One for the Guys, One for the Girls

An awkward conversation about soap.

If you like wearing scarves (or would like to but can't ever figure out how to wear them) then this is for you: 

Katie's Kisses

I've been working on a Christmas post (very slowly) but today when I accidentally deleted a bunch of  it, I got frustrated and decided to post this first.

I'm not one to follow the news and am usually the last to see and hear what everyone else knows.  So it is quite possible that you have already seen or at least heard of a girl named Katie Davis.  But if you haven't, her story is one worth knowing about.

Katie is a girl who at age 19, left her comfortable life in Brentwood, Tennessee to work in Uganda.  She just felt a stirring.  She didn't have any idea where or how far or deep this stirring would lead her, but she followed it.  Still a teen, she found herself mothering several children, taking care of the sick and dying and serving and loving every brown person in her path.

She is nothing special, nothing more special than all of us anyway.  She's just a girl. But her story has rocked my world.  I have been glued to her story, watching videos of her on you tube and following her blog.  Again, not because she is amazing.  But her story is.  I am enthralled with people who don't just talk Jesus, but live Jesus.  This girl is compelled to chase after this Jesus man in ways that make you want to cry.  And I have.  I cry not because I think Uganda is our next stop, but because He is worth THIS much of her life.  And mine.  And so are the people that she loves.  They are worth all that she gives.  And because somewhere in me, I long to live this kind of life. Not necessarily in the dirt of Africa but the kind of life that only finds its joy in following hard after Jesus, no matter what people think.  No matter what that life looks like.  The kind of joy that even in the hard, you throw your head back in laughter because you have this joy welling up inside of you that can only come from Him.  The source of this joy though- it's not always what you think it should be.  We find him in the hurt and pain of this world.  The yucky messed up places.  Do I believe I will really encounter Jesus in the hurting, in the poor and the homeless?  Do I live like I am serving Jesus in the ways that I talk to and treat the people that I live among and encounter?  We really are serving Jesus when we talk to and treat every person as if they were Him.  I have lived much of my life searching for him in Bible studies and in church on Sunday morning.  And he is there.  But I have a feeling he is not just there.  He has left the church building.  He is in the places of poverty.  Physical and spiritual poverty.  He really can be seen in the eyes of the destitute and lonely, the outcast.  And they're not just in Africa.  They're everywhere.  They're at my kids' schools, and they are my neighbor.  I walk by them in in the malls and sit with them at Starbucks.  But can I see them?

God, open my eyes to the world around me.  Give me your heart for your people.

If you want to read more of her story, click here.

And to watch a promo of her book....

Beauty

There is so much beauty in this world.  I see it in people, and in the creativity that flows from them.  In sounds.  On pages.  In nature.  There's beauty in the way a mama talks to her child, there's beauty in the sound of the wind.  I see it when she smiles at him.  I hear it with the words, "i love you, mom."  I feel it in the arms of my husband wrapped around me.  


I know beauty.  It comes on wings.  It rests a while.  It fades. It remains, though flickering.  Beauty: I see it in a child's eyes, in the grasping of tiny fingers around a papa's. 


I see beauty in the imperfect and in the crooked.  In the plain, in the grand.  Beauty comes in many forms.  Artful, soulful expression.  It comes from within, from without.  


Even ugly can be beautiful.  When He takes the pain, the sadness, the hurt and he makes something new with it.  Beauty from ashes.

This is an amazing work, so loving and tender.  The 'work' is happening before one can see it.  It is deep.  It is still dark while the breath of life is being breathed.  This breath is alive, holy.  So still it is at times... imperceptible.  Isaiah 61 tells me that The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me.  To proclaim this good news, and to provide for those grieving, to bestow on them a crown of BEAUTY instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.  This is incredible because the ugly is not yet beautiful.  But He knows it will be.  It will be.   He provides for me and you in grief.  And He takes our ashes and gives us crowns of BEAUTY.  And then.  Then, as He wills, the ashes turned beauty touch another's life.  

I want to be a reflection of His beauty.  

Carry on... it's only rain!

People who live in the UK do not take the rain seriously.  Rain is the run of the mill, to be expected, nothing to get flustered about (or even mention) kind of weather. Wellies and umbrellas are optional.  Most people just carry on walking, cycling, or pushing their baby carriages maybe at a bit quicker of a pace.  

As I was walking home today, I approached an elderly gentleman on his way to somewhere and we both peeked out of our umbrellas to see which side of the sidewalk the other intended to pass on when he said to me, "It's a proper umbrella day, isn't it?" I smiled and agreed and thought to myself that any sort of drips from the sky is a "proper umbrella day" for me.

Weather is a funny thing here.  The other day Jeff and I walked to pick up Max from school and by the looks of the sky there was no threat of rain, but by the time we got there, it was literally raining, blowing and snowing gigantic snowflakes.  Thankfully it was a Tuesday, which meant that the café across the street in St. Peter's church was open.

Every Tuesday people from the village of
Wolvercote volunteer their time to work in the café.

We ran inside for cover and ate scones and drank tea until the weather became bearable to walk home in.   Olivia and Luke take a city bus home from school every afternoon, and sadly, on this particular day their bus was 30 minutes late!  They were frozen and dripping wet when they finally arrived home.  Their umbrellas and even the bus shelter did little to keep them dry as the wind blew the rain right into the shelter. It was a great night to start up our first fire in the fireplace.  I have a feeling we'll be doing a lot of fire building this winter just to keep the chill off.  I'm already counting down the days until spring!

Late to the Party

Carol Services are in abundance at this time of year in England.  Every church, it seems, is advertising their carol service with an attractive lure of free mulled wine and mince pies afterward. I really wanted to take in one of these this year, so I put an alarm on my phone reminding me.... 6:00 p.m. Sunday, December 18, Carol Service, St. Aldates.

It was 3:45 p.m. and Jeff and I were doing our big grocery shop for the week.  I assumed we had loads of time, but the announcement came over the loudspeaker that the store would be closing in 15 minutes. I don't shop quickly.  I need two hours to grocery shop, especially when I'm meal planning as I walk the aisles.  When the announcement came, we hurried to put everything we could into the 'trolley' and dashed for the checkout.  We bagged our groceries and headed for the car.  As we were waiting for the windows to de-fog my alarm went off reminding me of the carol service I had completely forgotten about.  We called the kids and told them to get ready because we'd be leaving as soon as Jeff and I got home.  We waited for record time at the bus stop (buses aren't as frequent on a Sunday night) and got to the service 15 minutes late.  It was a capacity crowd and people were stuffed all the way to the doors in the narthex.  We couldn't even see into the auditorium.  I happened to know that this service was going to be a long one (though we kept that information from the kids) and Jeff and I looked at each other thinking we should just turn around and go back home.  Right at that moment, an usheress (is that what you call a female usher?) spotted us in our dilemma and told us that she could seat us at the front on the floor if we'd like.  She assured us there were "loads" of people doing the same thing.  We both curled our lips at the thought of walking in front of hundreds of people and being seated in front (on the floor, no less) but after debating for a second, decided to go for it since we'd come this far.  

What we didn't realize is that we would be sitting FRONT and CENTER on the floor. Yes, that's right.... we walked in 15 minutes late and got prime seating, just inches from the stage and even closer to the advent wreath with four burning candles.  There were a few others on the floor as well, but they all seemed to be tucked neatly off to the sides of the stage.  The older kids looked at Jeff and I like they were going to kill us the first chance they got. What they failed to understand is that at that moment we, too, felt like our teenage selves just wanting to drop through an escape door in the floor.  I especially felt badly for the people we were directly in front of who had likely gotten to church early to get such a special seat.  There was lots of sitting and standing repeated by more sitting and standing throughout Bible readings, prayers and songs.  I think we all just wanted to not be so visible.  

Although I was initially so distracted by embarrassment, as the service unfolded I began to feel God's peace landing on me like a blanket.  The joy in the room was pulsing, God's presence- palpable.  We were so close to the center of it all... the flickering candles, the orchestra, the voices and the joyful expressions on faces... that it was impossible not to sense the nearness of God, Emmanuel.  He was right there with us, in our midst, dwelling among us.  It began to seem as though this seat on the floor near the altar was not an inconvenience or an accident after-all.  This service was exactly what our spirits needed.  As Jeff and I were talking afterwards, he said, "it felt like we were late to the party, yet, still we were given the best seat." 

Isn't that just like God... even though we are all 'late to the party,' or 'a day late and a dollar short' at times, he doesn't mind.  He doesn't treat us differently or reprimand us. He doesn't turn us away at the door.  He welcomes us in and bids us closer, closer until we can feel his heartbeat.