready to see her worry about her weight, her hair, and what she's wearing.  There are certain conversations I'm not ready to have with her about how she and her sister showed up in the world, and how to deal with friends of hers (and God forbid, maybe even herself one day too soon) who will be doing the things to bring other children into this world before they themselves are done being children.

 

But the ride has begun.  I need to buckle up and pray.  God is driving anyway, so what do I have to fear?  In this moment...everything it seems!  aaaaaaaaah!

A friend of mine's brother committed suicide several years ago.  We were talking about how strange it is in times like that,  when you feel like your life is falling apart, but the world just keeps on spinning.  People keep mowing their yards, and walking their dogs, and watching their shows all while you are dealing with your own private devastation.  In the middle of sorrow like that, I just want to go to the grocery store, or the mall, or some other public place teeming with the mundane, and stand in the middle of it and try and soak up some of the normalcy.  I want to let it saturate through my skin and try and spread it around like a balm on the wounds of the chaos in my corner of the world.

 

But, if I could do that...if I could buy or borrow normalcy, then I would miss the incredible blessing of seeing God work in the middle of difficult times.  I would miss the joy of being broken and needing God.  In our self-sufficient, prideful, take charge worlds, we are missing the incredible gift of need.  To be in a place of desperate need of God is to be in a place where we have been stripped of our pride and can be anointed with mercy, grace, forgiveness, healing, and faith, by His loving hands.   Anyone or anything but God offers nothing but snake oil.  Or, a drug that temporarily dulls our pain, but leaves us in more agony than the day before.  He is our balm.  He is the medicine to truly heal our souls.  And we can't buy Him, borrow Him, or steal Him.  We can only ask Him, on our knees, in brokenness, to anoint our sorrow, and to heal our cancer ridden souls.

Our family went to my brother's house for mother's day.  (the picture of him, Trish, Mitchell, and baby Livvy, as well as pics of Livvy, and Mitchell and Livvy together are on the slideshow above)  I love my family.  We really enjoy getting together. 

 

So, my brother grilled steaks for us.  They were huge and delicious.  Steak is one of my favorite foods, so I felt like I got a special treat for Mother's Day.  About an hour after eating, however, I started feeling a bit "funky" but I just wrote it off to the fact that I had consumed half of a cow the hour earlier.  A Monday morning rush to the bathroom confirmed, however, that it was not the massive quanitity of beef, it was indeed the flu.

 

Yesterday was one continuous trip back and forth to the bathroom.  If it were clean enough, I would have just laid on the floor in the bathroom to save effort.  My thought process during the day yesterday was a lot like my thought process during labor.  Here's how it went:

 

 

This morning I'm weak and shaky, but at least I can straighten up because the cramping is down to a dull ache and occasional spasm.  I'm not ready to dive into a big piece of steak, though.  I'll stick with my white toast and a banana for now.

 

Maybe I don't need to wear a voting booth around, or build a bigger garage.  Maybe I just need to have the flu for a few months to get some of this weight off.

 

NAAAAAAAAA. 

 

 

To the songwriters in my merry band of readers...check out Simon's latest entry.  (link to the left)

 

To the non-songwriters in my merry band of readers...check out Simon's blog site, and everyone else I have listed.  I know some cool peeps.

Yesterday was election day in Huskerville.  As I stood in the voting booth, I started to wonder if I could just stay in there forever.  It was quiet, clean, cozy and only the best part of me was showing...from about 4 inches above my knee, down to my wedgy-sandaled feet. 

 

I chuckled to myself, thinking, I wouldn't have to pluck my eyebrows, try and disguise my "body by hoho's" figure, or color my graying hair.   I could wear my favorite shirt every day, even though it's stained with coffee and who knows what else.  (I'm not capable of drinking anything without spilling) The vertical red white and blue stripes in the curtain surely were flattering as well. I felt thinner just standing in that little stall.   I could just cut eyeholes in the curtain and wear it around continuously.

 

If it hadn't been attached to the other booths, I would have picked it up and walked out in it.  Since that wasn't going to happen, I took my time filling in the little circles, feeling like for once I had found the perfect outfit. 

 

I can't wait until November.

 

 

 

Those lines are the beginning of a poem called Psalm of Life, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  I read it yesterday, and then today, I read this in ICorinthians 15: 42-44

 

 

Before opening God's word, I prayed to spend my allotment of thoughts for the day on eternal things.  The first thing I saw when I woke up was the laundry, and immediately I started running down the list of chores that needed to get done today.  So, my prayer was to be able to walk through the daily routine with a mindset that this is my service to God for the day...that what seems dull and routine can have eternal ramifications for me...that washing my towels can please an almighty God, if offered as my service to Him.  I get to serve three of His flock today.  I prayed that would give me joy and satisfaction, and not a sense of longing, that I'm missing out on something greater for "my" life.

 

In my perishable body, with my bent for dishonor, through my weaknesses, may I remember what lies ahead.  The grave is not the end for me.  My soul is imperishable.  My heavenly self will be raised in glory, raised in power, raised a spiritual body.  I've already been sealed for those things.  That work is begun in me already.  Dust thou art to dust returnest...WAS NOT SPOKEN OF THE SOUL.

 

Life is not an empty dream.  Longfellow was a unitarian, so I'm not sure where his theology lands on this poem, but for me, it struck the forever part of me.  I am alive, through Christ, forever.  The events of today have eternal impact, no matter how inconsequential they may seem to anyone else.  

 

Yesterday, I had a moment of meltdown.  Ok, it was more like 2 hours of meltdown.  Sometimes the day in and day out routine gets to me.  Raising kids is quite a trip.  So much of our day is spent repeating.  Repeating chores, repeating words, repeating discipline, repeating petitions for forgiveness, repeating habits that we're all trying to break.  There are times when I wonder if any of us are learning anything.  It feels like a treadmill, which can get incredibly frustrating for someone like me, who is A-D-D, very impatient, and always having my mind down the road a mile.   I felt like I wasn't making any kind of headway with my kids, with my sin, with our finances, with goals...with anything.   So, that's where all this is coming from.  The end of ICorinthians 15 says this:

 

 

Turn over any good sized rock in your garden, and hidden life will be revealed. All kinds of critters will scurry from the light, seeking to hide in dark safety once more.

 

Sue Smith turned over a good sized rock in her blog yesterday, revealing many of the hidden thoughts of writers at all levels of skill and accomplishment.  Want some insight on me and any other writer you know?  Go to her Friday, May 5 entry.

 

Click on "Sue's Blog"  to the left.

 

 

Our pastor told me once that Sunday nights and Mondays are often the hardest days of the week for pastors.  He had been warned in seminary that many pastors often slip into a depression after preaching for a day or so.  Whether it is the emotional toll it takes, or regret over things not said perfectly, or the physical toll it takes, it can often send pastors to the bottom.

 

I'm not a pastor (I can preach a mean sermon when I'm annoyed, convicted....really for about any reason) But I often experience the same kind of depression after certain activities.  Sunday worship used to have the same effect on me as well.  I'd replay all the mistakes, miscues, pitch problems, etc. God's been gracious to let me put the mistakes behind me for the most part, but I ususally come home and sleep 3-4 hours on Sunday afternoon. It just wipes me out.

 

Last night we had two couples over for dinner.  This morning, I woke up feeling like I talked too much, that I didn't pay enough attention to one of them, that I fussed too much about the food..that I forgot about the dessert that someone else had brought until 9 pm....yadda yadda yadda.  I hate this feeling, and want to quit over-analyzing and being so critical of myself.  The problem is, I'm not sure how to quit.  See, now, I'll lay in bed and analyze why I can't quit analyzing and then I'll get depressed about the fact that I've obsessed over my stupid over-analyzing obsessiveness.

 

If I weren't a Christian, I think I might be a heavy drinker.  It's the easiest way to forget about things.  I can see why people slip into habits like drinking, drugs, etc.  It gives you a moment to be unburdened of the "stuff" that weighs heavily.  To be honest, even as a Christian I've had moments where I've taken that route of a "quick forget."  I have no problem with Christians having an occasional drink here and there.  I'm talking about drunkenness here, just to clarify.  (a sermon for another day..hee hee!)

 

The problem with sinful ways of dealing with things, is that it just leads to more regret for the Christian..which just fuels the regret, stress, obsess cycle.(which is also sinful)  And, well, sinful behaviors are supposed to lead to regret.  That's the Holy Spirit working in us, for our good and for God's glory.  It leads to repentance which is a great place to be.   (Sidebar: Sue Smith's blog today talks about the gift of repentance...a good read, see link above.) God wants us to run to Him in those moments, not to drinking, tv, shopping, food, worry, whatever else we use to salve our wounds.   

 

I need to replay the Truth of God's word in my head instead of the flashbacks of my mistakes.  I need to meditate on His word, and pray to Him instead of spending time walking down the path that leads to stress and depression.  Instead of picking up the giant piece of carrot cake I had for breakfast this morning, I need to pick up his word and be nourished on it.  Plus, I won't have heartburn or a hangover from His word.

 

 

I saw Nicole Nordeman in concert this week.  She opened for Casting Crowns, so she only performed for about 30 minutes.  It was a wonderful 30 minutes though.  I've been a big admirer of her work for years, so it was quite a treat to finally get to see her live.

 

It was a very emotional time for me.  I was praying about why yesterday morning, because I want to pay attention to what God's trying to say to me in those moments.  First of all, her lyrics are emotional.  My favorite cut on her latest project is Hold On, and when she sang it in concert, I was mesmerized.  God's relentless pursuit of us is the subject of the song.  That's something that moves anyone who realizes the truth of that message.

 

Secondly, she's a wonderful performer.  I've always liked her voice.  She has great control.  But, her piano playing was great too, and I enjoyed listening to her play.  She had a pretty acoustic set, which was very cool.  It was a 4 piece--drums, stand up bass, acoustic guitar, and piano.  The things she said between songs were honest, funny, deep, true, and touching--just like her lyrics.  It seems to me that she really knows who she is, and writes out of that place.  She's not trying to be anyone but herself, both as a writer and a performer.  As someone who struggles with that, I think God was speaking to my heart about being more authentic in my writing.  And, in leading worship or performing at other things, to accept my limitations and enjoy the opportunity.

 

Thirdly, listening to excellent music moves me deeply.  There was a part of me that sat there thinking, I want to write music that moves people the way songs like Hold On move me.  This was the main focus of my prayer yesterday.  Is it an ego thing?  Is it a need to get attention? (speaking only for myself here)  Maybe it is.  I've lifted that to God and asked Him to refine it out of me if need be.

 

I'm sure part of that desire is rooted in my flesh.  But, I think most of it was my creative side feeling nourished and encouraged.  When I hear good music, it makes me want to create.  I LOVE that feeling.  That's a huge part of why I love conferences like Write About Jesus.  I learn a lot, but mostly I want to go and be inspired.  Frankly, it's been a while since I felt inspired. Sometimes, I don't realize how thirsty I am until I'm given water.  Sitting in my chair the other night, it hit me how dry I've been creatively lately.  In that moment, I felt very overwhelmed with emotion.

 

The creative side of me wants to dig in and write stuff that is moving.  Stuff that helps people see life and God and love in a new way.  That is SO exciting to me.  I'm grateful writing is a part of my life.  It's my chance to express myself to God in a special way.  It may just be a "me and Him" thing, and as time goes on, that's getting to be more and more ok with me.  The day after the concert, I was driving to get my morning coffee, I was talking to God about writing.  It hit me that someday,  I'll be able to sing for Him in His very presence.  Songs that other saints have written, and songs that I have written.  And, AND, I'll get to keep writing songs for Him in heaven.  This thing isn't going to pass away.  Maybe I'll get to write a song with Nicole in heaven.  Maybe Nicole and I will get to write with Isaac Watts, John Wesley, Fannie Crosby...and on and on and on.  HOW COOL IS THAT?!!