Real life, midsummer edition

We knew in advance that the summer of 2019 was going to be a busy time for our family. Our family calendar included so many red-letter events, we ran out of red ink. We knew it was coming. We tried to prepare ourselves.

But wow.

How do you prepare yourself for so many things happening all at once?

Over the course of the last few weeks, every one of our sons has experienced a once-in-a-lifetime event. Here's photographic evidence.

One wedding:

One college graduation:

One master's degree graduation:

Sandwiched in there somewhere, my husband and I celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary. (34 years! Can you believe that?)

And in the middle of these big events, several other notable things took place, too:

The funeral of my beloved aunt (in Kentucky).

The high school graduation of my precious niece (in Mississippi).

 A charity gala (in Washington, DC).

The annual Renovaré Ministry Team Retreat (in Colorado).

An author photo shoot to prepare for the October release of my book, Mythical Me: Finding Freedom from Constant Comparison (which is available now for pre-order!).

And boom! Just like that, it's the middle of July!

That's a lot of pictures of me, huh? Some of these I posted on social media. If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook, you might have seen some of them.  But even this many pictures don't tell the whole story of the past few weeks.

I strive to be utterly authentic on social media, but I've only posted a few times over these past weeks. I've hit some highlights, and that's about it.

When I was writing Mythical Me, I studied social media. I discovered that peer-reviewed studies have now confirmed what many of us have long suspected to be true: social media posts share mostly "best-foot-forward" moments. This is one of the reasons that comparing ourselves to what we see of others' lives on social media is so dangerous. As one author put it, we're "comparing our behind-the-scenes to others' highlight reels."

There have been so many behind-the-scenes moments in my life over the past few weeks, you'd hardly believe it. In fact, we're living in a protracted behind-the-scenes time right now. One of my sons has been seriously ill for the past three weeks, and he's been living at home so that I can care for him. We're praying for healing and hoping for the best, but these weeks have been tough–the sickest I've ever seen him.

I just realized that I haven't posted anything on social media since my son got sick. It's not that I'm trying to hide the messy details of my life. It's more that I've been too busy to attend to Instagram or Facebook.

But if you were looking at me strictly from my social media presence over the past few weeks, you might think my life is practically perfect.

Nope. Far from it.

Here's the truth: my life is deeply blessed. I have a precious family, dear friends, a great church home, meaningful work to do. In addition to that, I have the stability and security of a loving marriage, a good job for my husband, a lovely home, health insurance, money to pay our bills. So my life is not only blessed but also highly privileged in many ways.

But perfect? No.

No one has a perfect life, no matter how their lives may look from afar. But as my friend Myquillyn likes to say, "It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful."

We all have blessings, and we all have struggles. My life is a mixture of both, and I know yours is, too. God give us the grace to be thankful for our messy, beautiful, real lives.

Tell me: what has your summer been like? I'd love to hear!

Old Story for a New Year

Happy New Year!

No doubt you've heard that greeting many times over the past few days. Perhaps you stayed up late on December 31 and greeted 2019 with kisses and toasts, or maybe you pulled the covers over your head and slept the old year away. Maybe you've made a list of resolutions for the this year, or perhaps you've chosen one word to guide you in the months to come. But one thing's pretty certain: you've been exposed to the word "new." A lot.

We love the promise of newness, don't we? A blank slate, a fresh start, a reboot—these ideas appeal to us like few others.

But as I contemplate the start of this new year, something has started to bug me.

As I think back on my Bible study and meditation for last month, everything pointed to the coming of Christ. The whole season of Advent was meaningful for me, as I reflected on the promise of Immanuel—God with us. I tried to put myself in the place of the ancient Israelites, watching and waiting for the Messiah. The old stories rang fresh in my mind, full of promise and hope.

And then on Christmas Eve, gathered with friends and family for a special service, I celebrated the coming of the Christ child into the world. "Joy to the world; the Lord is come!" we sang as we raised our lighted candles high into the air. Just like every year, we marveled how those little candles made the darkened sanctuary so full of light when they were all held aloft together. Indeed, the Lord had come; we could feel it.

But now, a couple of days into the new year, we're ready to put all the Christmas stuff behind us for another year. We take down the decorations. We throw out any leftover treats. We hang new calendars and get ready for the business of making ourselves new.

Up and at 'em! Make your goals! Get yourself organized! Make it happen! The message of Christmas may have been that the Lord had come, but the message of New Year's seems to be that it's all up to me.

Already, just a few days into the new year, I'm weary.

Over the centuries after the coming of Christ, church leaders developed traditions to keep people's thoughts fixed on Him. As I was growing up, I knew next to nothing about these traditions. Because they aren't mentioned in the Bible, our church didn't observe them. I had never heard of a "church calendar." The very idea would have seemed preposterous.

In the church calendar, the new year begins with Advent, the season of waiting for Christ. Then it moves into the season of Christmastide, which lasts all the way to January 6, a day for celebrating the visit of the wise men. "Epiphany" is the name for the celebration of that day, when the baby Jesus was first recognized by Gentiles as God incarnate. In the mid-19th century, William Dix wrote a special hymn for Epiphany:

As with gladness men of old
Did the guiding star behold,
As with joy they hailed its light,
Leading onward, beaming bright;
So, most gracious Lord, may we
Evermore be led to Thee.

Isn't that a wonderful prayer?

In these days of endless new-year-new-you messages, the idea of a church calendar doesn't seem preposterous at all. It seems like just what my soul needs.

Oh, I'll take my decorations down. I'll hang my new calendar up. But this year I'm choosing to remember that the celebration of Christmas is not just for December 25. We celebrate Christmas not just because Jesus was born, but because He lives and reigns. The promise of Immanuel was first for the people of Israel, then for the whole world. God himself is with us.

I don't have to make myself new this January. God himself is with me, and He is making me new. When I'm tempted to despair, I remember "though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day" (II Corinthians 4:16). The work of creating a new me this year is being done by the One with the strength and power to do it.

It's the old, old story, and it's what I need for the new year.

How about you?

Hanging on to hope

Boy, am I glad it's a new week.

As I turn the page to a new week in my planner, I'm awfully glad to leave last week behind and to look with hope at the unsullied week ahead.

I'm really glad for some hope, because last week was hard around here. More than once I found myself agreeing with Alexander, "This is a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day." Remember that book by Judith Viorst?

Maybe you've had days like that, too.

In the middle of those days, I realized something about myself. If you've read the book, you may remember that Alexander himself is telling the story, and the whole thing begins with this sentence:

"I went to sleep with gum in my mouth. . .
   And now there's gum in my hair."

Everything goes downhill after that, but it all started with the dadgum gum.

Which, in my mind, always provoked the question: Why on earth did he go to sleep with gum in his mouth?

Or the admonition: Never go to sleep with gum in your mouth.

Or worse, the accusation: You idiot! You know better than to go to sleep with gum in your mouth!

Somehow, as I surveyed the bad situations of last week, I always landed on the accusation.

You idiot! Why did you do that? Why didn't you do this?? You know better!

The problem with the accusation is that there's some truth in it. Alexander should have known better than to go to sleep with gum in his mouth. I should have known better than to do some of the things I did last week.

But knowing better doesn't always stop us from making mistakes, does it?

I'm thinking there's another way to interpret that first line of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, one that my soul desperately needs: confession.

I need to sit here honestly and say, "Look, I did some things I shouldn't have done. I messed up, and now we're all paying the price for that."

If I can press pause right there, if I can honestly admit to God and to other people that I did indeed screw up, I can stop the downward spiral.

No, I can't squirm out of the consequences of my mistakes and my sins. It may be that I'll have some terrible, horrible days. But I don't have to go all the way down to "no good."

My very favorite thing about God is that He can take any circumstance—even the terrible mistakes I make—and bring some good of it. The official term for that process is redemption, but I'm not sure that word is adequate. "Redemption" is what I do with coupons at the grocery store. It's what my mom used to do with S & H green stamps.

But the redemption God offers us is not at all mundane; it's miraculous.

I think we forget sometimes that God is quite capable of miracle. It's easy to measure God's abilities through our own feeble means, to hope only for forgiveness, because that sounds so hard to us. We want God simply to disregard our mistakes; we wish only that circumstances could be as if we had never sinned. But God can do better than that.

I made a mess of things last week. To be honest, I'm not even sure how to go about correcting my mistakes. But God doesn't have that problem. He can see the beginning from the end. He can see what contributed to my mistakes. He can see into my heart and the hearts of everyone affected by my sins.

And He can look at all that with eyes of eternal love, through which He can see what needs to be done.

My vision is distorted. I look at myself through eyes of condemnation and reproach. But that's not the way God sees me. Condemnation and reproach are the furthest things from His mind.

I can offer God the truth about myself, terrible as it may be. I can admit my deepest failings.

And then I can ask God to do what no one else can do. God can take even the worst of circumstances and use them to write a different story. He can bring about something new and beautiful from the mess, not despite the mess.

Only God can do that.

With God, there will be days when I screw up royally. There will be terrible, horrible, very bad days.

But there will never have to be days that are no good.

"God is light; in Him is no darkness at all" (I John 1:5). Redemption is His jam. In His hands, we are safe.

Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for Tell His Story

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Inspiration for your week: advice from Helen Keller

We're midway through January, and no doubt you've seen all kinds of advice for making resolutions.

You've probably also seen the statistics on how many people make resolutions but don't keep them.

Honestly, there's so much talk about goals and dreams and reaching-for-the-stars that you might be feeling overwhelmed by this time.

I recently read this piece of advice from Helen Keller, one of my heroines. I thought it was just right for the feelings of overwhelm that can plague us this time of year:

"Your success and happiness lie in you. Resolve to keep happy, and your joy and you shall form an invincible host against difficulties."

Isn't that amazing, coming from Helen Keller? If anyone knew about overcoming difficulties, certainly she did.

I have lots of goals and dreams for the new year, but I'm going to try resolving to keep happy and trust that a good attitude will go a long way toward helping me overcome difficulties.

How about you? Would like to join me in resolving to "keep happy"?

Inspiration for your week

The corks have been popped, the confetti has been tossed, and a new year is underway!

New Year's is prized by many as a time of new beginnings, a time to make resolutions and set goals to get going on our best year ever.

New Year's is dreaded by others as a time to consider all the ways life hasn't met our expectations, how we haven't kept our resolutions or reached our goals.

But so often New Year's is a time when we focus on the big things we want to do, the "important" things we want to achieve, the monumental steps we want to take. So New Year's can become a time of losing our perspective.

Pope Francis offers some wisdom to counter our New Year's big-big-BIG tendencies. Perhaps you need his words as much as I did.

Like happiness, holiness is always tied to little gestures. These little gestures are those we learn at home, in the family; they get lost amid all the other things we do, yet they do make each day different. They are the quiet things done by mothers and grandmothers, by fathers and grandfathers, by children, by brothers and sisters. They are little signs of tenderness, affection, and compassion. Like the warm supper we look forward to at night, the early lunch awaiting someone who gets up early to go to work. Homely gestures. Like a blessing before we go to bed, or a hug after we return from a hard day's work.

Love is shown by little things, by attention to small daily signs which make us feel at home. Faith grows when it is lived and shaped by love. That is why our families, our homes, are true domestic churches. They are the right place for faith to become life, and life to grow in faith.

-Pope Francis

"Faith grows when it is lived and shaped by love." Amen to that!

May God help us to be faithful in the little things this new year!

Lessons from a Christmas tree

If you rang my doorbell, here's what you'd see when I opened the door to you:

We aren't terribly fashionable around here. We have just one tree, which stands in the corner of our living room.

Our tree is filled with ornaments old and new, most of them loaded with meaning or memories or both.

The oldest ornament on the tree is this stained "glass" angel my Aunt Marjorie made for me in the late 1960's. My angel holds court beside an ornament from 1991, the year my oldest son was born.

Another of my most precious ornaments is this handmade snowflake that frames a photo of my mother when she was a tiny girl. But you'll notice BB8 from Star Wars hangs just beside her.

And so it goes all around the tree: the old mixed with the new, the precious with the cheap, the sacred with the secular. Not fancy or fashionable, but just right for us.

What these photos don't show you is that lurking in the corner of the living room are bins of Christmas decorations. See?

At first, as I considered the fact that my Christmas decor is still a work in progress, I thought to myself, "I feel guilty that I haven't already finished the decorating and put all the boxes away."

And then I realized how many times over the past few days I've heard people speak of feeling guilty.

"I feel guilty that I didn't put up a tree this year," or "I feel guilty that our tree is artificial," or "I feel guilty that we cut down a live tree for Christmas."

"I feel guilty that I haven't made any Christmas cookies," or "I feel guilty that I've eaten too many Christmas cookies."

"I feel guilty that I can't give my kids what they want for Christmas," or "I feel guilty that I've bought my kids too much for Christmas."

Is there no end to it?

Of course, we feel guilty because we are guilty, and we know it. Every single one us is flawed. We all come up short. Not one of us is perfect.

But the very reason we celebrate Christmas is that the Lord of all Creation loved us enough to save us. He didn't leave us in our flaws and shortcomings. The Christ of Christmas is the One who came to earth and lived as a human in order to show us what a life without shortcomings would look like. And then He gave up his life in order for us to released from the guilt of our own sins and to live in freedom.

I think the words of the old hymn put it best:

When Satan tempts me to despair

And tells me of the guilt within

Upward I look and see Him there

Who made an end of all my sin.

Because the sinless Savior died

My sinful soul is counted free--

For God, the just, is satisfied

To look on Him and pardon me.*

Full of shortcomings though we are, our guilt has been taken away--cleansed by the One whose birth we celebrate at Christmas.  Because of Jesus, we can live a life that's no longer ruled by sin.

Christ was born to give us life that is truly life.

My prayer this season is that your Christmas tree be more than a symbol of beauty and merriment. May it be a tree of life for you.

*"Before the Throne of God Above" by C.L. Bancroft

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Advent: Learning to Wait

Every few years, some kind of small appliance emerges as the latest and greatest holiday gift. From the Vegomatic to the Fry Daddy to the George Foreman grill—there’s always something that promises great returns for the home cook. This year is no exception. The latest craze? The Instant Pot, a countertop gadget that will cook food in a fraction of the time of other methods.

That’s not really surprising, is it? Nobody likes to wait. We get out of it whenever we can. We drive on expressways, choose the express lane at the grocery store, and pay extra for express shipping.

Like it or not, though, this kind of waiting is part of life. Slow-moving traffic or cash register lines might be irritating, but mostly they just try our patience.

Another kind of waiting, though, requires a lot more than patience.

Prisoners wait to be set free.
 Chronically ill patients wait to be healed.
  Refugees wait to return home.
   Separated families wait to be reunited.
    Those in danger wait to be rescued.

That kind of waiting takes courage—courage to remain strong and faithful, no matter how long the waiting takes.

The ancient Israelites knew a lot about that kind of waiting. Long promised a Messiah, they endured centuries of hardship. Siege. Destruction. Exile. Slavery. No wonder the psalmist sang:

“Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord!” (Psalm 31:24 ESV)

Hope is what fueled their courage: hope for the coming of the Messiah, hope for the fulfillment of all of God’s promises.

In the book of Lamentations we read:

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
  the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
  and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
  and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
  for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
  great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
  therefore I will wait for him.”

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
  to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. (Lamentations 3:19-26, NIV)

The season of Advent is about waiting. As we live on this side of the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, it’s easy for us to distance ourselves from the Israelites. We know that the promised Messiah came. With the angels we sing “Glory to God in the highest!” We live in the light of the Incarnation.

But in a needful and powerful way, Advent links our hearts to the hearts of God’s people who longed for the coming of the Savior. As we survey the carnage of a world wracked with sin, we pine for the second coming of the Savior, when everything wrong will be set right.

We watch. We wait. We long for the day when all will be well. Even now we run on the fuel of hope. And like always, hope comes from the same source. The Lord’s mercies are still new every morning. He is eternally good to those whose hope is in him.

From this hope we take courage. This Advent season, let’s encourage one another. Perhaps these words of Paul’s could be our prayer for each other: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13, NIV)

God, help us to wait with the sure knowledge of your steadfast love.

I'm joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for Share His Story.

Correcting a distorted picture of God

I once worked with a productivity genius. Maybe you know the type. She could cut through any kind of barrier and get things done. Boy, did I admire her.

She had this sign hanging above her desk:

"Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part."

She always remained calm and unruffled. She would help her co-workers, but she did in a way that fit into her schedule. In other words, she never allowed anyone else's needs to interrupt the flow of her work.

I kind of wanted to be like her.

But I was also kind of scared of her.

Do you know what I mean?

I didn't realize how much that admiration/fear I felt for my colleague had seeped into my soul. As I was facing a looming deadline and feeling overwhelmed by all the demands on my time, I asked a friend to pray for me.

Wisely, that friend did some probing before praying, helping me get to the root of what I needed from God.

Out of the blue, my co-worker's motto popped into my head, and I realized that I was imagining that God had the same attitude.

Lodged deep in my heart lay the idea of an impatient God—a God who would help me, sure, but who was slightly irritated that I needed to ask for help. Somehow I felt that God, in all His glory and perfection, felt impatience with me for my lack of planning.

This God tolerated me, but I grated on His nerves.

I could ask for help, but His assistance would be delivered grudgingly.

Can you imagine God sitting in His office, drumming His fingers on His desktop, raising His eyebrows in exasperation? My friend's gentle questions revealed that this was my picture. This was the God of my imagination.

My mental image was not an accurate picture of the God we meet in scripture. It's not a true picture of the God who listens and answers the prayers of his children, who delights in us.

Only a distorted image would picture God as perfect in power but not perfect in love. 

Does God love me because of my goodness? No, He loves me because of His goodness. The apostle John said it like this:

"This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us." (I John 4:10, NIV)

God's love doesn't depend on my love. Nor does it hinge on how lovable I am.

My strength doesn't strengthen God's love; my weakness doesn't weaken God's love.

So strong is God's love that His spirit inspired these words:

"I am sure that neither death nor life, no angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, 

nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us 

from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38-39, ESV)

"Nor anything else in all creation": not even my incompetence. Not even my lack of planning. Not even my failure.

Do you see how much I needed my friend's prayers? My distorted image of God didn't affect God one bit, but it did affect me.

My picture of God didn't just need a little editing, a bit of cropping and an adjustment of the white balance. No, I needed see a completely different picture.

I needed to take God out from behind that desk with the sign over it.

I needed to see that He doesn't greet me with a frown of annoyance at being interrupted.

I needed to see that His fingers are not drumming on the desktop.

That's all a false picture.

The real picture is one of God's face alight with kindness, His arms stretching out in welcome, His hands reaching out to help and comfort.

"God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all." (I John 1:5, KJV)

Thank God for friends who pray.

Thank God for new pictures.

Thank God for His unfailing love.

Do you ever struggle with a distorted image of God? Can we encourage one another together?

Joining Tell His Story at Jennifer Dukes Lee
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What Made Mister Rogers So Special

It's been 50 years since the debut of one of the greatest television shows of all time: Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.  And this past week sparked a new interest in the creator and star of the show himself, Fred Rogers.

Perhaps you saw this photo, which was shared widely after the horrific Manchester bombings:

Just as he had done many times in the course of half a century, Mr. Rogers was helping people with his kindness and his wisdom.

I was one of the lucky kids who got to be one of Mr. Rogers' neighbors from the very beginning. I was born in September 1963, so I was four and a half years old when the show debuted on National Educational Television in February 1968. I watched the show from the very first, and it quickly became my favorite. I didn't go to kindergarten, so I got to see lots of episodes before I began first grade. But I didn't stop watching after I started school, either.

I remember clearly one day when I was in second grade. I had been nominated for a small honor at school, and I, along with several other nominees, had to complete an interview with a panel of judges. One of the questions asked of us was "What is your favorite TV show?" There were lots of good shows on the air at that time, but I didn't have to think twice about my favorite. "Mister Rogers," I answered immediately (For whatever reason, I never called the show Mister Rogers' Neighborhood back then.)

All the other nominees laughed at me for that. They named popular nighttime shows like The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family and called me a baby for still watching Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. I liked those nighttime shows, too, but I wouldn't give up Mister Rogers, not even if other kids thought I was silly for watching it.

When I was in third grade, I asked for three particular items for Christmas: a Crissy doll with hair that grew, Barbie's Country Camper, and Mr. Rogers' Songbook. As you can imagine, Crissy and Barbie didn't last too long, but look what's still on my living room bookshelf, 45 years later:

Maybe by third grade I was older than the intended audience for watching Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. But I wasn't too old to absorb the lessons I learned there, to soak in the kindness and goodness that Mr. Rogers presented.

So I loved my songbook, singing along with such iconic tunes as "Won't You Be My Neighbor?":

And "It's Such a Good Feeling":

Fred Rogers, who studied music composition as an undergraduate, wrote these songs and many others. My favorite, though, was "Everybody's Fancy." Since I was born with a mild birth defect, I struggled with issues of self-esteem. Hearing Mr. Rogers say "Your body's fancy and so is mine" was balm to my heart.

There was something special about Mr. Rogers, for sure. And people who knew him or had the chance to talk with him personally testify that his television behavior was no act—he really was kind, caring, and wise. This past week a personal story of one man's encounter with Mr. Rogers has gone viral. (If you haven't already, you really should read about it.)

That fact shouldn't be surprising, for Fred Rogers was a devoted follower of Jesus. Early in life he considered becoming a pastor, but he became fascinated with television and wanted to do something with that new medium that would be good for people's souls. But after he began working in the television industry, he entered seminary as a part-time student. It took him eight years to complete his degree, but he earned an M.Div. and was ordained in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.).

In a March 2000 interview with Christianity Today writer Wendy Murray Zoba, Fred Rogers told a story of his most beloved seminary professor, Dr. William S. Orr.

"I studied Greek with him and then I studied New Testament with him. Every Sunday, my wife and I used to go to the nursing home to visit him. One Sunday we had just sung 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God' and I was full of this one verse. I said, 'Dr. Orr, we just sang this hymn and I've got to ask you about part of it.

"'You know where it says—The prince of darkness grim, we tremble not for him. For, lo, his doom is sure. … one little word will fell him? Dr. Orr, what is that one thing that would wipe out evil?'

"He said, 'Evil simply disintegrates in the presence of forgiveness. When you look with accusing eyes at your neighbor, that is what evil would want, because the more the accuser'—which, of course, is the word Satan in Hebrew—'can spread the accusing spirit, the greater evil spreads.' Dr. Orr said, 'On the other hand, if you can look with the eyes of the Advocate on your neighbor, those are the eyes of Jesus.'

"I've never forgotten that. . . ."

"Every time I walk into the studio, I say to myself [as a prayer], 'Let some word that is heard be Yours.' The Holy Spirit translates our best efforts into what needs to be communicated to that person in his or her place of need. The longer I live, the more I know it's true," he says ("Won't You Be My Neighbor?" Christianity Today, March 6, 2000).

Fred Rogers never talked about his faith on Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Instead, he did something far more powerful: he lived by faith, and he treated every person with the kindness and compassion of Christ. 

Mr. Rogers died in 2003 after a battle with stomach cancer, never having forgotten to look with the eyes of Jesus on his neighbors. 

The gospels tell us that when Jesus was asked what was the greatest commandment, He answered: 

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets" (see Matthew 22 and Mark 12). 

Mr. Rogers learned from Jesus to love his neighbors. Then he made all of us his neighbors.

You know, we often refer to all the people who write or read blogs or social media posts as a community. Maybe we'd do better to think in terms of neighborhood. With the internet our neighborhood spans the globe, but the wisdom of Fred Rogers—the wisdom of Jesus—is needed now more than ever, don't you think?

Jesus is alive today, ready to teach us to be good neighbors. I want to learn. Maybe we can learn together to make our online world a vast, loving neighborhood.

I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you.

I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.

So let's make the most of this beautiful day

Since we're together we might as well say:

Would you be mine?

Could you be mine? 

Won't you be my neighbor?

Won't you please, won't you please?
Please won't you be my neighbor?

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Happy Easter

Oh, my friends, I hope that today is filled with blessing for you. I pray that you can gather with others and hear the blessed words, "He is risen!"

But I know that this day may not bring that opportunity. You may be at home with a sick child. You may be ill yourself. You might be in a hospital room, either attending a patient or the patient yourself. You may be holding the hand of a precious loved one as they breathe their last. You might even now be weeping at the death of one of your nearest and dearest.

Wherever you are, take heart. Death has been defeated.

The tomb was empty.

Because Jesus rose from the dead, we will rise.

Because Jesus defeated death, death will not have the final say in our lives.

Wherever you are today, whatever your circumstances, this is the truth. Jesus died and rose again. As final as it seems to us, death will not have the final say. "Oh death, where is your victory? Oh grave, where is your sting? (I Corinthians 15:55).

May you be inspired as I was by reading the words to this old hymn.

We saw Thee not when Thou didst come
To this poor world of sin and death;
Nor yet beheld Thy cottage home,
In that despised Nazareth.
But we believe Thy footsteps trod
Its streets and plains, Thou Son of God.
But we believe Thy footsteps trod
Its streets and plains, Thou Son of God.

We did not see Thee lifted high,
Amid that wild and savage crew;
Nor heard Thy meek, imploring cry,
“Forgive, they know not what they do!”
Yet we believe the deed was done,
That shook the earth and veiled the sun.
But we believe the deed was done,
Which shook the earth and veiled the sun.

We stood not by the empty tomb,
Where late Thy sacred body lay;
Nor sat within that upper room,
Nor met Thee on the open way.
But we believe that angels said,
“Why seek the living with the dead?”
But we believe that angels said,
“Why seek the living with the dead?”

We did not mark the chosen few,
When Thou didst through the clouds ascend,
First lift to Heaven their wondering view,
Then to the earth all prostrate bend;
But we believe that mortal eyes
Beheld that journey to the skies;
But we believe that mortal eyes
Beheld that journey to the skies.

And now that Thou dost reign on high,
And thence Thy waiting people bless,
No ray of glory from the sky
Doth shine upon our wilderness;
But we believe Thy faithful Word,
And trust in our redeeming Lord;
But we believe Thy faithful Word,
And trust in our redeeming Lord.

                                                  --Anne Richter and John Gurney

He is risen indeed!

Good Friday

Today is Good Friday, and I find that my heart is impatient. Do you know what I mean?

I want to skip ahead to Easter.  I want to revel in the glorious fact of the Resurrection. I want to sing and dance and praise God from whom all blessings flow, delighting in the sure knowledge that we will proclaim to one another: "He is risen!"

Yet today is Friday, and today I must confront the fact of the cross.

Oh, God, help.

Help me, Lord, to be willing to consider the price that was paid for my salvation.
Help me to be willing to weep at your sacrifice.
Help me to be willing to marvel at your love.

Lord, I don't want to go, but I need to go. Please, Lord, lead me to Calvary.

May this old hymn bless you today as it has blessed me:

King of my life, I crown Thee now,
Thine shall the glory be;
Lest I forget Thy thorn-crowned brow,
Lead me to Calvary.

Show me the tomb where Thou wast laid,
Tenderly mourned and wept;
Angels in robes of light arrayed
Guarded Thee whilst Thou slept.

Let me, like Mary, through the gloom,
Come with a gift to Thee;
Show to me now the empty tomb,
Lead me to Calvary.

May I be willing, Lord, to bear
Daily my cross for Thee;
Even Thy cup of grief to share,
Thou hast borne all for me.

Lest I forget Gethsemane,
Lest I forget Thine agony,
Lest I forget Thy love for me,
Lead me to Calvary.

                               --Jennie Hussey

Is there anything special you'll do today to keep your heart in tune?  I'd love to hear about it!

A blessed Good Friday to you, dear friends.

How to use your phone to be a better parent

In 1991, I had a baby boy. In 1993, I had another baby boy. And in 1997, I had still another baby boy.

Baby boys are my favorite.

Before 1997, I never had a cell phone. But not long after I had that third baby, I had to drive halfway across the country with only my six-year-old, my four-year-old, and my newborn sons for company. After carefully considering the monthly cost, my husband and I decided that I should have a phone with me, just in case of emergency.

I remember that the monthly fee included 30 minutes of talking time. I vowed never to exceed that limit.

Things have changed a bit, haven't they?

Today, I have a cell phone, my husband has a cell phone, and all three sons have cell phones. We do still have a "home phone," but we rarely use it. It's difficult to imagine how we'd get along in the 21st century world without our smart phones.

And yet.

Today is my baby boy's 20th birthday.

Yes, things have changed a bit.

I was proud and excited when my eldest son turned 20. My babies were growing up! Double double digits!

I was a bit more hesitant when my middle son turned 20. Wasn't it all happening a little too quickly?

But today? My BABY is 20 years old? What on earth just happened? And how did it happen so fast?

I know, I know–young mothers don't want to be told to treasure the time with their little ones.

I usually keep my mouth shut, but on this day, there's one thing I wish I could tell my young mom friends. Just one piece of advice: the best way to use your phone.

Use it to take pictures.

At every age, every stage, take pictures of your kids. Print some of them out. You don't have to make show-stopping scrapbooks with them, or even organize them into albums. Just take the pictures, because the years are going to fly by much faster than you think.

And then, after you take those pictures?

Put down your phone.

I'm serious. Put it down. Turn it off if you have to.

One of the best things about having a smartphone, one of these incredible little hand-held computers, is that we have the ability to keep up with the outside world even when we're stuck in one place. What an amazing gift! Yet it comes with a side effect: fear of missing out. "FoMO" even has a dictionary definition now: "anxiety that an exciting or interesting event may currently be happening elsewhere, often aroused by posts seen on a social media website."

The horribly ironic thing about the fear of missing out, of course, is that while we're busy being afraid that we might miss something exciting elsewhere, we actually ARE missing something right in front of us.

No, each event might not be exciting. Some are downright boring. Some are actually best forgotten.

But the events of our real lives and the lives of our loved ones are worth paying attention to. And by the time you scroll through Instagram or check the Facebook status of your friends, they'll have passed.

I'll never claim to be an expert mom. But I have learned one thing in two and a half decades of being a mother:

The days are long, but the years are short.

Put down your phone and enjoy them.

A lesson from the trees

One of my favorite things about our house is the fact that it's surrounded by trees. Lots of mature trees.

Over the years I've heard people say their souls are fed by different aspects of God's creation. The seaside, with the crashing waves and water as far as the eye can see, inspires many people. Or the mountains, with their majestic peaks. For me, soul food has always been provided by trees.

A couple of weeks ago, though, a soul-sickening sound rent the air as I was making my morning coffee. Creeaaakkk—crash! A quick trip to the back door revealed the source of the noise:

A huge pine had been blown down.

Here you can see that it fell across our back fence. What's hidden in this photo is the fact that the tree stretched at least 20 feet into the woods behind our house.

Now all that remains of this beautiful old tree is a pile of enormous logs.

As it turned out, this particular tree had some rot at its core. As we surveyed the damage, I uttered a prayer of thanksgiving. Honestly, it looked as if an angel had guided the tree to fall in the direction that would cause the least harm to our property.

As you can imagine, though, the loss of this tree had us scurrying to check out the health of other trees on our property, especially the pines.

This photo, taken last summer, shows the trunk of one of the oldest trees on our property:

The tree experts determined that this tree was healthy, but they warned that if a wind storm were to take it down, it would likely fall squarely on top of the house.

And so, sadly, it had to come down. I watched the operation with sorrow.

Where once stood a beautiful old-growth pine—perhaps as old as 100 years!—now stands only a hole in the earth. 

As I mourned the passing of the tree, I couldn't help but think how often our lives involve choices like this. Although it wrenched my heart to lose one of my beloved trees, how much worse would it be to suffer the damage if it were to fall? 

It's easy to wish that life would proceed without this kind of choice, to hope that no such sacrifice would ever be necessary. But that's not reality. Even though tough choices may be painful, they must be made. 

In many ways, life is a series of small sacrifices made in faith that the greater good obtained by making them will be worth the price. 

Thank God that we have His spirit to guide us as we go!