2nd Cup Columns

May We Never Take the Gift of Christmas for Granted

2009-12-26T06:40:00.006-05:00

Why don't candy canes taste as good on December 26th as they did the previous four weeks?

Overnight, radio stations have stopped playing Christmas music and resumed regular programming. Shiny packages wrapped with care are now shreds of white with ribbons trailing like puppy leashes. Holiday dinners are now leftovers.

Christmas trees are looking tired, and the glow of the rooftop lights is overshadowed by the prospect of bringing them down. And even as you read this, some are returning gifts they received only yesterday.

Christmas appears to be screeching to a halt if you merely take into account those cultural embellishments that we hang on the holy day like flashy ornaments. Their temporariness reflects the material life we live now, but the true gift of Christmas is eternal.

The "good tidings of great joy" have never been rescinded by their giver. The world doesn't outgrow the gift, its beauty doesn't fade with time, and it remains as consistent and relevant in 2010 as it was in 33 A.D. There is no expiration date on God's version of love and grace.

But why did God offer his love through this baby?

Max Lucado writes, "If our greatest need had been information, God would have sent an educator. If our greatest need had been technology, God would have sent us a scientist. If our greatest need had been money, God would have sent us an economist. But since our greatest need was forgiveness, God sent us a Savior."

Happily for us, as John R.W. Stott said, "The gospel is good news of mercy to the undeserving. The symbol of the religion of Jesus is the cross, not the scales."

Spiritually speaking, thank goodness we do not get what we deserve, because we all carry around the ghost of Ebenezer Scrooge -- and worse.

But God gave us himself through Jesus.

A.W. Tozer says, "An infinite God can give all of himself to each of his children. He does not distribute himself that each may have a part, but to each one he gives all of himself as fully as if there were no others."

The birth of Christ was a gift to all the world, but it is an individual gift to you and me as well, designed to fill our voids, heal our wounds and receive our devotion as only an intimate creator can.

We are meant to walk through life hand-in-hand with the Gift.

As I celebrate Christmas, I want to leave a legacy for my children and grandchildren: the good news of the gift which fits perfectly every need known to man, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

The words of a regenerated Ebenezer Scrooge never fail to move me: "I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach."

And I would add, "I will not shut out the greatest gift, but receive it with my whole heart and share it to the best of my ability." May we never take the gift of Christmas for granted.

This Race Can Be Won

2009-11-21T07:30:00.002-05:00

If your child had a severe disorder so rare that only 11 people in the world have it, would you be able to find thankfulness in your heart this season?

If every morning when you woke up you couldn't predict which debilitating symptoms of a horrible disease would plague you that day, would you find joy enough in your heart to sing and smile?

I just returned from Be The Match, a public event for the collection of DNA samples to find a stem cell match for Kelsey and Karly Koch, two young sisters afflicted with a grave primary immune deficiency disease.

Here are my observations about thankfulness in the midst of a heart-wrenching situation:

The turnout for the event was amazing. As I instructed dozens of donors on the proper cheek-swabbing procedure, I was moved over and over by sincere, enthusiastic exclamations such as, "I hope I'm the one! I want to be the match!" I was so grateful to witness sacrificial love that prompted people to wait in line, donate funds and pray that they would indeed "be the one."

I stood next to Kelsey, 21, as she spoke with donors, smiling the whole time and expressing hope for a future and gratitude for those who had come to help her, even though she had awakened that morning feeling worse than you or I could probably imagine.

I observed my co-worker Christy, who poured so much energy into preparation for this day, buzzing around helping wherever she was needed. Christy was the force behind publicity, garnering donations from local businesses, communicating between the foundation and our church, coordinating, instructing and scheduling the volunteers, all because her heart was full of love and compassion for Karly and Kelsey.

I watched a loving father attend the event, helping where he could, while his wife was with Karly, 15, who is currently hospitalized at the National Institute of Health in Maryland, and I was thankful that the girls have such devoted parents and siblings.

Finally, how inspiring it was to read the following on Kelsey's blog recently:

"A song started playing in my head. God was singing to me the song Stay Strong:

You're in the moment now

When all that you've been blessed with

Is not enough

Here's where the ground gets loose

Here's where the devils call your bluff

Get up, there's further to go

Get up, there's more to be done

Get up, this witness is sure

Get up, this race can be won"

I'm grateful this season for all that is beautiful and good like bountiful harvests, health and other luxuries, but also for all that is beautiful and good in the midst of heartache and suffering. Thank you, Kelsey, for bringing thankfulness into a new light for all of us this year, especially me. This race can be won!

Running Home Published 10.17.09

2009-10-13T09:54:00.004-04:00

Recently I lost a dear friend and high school classmate to cancer.

Since Jim was a world-class runner, I often think about him while running.

The day after his funeral, I decided to go for a run but dreaded it because I hadn’t run in more than a week and knew it would be difficult.

I started strong, but with each mile it grew more difficult to understand how Jim or any human could endure an ultra marathon, 50 miles.

At mile 5 I was enjoying all the beauty around me, but by mile 8, I doubted I could finish. By mile 9, I was gasping, my gait slowed to a limp, and my hips hurt so badly I wanted to cry. I just kept thinking, “Go to the next telephone pole. Make it to the next mailbox.”

At dusk, the scenery grew dim, but I saw the lights of my house in the distance. I became completely focused on getting home: seeing my family, resting and being refreshed. Nothing else compared to this end—no chirping birds, no red and gold leaves, no fitness goals. Home meant everything.

At the last mile, I thought of several friends who passed recently. All fought diseases that wore them down with each passing week or month much as the miles were taking their toll on me.

For so long, they relished their journeys and were not ready to head home. I wondered if there came a time when everything around them, while still lovely, began to dim as the lights of “home” became brighter.

Parting from people we love is sad, but the sadder thing is to be in a race with no goal in mind. Merely to run and run and run through life stopping only for one novelty after another is very tiresome.

I know some don’t believe we can have an assurance of a “home” at the end of our lives. I couldn’t see my house at mile 8, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

CS Lewis said: “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”

Faith in Christ isn’t “pie in the sky.” It challenges you to find meaning in suffering and death and prompts your spirit to admit, “This is hard truth” when truth must be faced, whether or not it’s politically correct or raises even more questions, such as, “Why Jim?”

As I grieve, I remind myself that Jim was not ultimately made for this life, beautiful as his life was with his family. He fought the good fight, finished the race and kept the faith (2 Tim. 4:7).

So now, at the end of each run when I re-live the joy of returning home, I take a second to think about Jim, who is really home, and that brings me an even deeper joy.

"We're All Laughing With God" (9.12.09)

2009-09-12T07:14:00.009-04:00

Who is Jesus to you?

Recently, my pastor closed a service by sharing a Regina Spektor song, sparking a whole lot of discussion due to the ambiguous last line: "We're all laughing with God."

I was certainly confused. It was all I could think about on the way home. Then my family discussed possible interpretations over lunch. We didn't agree.

Later that evening, a group of friends took up the discussion. We even piled into the hosts' home office to watch the video and analyze the lyrics. Then we read online comments to see what others thought. In spite of all of this research and theorizing, we never reached a consensus. Even the next day, co-workers gathered around my desk to discuss the enigmatic lyric.

Apparently, people feel that the song is meaningful and worthy of attention, but they also feel unsettled by it.

I think this is probably the way people felt about Jesus. They knew he was unique, that there was something deeply meaningful and worthy of attention about him, but he was also unsettling.

For instance, Jesus often turned old ideas upside down using parables and sarcasm to illuminate absurdities, especially concerning religious precepts stretched far beyond where they were intended to go: "You blind guides, filtering out a gnat and gulping down a camel." (Matthew 23:24). Not only was this a stinging rebuke aimed at religious leaders oppressing people with religious laws, but the idea of swallowing "unclean" (forbidden) gnats and camels was quite insulting. He could have simply said, "Pharisees, please stop being so hard on regular folk." But no, he went for the religious jugular.

Even Jesus's closest friends didn't always understand him. They didn't understand why he paused to bless babies when parents brought them. They wondered why he didn't lead the Jewish revolt against the Romans. They couldn't grasp his acceptance of his upcoming crucifixion.

None of his contemporaries understood why he ate with sinners, crossed cultural barriers or allowed Mary Magdalene to anoint his feet with oil. And sometimes, they just didn't get his lessons. He was always talking in riddles.

And yet there was something magnetic about Jesus. Crowds pursued him, public officials noticed him, religious leaders certainly envied and resented him.

Jesus once asked his disciples, "Who do the crowds say I am?" They reported several opinions. But then Jesus asked his friend Peter specifically: "Who do you say I am?"

People are still grappling with that question. Jesus is the line in the sand of all religious discourse. Around the world, we talk about him over dinner, in hospital rooms, in trendy coffee houses, convention centers, art museums, foxholes, weddings, funerals and around water coolers.

Putting aside misgivings you might have about organized religion, is there anything about Jesus himself you find appealing yet unsettling? Maybe you should consider joining the big conversation and answer the question, "Who do I think Jesus is?"

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

If you're interested in the lyrics and video:

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God
When they’re starving or freezing or so very poor

No one laughs at God
When the doctor calls after some routine tests
No one’s laughing at God
When it’s gotten real late
And their kid’s not back from the party yet

No one laughs at God
When their airplane start to uncontrollably shake
No one’s laughing at God
When they see the one they love, hand in hand with someone else
And they hope that they’re mistaken

No one laughs at God
When the cops knock on their door
And they say we got some bad news, sir
No one’s laughing at God
When there’s a famine or fire or flood

*Chorus*
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke, or
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they’re ‘bout to choke
God can be funny,
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
Ha ha
Ha ha

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God
When they’ve lost all they’ve got
And they don’t know what for

No one laughs at God on the day they realize
That the last sight they’ll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
No one’s laughing at God when they’re saying their goodbyes
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke, or
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they’re ‘bout to choke
God can be funny,
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one laughing at God in hospital
No one’s laughing at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God when they’re starving or freezing or so very
poor

No one’s laughing at God
No one’s laughing at God
No one’s laughing at God
We’re all laughing with God

Marriage Gets Sweeter Through the Years

2009-08-08T11:21:00.005-04:00

When I was a young girl planning my wedding, older people would offer impromptu marital advice in bursts reminiscent of popcorn popping near my face -- very annoying.

I'd ask my mom, "Why do they want to dampen my joy and excitement? Doesn't anyone believe in love anymore?"

After 24 years of marriage, I know why they were compelled to caution me. Like the Apostle Paul, they understood that "those who marry will face many troubles in this life" (1Cor. 7:13). Paul acknowledged that even though singleness might hold specific trials and loneliness, getting married is just "asking for it," trouble-wise.

At 1:30 p.m. today, the daughter of dear friends is getting married. I've determined not to be one of those popcorn counselors, but instead tell Ann that if she can hang in there through those inevitable trials, marriage gets sweeter and sweeter.

Here's one example.

My husband, George, has been traveling on business this week. I've joked that when your spouse travels, there are many opportunities to live outside the couple that you've become.

For instance:

You can eat out of foam bowls with plastic forks to avoid dirty dishes.

You can get in and out of your vehicle without adjusting the seat and mirror.

There's no one to mock you for watching The Bachelorette.

Shaving legs, wearing makeup and getting out of sweats become options, not requirements.

You can see a chick flick on a Tuesday night with a friend just because you want to without feeling guilty.

You can indulge in sour cream and onion potato chips without worrying about bad breath.

As much fun as I had while he was gone, I experienced a small nagging feeling until George walked in the door and made me part of the couple that is us again. One of the mysteries of my life is how every year he grows dearer and dearer to me. I did not foresee this kind of love on my wedding day or even 10 years ago.

Now we're back to finishing each other's sentences, re-telling old private jokes, competing at crosswords, bouncing creative ideas off one another, encouraging each other spiritually, protecting and defending each other even in the midst of our own fights and marveling at our wonderful kids. We're also back to dirty dishes and car trouble.

So Ann, although "you will have many troubles," you and Andrew can survive, experiencing a deeper, sweeter love than you can imagine even on this special day. May you share the kind of love referred to in 1 Corinthians 13:7 which "always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres."

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

"Remembering Freedom And Who Died For It" (title by Star Press)

2009-07-04T08:44:00.011-04:00

Recently during vacation, I awoke at 4:42 a.m. to a frightening mix of intermittent, deafening buzzing and pulsating, blinding light.

Panicked and confused, it took me a second to realize that the fire alarm was going off. As I headed toward the door just a few steps away, I couldn't find my daughter because of the strobe of the lights, so I called her name and turned to pull her out of her bed.

Because she was already up and moving, I banged my forehead against hers so hard I saw stars, which only heightened my discombobulation.

Once we were assembled outside on the lawn, I realized I was wearing a knee-length night shirt and felt a little exposed, although everyone else was in the same vulnerable situation. The irony is, being the worry-wart that I am, whenever I travel, I always sleep in exercise pants and a T-shirt just in case there is an emergency -- except this time. I've always known the moment would come, I just didn't think it would be this time.

I noticed that those assembled on the lawn were in the same boat: taken by surprise, feeling exposed, no credit cards, laptops or phones to distract us. We were a pitiful homogeneous bunch, waiting around for direction from someone in charge.

This unnerving experience along with the stories of recent celebrity deaths has prompted me to remember that inhaling one moment doesn't guarantee an exhalation. Even when medical knowledge gives us months to prepare for our exit, there is a definite moment when we are here, and then we simply aren't. It seems when anyone passes, we are all taken by surprise as I was during the hotel alarm. We do not seem to truly believe, as Hemingway said, that the bell will actually toll for us.

And when we move to the other side, no acquisitions or accolades we've garnered will mean anything as we stand empty handed, waiting for the next step from the one in charge.

As I watch the fireworks flash and fade this evening, remembering those who were alive one minute and gone the next so that I could live in a free country, I won't forget the one who died so that I can have freedom within, as well. And I won't forget that I have the same inevitable moment ahead of me: "In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye ... the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed." (1 Corinthians 15:52).

To Graduates: Swing Away!

2009-05-30T10:14:00.003-04:00

My eldest, Katie, graduated from Anderson University a couple of weeks ago and is currently in Australia, living one of her life's dreams: feeding wallabies and holding koalas.

It's not hard for me to imagine Katie doing that; all I have to do is recall her in a plaid sundress feeding her stuffed animals with a pink plastic spoon about 19 years ago, and I can see it clearly.

For her graduation, I wrote Katie a letter, excerpted here, that I'd like to share with moms and graduates:

Author Marilyn Ferguson said, "It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear. It's like being between trapezes."

That's where you are right now, graduate, letting go of the bar behind you, anticipating that second swing to take you to your future. In this split second of your life, you're precariously suspended in air, hoping all the preparation you've done won't fail you when your big moment arrives.

Don't be afraid to grab the incoming bar and swing away! You're more capable than you know. When you're apprehensive, remember that the power of Christ is in you, giving you his wisdom, helping you accomplish his purpose in your life: "For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose" ( Philippians 2:13). When you surrender your life to Christ, the task ahead of you is never greater than the power in you (1 John 4:4b).

CS Lewis said, "We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad."

Well, no one wants to see you "go bad!" I'm glad you're not in diapers or braces anymore, although I miss my little girl so much sometimes. But it's been fun watching you hatch into such a great young woman.

When you were small, I tried to save you every bump and bruise, believing that as long as you were an arm's length away, nothing could harm you. You didn't even go to the mailbox unwatched by my loving eye.

When you started driving and filling out college applications, I realized that from then on, you would be farther than my arm's reach and eye's sight for the rest of your life.

I was forced to recognize that not only was I not in control of every influence and circumstance around you, but that I never was. Moms only like to think we are in control, which is silly because the truth is that someone much greater and wiser is in control. As Emerson said, "All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen."

And so I learned to let go of you bit by bit, which is what's supposed to happen in families. I let go of my own trapeze, believing that God would see both of us through to what lay ahead knowing, "He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion" (Philippians 1:6).

So congratulations to my beautiful graduate — to all graduates.

You were born to fly for His glory -- swing away!

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

Challenge: Keeping In Step with the Spirit

2009-04-26T00:00:00.003-04:00

Despite being married 23 years, I’m not a good cook.

Recently I overheard my husband, George, claim that living with me has been a life-long exercise in “faith-based eating.” Oh, that husband of mine, he’s so funny.

But he’s oh so right.

For example, once it was my turn to cook for a group of friends. Playing it safe, I prepared a stew which mainly required opening lots of cans. Imagine my horror when one friend ladled up a deadly-sharp can lid!

Now that you know the extent of my culinary deficits, you might be surprised to learn that I recently entered my church’s chili cook-off to benefit ALS.

Perhaps no one was more surprised than George.

But I did enter, a move not unlike a tone-deaf person auditioning for American Idol.

For weeks I tested several recipes until I finally concocted an original—which won the competition!

As Kelly Clarkson sang, “Some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this.” Or at least 23 years.

I’ve been so elated that I’ve been wearing my first-prize apron embroidered, “Grand Champion Chili Chef 2009” to school functions, church services, funerals, gynecology appointments, etc.

Oh, I kid. But I just can’t get over succeeding in a challenge I never dreamed possible.

George and I recently began hosting an Alpha group, where people come to wrestle with the big questions of life pertaining to faith. We were excited to begin, but for the first few weeks, we felt uncomfortable and a little incompetent, like I do in a kitchen.

Soon, we forged true friendships, sharing moments of spiritual growth that we never would have if we hadn’t said yes to the risky opportunity.

And last year, George began meeting weekly with an elementary student as part of the Kids’ Hope USA Program. At first he felt awkward and ineffective, but the student’s enthusiasm for their weekly meetings has affirmed George’s sense of purpose and fulfilled his desire to positively influence a student.

So maybe old dogs can learn new tricks. Because we were willing to feel uncomfortable for a little while, we’re leading a small group; George now has a precious new friend, and the world has a brand new chili recipe that totally rocks!

If we’re willing to find the places where God is at work and step into the game, we can shake off routine and make a difference. A little bit of discomfort can do a body and spirit good.

Galatians 5:25 says, “If we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”

Is God calling you to take a step somewhere out of your comfort zone today? What will you miss if you don’t? What might you gain if you do?

When God Speaks, Are You Listening?

2009-03-21T19:28:00.000-04:00

Tell me how you like to communicate, and I’ll guess how old you are.

If you rely on telephones, you’re probably reading this through bifocals.

If you prefer email and instant messages, you may be growing a wrinkle at this very moment because you’re in your 30s.

If you’re addicted to Facebook and/or texting, you’re under 25.
In fact, as soon as my daughter and her friend get in my car each day after school, they check their messages and begin texting. In a moment of revelation one day, I asked the friend, “Are you texting Kristin?” She grinned and nodded.
If I didn’t rank so low on their list, I might think they were secretly discussing me.
Kids aren’t the only ones texting friends in the same room; some parents occasionally text their kids when they’re at home.
While that might seem odd, think of texting as leaving a note in a lunch box, which I’ll bet you’ve done.
You can text your child a family joke, ask if he’s OK or send a caring message: “praying for you.”

Of course, texting can’t replace face-to-face communication, but you can make an appointment for a deeper discussion later. In the meantime, you’ve touched base with each other in a way teenagers enjoy.
Any activity or gizmo that dominates so much time in our lives is bound to have spiritual implications. Group Magazine offers great questions to ask your teen: “Does technology simplify or complicate your life? Do you like always being reachable? Why or not? How open are your communication lines with God?”

That last question hit home with me. I wondered how open my communication lines are with God. Am I just as accessible to God, or does he wait on the sidelines of my life for me to get back with him?

For instance, I’ve noticed that whether teens are engaged in birthday parties, movies or ball games, when they receive a message, they discreetly check it right away. They are always accessible.
Like them, I hope that when I sense a “God moment” I stop in my tracks to check in with prayer.
Because after all, God is not limited to influencing me through long periods Bible reading and prayer or sermons. He also gives me important warnings, encourages me to help others and inspires timely ideas for newspaper columns!

May we be as attentive to his voice as we are to our cell phones and email, and as quick to respond to God as Samuel was:
“The LORD came and stood there, calling as at the other times, ‘Samuel! Samuel!’ Then Samuel said, ‘Speak, for your servant is listening’” (1 Samuel 3:10).

When was the last time God got your attention in the middle of an impossibly busy moment?

Is your prayer life a balance of speaking and listening or mainly speaking?

John 10:12: “My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”
Everyone loves a note in the lunch box--don’t miss God’s little messages to you throughout your day!

A Valentine Letter to Herself

2009-02-14T19:08:00.000-05:00

COLUMN: A Valentine letter to herself
By Linda Crow • features@muncie.gannett.com • February 14, 2009
•
On Feb. 14, 1984, I was 21 and preparing to go on a Valentine's Day date. If I could speak to myself back then, here's what I'd say:

Dear Linda,
This is from the body formerly known as "you."
You're lingering at the mirror, turning this way and that. I wish you didn't care so much about imperfections, because you're more than the sum of body parts and clear skin. Significance comes from being God's child, not from a young man's opinion of you. So just step away from the mirror!

Let's talk about romance. Your date tonight is going to break your heart soon. Eventually the pieces get put back together, and you'll marry him next year, but the lesson of the breakup is important: there's one shining knight on a white horse who'll never fail you, and his name is Jesus. No human deserves Jesus' place in your heart. God intended your husband to be a good man, not a "god-man."

Your marriage is intact in 2009, but it's not because you've been great spouses. It's because you didn't leave God at the altar with the flowers. He has been your marriage's saving grace time and again. If God hadn't been your beacon in the fog all these years, you would have run your ship into rocks and squalls that would've made you a divorce statistic.

Good news! Over time, your husband finally learns to pick up his towels! Bad news: just this week he left dog biscuits in his pockets that went unnoticed until you removed the wet, gooey laundry.

But it turns out you made the right decision in marrying him. No one is perfect, and with time, you become aware that you prefer his faults over anyone else's. Plus, he brings you coffee every morning and occasionally bathes your little dog.
(2 of 2)

At 21, you don't know that real love entails a series of offenses and pardons. You'll bring out the best and worst in each other, and often you'll need 1 Peter 4:8 to help you through: "Love covers a multitude of sins."

Romance is wonderful, but a man who submits himself to Christ is even better because he answers to a higher authority and grows continually in learning to love. How could anyone ask for more?

My best advice to you is that when your hearts wander from your beacon and away from each other, remember to "return to your God. Hold fast to love and mercy, to righteousness and justice, and wait expectantly for your God continually" (Hosea 12:6). A favorite song says, "It takes a little time, sometimes, to turn the Titanic around, but baby, we're not going down." With God's help, you'll survive the storms.

Valentine's cards, roses and blushing cheeks may all lose luster, but living under the canopy of God's protection and grace allows love to endure and flourish for many years.
Now go have fun, you wrinkle-free young thing. Your future coffee-bringer awaits you!

When Setbacks Come, Don't Let Them Rob You of Your Confidence

2009-01-10T19:04:00.001-05:00

Last January, I charged into a "Read-the-Bible-in-a-Year" plan like a souped up race horse breaking onto the track. It wasn't the first time I had tried the goal, but this time, I was determined to complete it.

Imagine how deflated I was to find myself starting again in April. Let's just say that this time I trudged out of the gate like a Belgian draft horse pulling a Levitical plow. It has been slow going, but I keep telling myself, "Slow and steady wins the race," or at least wins a sharp Sunday school lapel pin for managing to "stick to it!"

Why has this reading plan been so difficult? After all, I read a user-friendly version. I grew up hearing Bible stories and memorizing verses. I was a literature major, so I obviously enjoy reading. If you asked what book I'd take to a desert island, I'd reply, "The Bible." And I've received much guidance and comfort throughout my life from this book.

I do what I can to remind myself, placing my Bible on my nightstand, slipping it into my purse to read in waiting rooms, packing it on trips, sticking it in my tote bag, plopping it into my car -- it's always with me. Yet, I often find myself walking by it on the coffee table. Somehow, there's always one more laundry load or phone call or three more hours on the Internet before I can pick it up.

Unfortunately, my reading has been more of an exercise in discipline than an experience in learning and worshiping. And while there's nothing wrong with practicing diligence, my heart has not been fully engaged. It's like I've been reading a textbook account of an event as opposed to reading the personal letter of an eyewitness.

Although I was frustrated last April, I'm glad I didn't quit. Now I'm in the race with two goals: to finish my year-long project and to be transformed, which makes all the difference.

If you've recently set goals, don't be discouraged about false starts and distractions.

Remember how the rebuilding of the Lord's temple was stalled time and again. Zerubbabel, Jerusalem's governor, met lots of opposition as he began the project, but God sent the prophet Zechariah with encouragement: "Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin" (Zechariah 4:10).

When setbacks come, don't let them rob you of your confidence. When you fall, don't berate yourself for having leapt. Remember that failures have potential to make you more dependent on Christ, our ultimate strength and the only real measure of success.
Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

Perfection is Not the Goal in Family Foundations

2008-12-07T19:01:00.001-05:00

Linda Crow: Perfection is Not the Goal in Family Foundations

Recently, I created a gingerbread church from scratch, with stained-glass candy windows and a roof of candy shingles.

Since this was my first attempt, I gathered tips from experienced bakers and researched blueprints in order to prevent catastrophes. Even so, when I assembled the sections, I found odd structural problems.

None of the research advised that when your cookie sheet goes "boing" in the oven, your walls might warp, turning your creation into a wonky funhouse instead of a sweet fairy tale cottage.

I added candy to detract but only felt dissatisfied. I considered placing a gift-laden sleigh on the bowed roof to imply the cause of sinking, but I knew that camouflaging the flaws compromised the integrity of basic gingerbread principles. (I'm serious about this stuff!)

So, I heated a knife in a candle flame and painstakingly cut through the thick royal icing, removing one section at a time to begin again.

After reassembling it with truly flat pieces, I added ribbon candy, peppermints, gumdrops and dripping icicles, which I then enjoyed with a clear conscience -- no artful deceptions on my church!

My experience made me think about how real homes and churches get off-kilter, literally and figuratively, when they're built on shifting ground or with compromises in integrity.

Sometimes, couples try to candy-coat flawed relationships by buying more stuff, as if to say, "How could our marriage be bad? We have worked together to buy a great house, take tropical vacations, fill a four-car garage and enjoy lavish Christmases."

But if there are foundational flaws, the sugar frosting belies the funhouse incongruity in their hearts.

My parents, celebrating 66 years of marriage on Dec. 14, built my childhood home on a foundation of faith in Christ, and my brothers and I enjoyed the sweetness of a loving home as a result.

There weren't a lot of Dr. Phils or premarital counselors in 1942, and I'm sure there were bumps and cracks along the way, but they have always painstakingly sacrificed whatever it took to stay true to their vows and to God, their foundation.

No family is perfect, and I've learned through gingerbread baking that perfection is not the goal. I now embrace small glitches that prove my gingerbread wasn't stamped out in a factory but rolled out by my hands.

However, I'm grateful to know that when my marriage or my individual life shows signs of cracking or warping, I can bring the pieces to God, who straightens crooked hearts and rights wrong thinking.

And that is the good news of this season -- through the events of the first Christmas, God provided a way to re-build, restore and renew our relationship with Him and with each other. Those are indeed good tidings of great comfort and great joy.

Merry Christmas, and happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.

Check out Linda Crow's blog, www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com, to see pictures of her gingerbread house.

See yesterday's post for pics of this house.

Play with All Your Heart Today

2008-11-01T19:00:00.002-04:00

When I was seven, my parents bought a brand new piano for me, before I ever had a lesson. That seems rashly optimistic, but my parents really wanted a piano player, with a fervor usually reserved for prospective doctors and lawyers. I can’t explain their unity and intrepidness in this goal, but when I was born, my father declared, “Now we have our piano player!”

Even though I wasn’t very good, you should’ve heard my folks go on about my playing. No matter how many times I bungled notes, they told me they loved it.

I thought, “What’s wrong with them? Can’t they hear the mistakes? I can’t finish a song without messing up, yet they think I’m headed for the Lawrence Welk Show!”

Now, every morning before school, my 15 year-old plays a collection of popular ballads she has learned from the Internet. As she practices, she tinkers with chords, misses notes, uses the pedals wildly—she’s all over the map, so to speak. Yet her music gives me a warm “Christmasy” feeling, one of peace, contentment and pride.

My joy comes from her expressing her God-given creative spark. I can feel her heart in the ballads. Notice that perfection is not even a remote consideration in my appreciation. I love that girl, and her music moves my heart.

When I was the young pianist, I couldn’t get past the mistakes, but my parents heard music above the flaws. Now I do the same thing with my daughter.

We created beings know our frailties all too well. We regularly bungle the gifts our Father has given us. Sometimes we start and don’t finish; sometimes we get a little crazy and miss the mark.

For instance, you may feel that you have not excelled at parenting lately. You may feel that your house is a mess, that you are scattered between home, church and work. You may have lost your patience with a family member in spite of your sincere desire to love him.

You only notice your flaws, while your Father who loves you sees your efforts and hears the music of your life above your clinker notes.

Missing the mark doesn’t surprise Him. Perfection isn’t even a remote consideration in his love for you. He delights in you even now as you sit soaking up these words.

Whatever you do today, “play” with all your heart for the One whose ear is inclined to you 24 hours a day. Don't let inner accusations and missteps drag you down. Your soul longs to express itself to its Creator, and He longs to hear music that is uniquely yours!

What a Difference a Year Makes

2008-09-21T19:14:00.000-04:00

Oh, how a year can change your perspective.

Last September, we deposited our son, Jordan, in his freshman dorm room.

I was one sad mom.

What’s worse, I think he was unhappier than I was. His expression said, “What am I doing here? I really don’t want to be here. This is a mistake.”

Every mom will understand this: even though a child is old enough to vote, pay taxes and live with a complete stranger in a tiny, musty dorm room, if he’s troubled, your heart is also troubled. After we left, I prayed for him daily.

Throughout the year, Jordan grew to tolerate campus life, and in May, he returned home with a new independence and a boat-load of laundry. We spent a wonderful summer with our son and his laundry, and then before I knew it, it was time to make the second deposit.

Imagine my surprise when I read his first email this year:

Probably one of the best weekends ever. We set up a slip-n-slide, and at first, it was us and another guy, and it was starting to get lame even though it was fun. Then groups of people started showing up, and eventually, we had over 50 people slipping and sliding. We also had at least another 30 people actually sitting and watching, like it was a performance. We were kind of dubbed the most welcoming room and the room with the best chemistry between the two roommates. We will probably be hosting a lot of movie nights. Classes are okay so far.

I’d say one year made a big difference, wouldn’t you? I think my prayers for him did, too.

We all have moments when we think, “How did I get here? I don’t want to be here!” Sometimes our discomfort drives us to God, which is ultimately a good thing.

Also, when we’re dreading situations such as job interviews, root canals or resolving soured relationships, it helps to remember that prayer can work out kinks, whether in the circumstance or in us. Rather than merely enduring, we can end up rejoicing, like Jordan.

God loves turning our negative expectations upside down:

Do not remember past events; pay no attention to things of old. Look. I am about to do something new … I will make a way in the wilderness, rivers in the desert (Isaiah 43:18-19).

God cares about what you’re going through. He knows just how to make a way through your personal wilderness, and if he chooses, instead of a river, he can put a slip-n-slide in the middle of your desert.

Whatever your trouble is, pray, and then watch with expectant eyes. He is about to do something new!

.

Whatever You Do, Go the Extra Mile

2008-08-23T18:57:00.000-04:00

Whatever You Do, Go the Extra Mile

Olympian swimmer Dara Torres possesses a stunning physique and fierce athleticism, but what sets her apart from other top athletes is her age, 41.

Torres inspires me because at 45, I started running again, which is neither easy nor graceful. I call what I do "slogging," for "slow jogging," because I'm ridiculously leaden. My allergic post-nasal drip is faster than my gait.

But this morning, I had the best slog of my life.

Mid-route, as I neared two runners, they began hooting, pumping their fists, jumping around and singing the Olympic anthem at the tops of their lungs on a Saturday morning in the middle of a quiet neighborhood street. It was quite a heady experience.

A while after I passed them, I realized I hadn't needed to slow to a walk anytime during my run. In fact, my legs felt solid, my breathing was adequate, my calf didn't cramp, my laces stayed tied. I seemed to be morphing into a real runner.

Before long, I noticed I was about to match my own distance record. Fueled by pride and adrenaline, I decided to keep going, and I went a full extra mile!

I thought about Torres as I ran. She's used to slicing through the water to confidently gaze at her time. I'm used to looking for sprinklers to run through and collapsing in my yard. She has hundreds cheering her on. I have my husband, George, and his friend, ironically named "Victor," encouraging me and annoying the neighbors. Torres has the life of a champion; I have the life of a tryer.

So I wonder: Does Dara truly ever exult in the small things, like going one more lap in the pool or holding her breath a few seconds longer?

Because I sure exulted this morning: "Thank you, God, for this beautiful day! Thank you for legs! For breath! For no hot flashes during this run! Thank you that I can thrill over small things. Thank you for helping me go the extra mile. ..."

And that's when my thoughts changed perspective: "The extra mile! Wasn't that exhilarating? Guess what? You can get that same great feeling again today if you go the extra mile for someone else. Encourage someone the way Victor and George encouraged you; give your all to whatever situation you're in; don't discount small beginnings and rejoice in small victories -- go the extra mile."

1 Peter 4:10-11 says, "Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others ... If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ."

Whatever you do today, go the extra mile. You're golden!

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

God is the Author of Life

2008-06-15T18:54:00.000-04:00

It all started with reading Tolstoy's The Death of Ivan Ilych, followed by a close friend's serious cancer diagnosis. Then, there was the death of a former high school classmate.

Death has been on my mind a lot lately.

Actually, I think about dying at some point every day, not in a morbid way, but in an "Are you ready? Is there unfinished business? How do you want to be remembered?" way, which is constructive, to a point.

What's not constructive is allowing myself to be tortured by the fear of leaving my children and husband. As a believer, I must draw the line of rumination there. I can't give in to hand-wringing.

Henri Nouwen spoke about the unique relationship of a trapeze team. When the flyer lets go of his bar and hangs in mid-air for a split second, he has no security. He cannot see his catcher nor control the catcher's speed or method. But at just the right moment, the flyer's "savior" arrives and whisks him to the base.

Most of us believe death will be like that frightening moment of suspension. But 2 Corinthians 5:8 tells us, “We should be cheerful, because we would rather leave these bodies and be at home with the Lord.”

In other words, we will not be left hanging for one moment because to let go here makes us present there.

*Sometimes when I sit down to write, I face the blank screen and feel uncertain and anxious—the term is “writer’s block.” After this sad, question-filled week, I’m comforted by the thought that although life is uncertain, it is not unwritten. That is to say, God is the author of life, and he has never suffered writer’s block. He is not uneasy about the future at all.

*That’s why Christians shouldn’t despair. Death is simply another part of each of our stories.

Paul says, "When you sow a seed, it must die in the ground before it can live and grow. And when you sow it, it does not have the same body it will have later. What you sow is only a bare seed, maybe wheat or something else. But God gives it a body that he has planned for it" (Corinthians 15:35-38).

The key phrase is: "that he has planned for it." We who trust in Christ can know that as the story of our life unfolds, we are in His sight and in His thoughts, safe in the strong hands of our savior and "catcher" who has planned for us to be with Him forever. Nothing can pry us from his loving grip.
________________________________________

*section that was edited/partly omitted that I re-inserted here.

I Had a Mother Who Read to Me (Mother's Day 2008)

2008-05-11T18:52:00.000-04:00

Here is my mom with me probably in 1963. On the right is my mom winking because she is feisty like that. Just yesterday, she told me she saw Tina Turner, who is 68, on Oprah. She said "That Tina said she loves being 68. She has learned a lot and loves her life and doesn't care that much what she looks like. I say, 'Wait 'til you get some 80 on ya, Tina; then let's see what you say!'" And we both cracked up. "Get some 80 on ya?" where did she get that? My mom is funny and has great cheekbones. I did not inherit them. Below is the newspaper column in the Muncie Star Press honoring her.

COLUMN: Thanks, Mom, for Opening my Mind, Heart
By LINDA CROW • May 10, 2008

When I was little, I often clutched books as well as dolls close to me at bedtime, cherishing them equally. In fact, some of my earliest, happiest memories are of my mother reading to me. Although it has been 40 years since I've held my childhood books in my hands, I can still remember many illustrations and recall my mother's voice ringing out the phrases of my beloved stories.

My favorite was about three little siblings who built a snowman but forgot about him after they went inside for the evening. The deserted snowman gazed longingly into the picture window as the children decorated their Christmas tree. It's hard to overstate how the snowman's loneliness broke my heart; in fact, all of the compassion I've had as an adult for others or animals has never surpassed the intensity of sympathy I had for that storybook snowman!

Now I realize that I was so moved because my mother read with such enthusiasm and expression that she completely drew me into the story.

One day, I asked Mother whether she remembered this story, and she said yes, although she couldn't remember the title. Neither could I, so I searched the Internet with only one sentence and one scene committed to memory.

Guess what? I found it: The Snowman's Christmas Present, by Irma Wilde.

A week later, I opened the book for Mother in my home and read the words that evoked memories of being smaller, sitting securely on her lap with her arms around me, smelling a hint of Dove soap and brushing against her cotton sleeves and gingham skirt: "This is the story that the Snowman told to the Big Red Sun at sunset on Christmas Day." We turned to the page where the snowman remained outside, and I shared with her how that scene affected me, how her reading formed a life-long love of reading in me.

Mothers do so many big and small things for their children, imparting important lessons, meeting their children's every physical, spiritual and emotional need as best they can. But sometimes, in the most quiet, unassuming, unplanned ways mothers touch their children's souls for a lifetime without realizing it. That's what my mother's reading did for me.

I am 45; my mother is now 82. I write this thank you to her today as a way to "rise up and call her blessed" (Proverbs 31:28) for investing her time and herself in me for so many years. And although my mother was -- and is -- absolutely wonderful in every way, I would like to offer this poem by Strickland Gillilan as a tribute to the precious gift she gave me when she lifted me onto her lap and opened not just a book, but also my mind and my heart. Thank you, Mom, ... I love you.

The Reading Mother

I had a mother who read me things
That wholesome life to a child's heart brings-
Stories that stir with an upward touch.
Oh, that every Mother were such!
You may have tangible wealth untold,
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be;
I had a mother who read to me.

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

God of the Infinite Chances

2008-04-05T19:20:00.000-04:00

Just as if I were starring in my own classic sitcom, I managed to back into my co-worker’s car in the parking lot last week. My gas tank cover hooked her fender, leaving her car with scratches and a nickel-sized hole and my gas tank cover twisted up like a soda can tab.

The only thing worse than the initial impact of the fender bender was the awkward moment of returning to the building to inform my co-worker, “I have some very bad news about your vehicle.”

And the consequences just kept rolling in. I had to tell my husband, face my co-workers and re-live the incident every time I saw our vehicles.

Although I’ve always been a pretty conservative, prudent driver (read: grandma in a Camaro), I’m even more aware now that I’ve blown my one “get out of jail free” card--a first-time forgiveness insurance policy protecting me from a premium increase--and cannot afford another wreck. So every time I start my car I tell myself, “Whatever you do, don’t mess up.” That’s a lot of pressure!

Every unfortunate decision or sin has consequences. Not only should we confess to our Father, but we may also have to confess to the person we’ve wronged or to a third party who can hold us accountable in the future. Confession is humbling, but it’s the only way to start reparations.

My stomach knots up whenever I see my mutilated car and know that I alone am to blame. Likewise, just when we’re beginning to find peace in the process of confession and forgiveness, remorse can sucker punch us with shame. When overwhelming regret condemns us again and again, we should remind ourselves that what’s past is past and that we’ve learned where our weakness lies, where our strength lies (in Him), and how to avoid that kind of mess in the future.

Sometimes long after the event passes, we harbor fear that we’ll trip up again. We certainly don’t want to re-live the pain--or worse--wear out God’s forgiveness policy. But God does not want us to live in constant fear of anything, including sin.

Insurance companies may not forgive us “70 x 7” because they’re not all that into holiness, grace, mercy, etc.--but God is.

It is often said that “God is the God of the second chance.” Isn’t it wonderful to know that He also has a second, third, 43rd and 1000th-time forgiveness policy?

I’m so glad that “Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22-23).

Knowing how relentlessly forgiving our Father is should make us want to live obediently inside the circle of His best will for us every minute of every day. But it’s comforting to know that when we do mangle our lives, He doesn’t demand that we pay a perpetual debt. Jesus paid that price once for all, and the same mercies that are brand new every morning also endure forever.

We bring our ugly mistakes to God, and He turns our wreckage into something beautiful. It’s a crazy policy when you think about it, but that’s our Father: the extravagant giver of unmerited favor, the God of infinite chances to those who know and love Him.

Feeling Lost? Here's a Message In A Bottle

2008-02-25T18:48:00.000-05:00

You usually get a 2nd Cup of silly here, but I do enjoy writing with a little more depth once in a while. Regarding my columns, I try to speak to people who aren't yet committed to following Christ and then with the next column, to those who are committed. However, all of my columns appear on the religion page, and to be honest, I don't think many people go there on purpose. Unless they're my parents. And sometimes not even them! ["Mom, did you know my column is in today's paper? No? Well, it is."] Also, I did not title this piece; the editors did.

Feeling Lost? Here's a Message in a Bottle

For the first time since the General Hospital Luke and Laura phenomenon of my senior year in high school, I'm hooked on a television series.

Lost is ostensibly about the survivors of an airplane crash on an uncharted Pacific island, but the reason the show is wildly popular is that every week, the double meaning of the title becomes more and more enthralling.

Each Lost character has his own backstory that brought him aboard Oceanic flight 815, allowing writers to address themes such as the existence of God, fate vs. destiny, good vs. evil, dualism within characters, relationship dysfunction -- particularly between fathers and sons, faith vs. science and redemption.

Plus it's just so ingeniously written that it's completely captivating.

So, I've been thinking about being lost a lot lately, specifically, that while a person can be physically disoriented, he can also be confused in his spirit, his heart or identity.

Maybe you can relate to these "lost" moments from my life:

When I was a child, I skipped up to my father in a department store and took his hand, only to look up and see that I had grabbed a stranger's hand instead. I was so panicked I couldn't speak and ran away. I wasn't running toward anything because I wasn't thinking at all; I could only run away.

I'll never forget the first time I was driving when suddenly I whispered, "Where am I?"

Once I lost my toddler daughter only to find her curled up behind a toilet in our half bath, smiling mischievously at me.

I remember when my husband took my little dog for a short car trip without my knowledge. When I couldn't find her, I was heart-sick, believing her to be lost.

I also remember how lost I felt when my college sweetheart broke up with me as I looked down the road at the rest of my life without him.

And then there was the moment as a young adult that I realized that I was living in a state of lostness, desiring a meaningful life and unconditional love but feeling depressed instead. Again, I reached out for my Father's hand. This time, I recognized the sure grip of a faithful God. No more confusion or running -- His hand was the right thing to reach for.

Eugene Peterson, who wrote The Message, said that we're all stuck on a personal "I-land," where we are so lost that we don't know who we are, who God is or why we're here. In this sense, we are born lost. We're merely existing, just surviving. The message in a bottle: "I have made a way to rescue you from your I-land!" floats by everyone on his I-land, but only a few realize the need to be rescued or believe that it's possible.

If you're confused, afraid, lonely, hopeless, or empty, open the message in the bottle with your name on it and know that help is on the way. Your rescuer is closer than your next heartbeat if you'll just reach out. For the rest of your life, you'll feel your Father's presence, and nothing will be able tear you away from His firm grip -- you'll never be lost again.

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

What Not to Wear--Spiritual Edition

2008-01-01T18:47:00.000-05:00

What Not to Wear, Spiritual Edition

On TLC’s fashion makeover show What Not to Wear, a makeover subject is introduced to outfits put together according to new rules designed especially for her by the show’s hosts. If the subject stays within the guidelines and avoids old habits and haunts when she shops in New York City, she’ll do well at her “big reveal,” where the hosts will lavish praise on her for staying true to their directives even though she may have struggled.

When we’re sensitive to the Spirit of God, we too have moments of revelation, seeing ourselves in the 360* mirror of truth, and it’s not pretty.

The Spirit then shows us a new way of living, one that best fits why our creator made us in the first place. If we focus on him and avoid old habits and haunts, we’ll do well in the “big city,” and in the end, God will lavish on us the words we long to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

In Ephesians 6:14-18, we find familiar “rules” for dressing for spiritual success.

Let the truth be like a belt around your waist, and let God's justice protect you like armor. Your desire to tell the good news about peace should be like shoes on your feet. Let your faith be like a shield, and you will be able to stop all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Let God's saving power be like a helmet, and for a sword use God's message that comes from the Spirit.

But we’ve read these guidelines so many times it’s easy to blow across them. So just for fun, let’s flip the passage and look at What Not to Wear, Spiritual Edition.

*Don’t get bound up in hypocrisy and deceitfulness, which are ugly and hurtful. Be straightforward and virtuous from the smallest button to the largest overcoat.

*Don’t slip your feet into grungy shoes that bring nothing but trouble to others— be the one who walks into a room with good news, comfort, peace, compassion and hope. Wear shoes suitable for moving swiftly into spiritual battle for yourself or on behalf of others. Who says sensible shoes can’t be beautiful?

*Don’t wear a flimsy smock of faith. Go for quality and durability. You’ll be glad when you face harsh weather and adversaries.

*Your hat is a banner over you, creating first impressions. Who is your designer? Know your Savior and King above all!

*Your most important accessory? Not your denomination. Not your worship music. Not your financial giving statement. It’s the Word of God. Outside your body, strictly speaking, it’s an accessory, but meditate on it until it’s deep in your heart and first in your thoughts.

*Don’t be lazy about your spiritual attire, returning to old habits and haunts. Stay au current. Notice what God is up to in the world and join him. Be in constant communication with your Life Coach.

It’s OK to look forward to the final “Big Reveal,” but until then, get your spiritual fashion rules down, express your creativity and uniqueness, work with passion, and have loads of fun in the big city!

At the Family Table

2007-12-25T18:46:00.000-05:00

12/07 Muncie Star Press

Because I was born late into my family, my earliest memories have always included my three sisters-in-law. So by the time my parents, my brothers and their wives occupied our holiday table, I was necessarily placed at the dreaded “kid table.”

I never liked this arrangement. At eight years old, I definitely had a lot of sparkling conversation to bring to the table. Alas, no adult ever gave up his seat so that the eight-year-old brat could sit at the grown-up table.

No matter how old we all grew, I remained youngest until my nephews came along, and then at least I had company at the kid table, even if they all spoke Elmer Fudd language.

The day finally came when as a newlywed, I returned home for the holidays. I can’t remember if I finally made the cut for the big table or not. But the following year, I had a two-month-old, and guess what—it was back to the kid table for me. And there I remained with all three of my children as they grew up, year after year.

Remembering the kid table recently inspired me: when my kids and grandkids come home for the holidays, just once, I’m going to turn the world on its ear and reserve places for the smallest people at the elusive grown-up table.

On a larger scale, society also has its rules about who belongs and ranks and who doesn’t. But just because humans have established pecking orders (caste systems, hierarchies of power, designations of respect) doesn’t mean they reflect the Lord’s standards at all. In fact, we position those with money and power at the head of the table, while others are relegated to back entries, wobbly stools and leftovers.

But Jesus, as surely as he tipped over the money-changers tables in the temple, flipped the status quo concerning who is first and who is last in his order. He washed dirty feet to show us how to be great in his kingdom. He forewarned us about pride and exclusivity.

In Luke 22:26-27 Jesus said to his disciples: "Kings like to throw their weight around and people in authority like to give themselves fancy titles. It's not going to be that way with you. Let the senior among you become like the junior; let the leader act the part of the servant. Who would you rather be: the one who eats the dinner or the one who serves the dinner? You'd rather eat and be served, right? But I've taken my place among you as the one who serves” (MSG).

And so we know how to live as his disciples--offering what we have to those who have less, dying to selfishness instead of demanding our desires, serving others.

Christmas is the season when we celebrate the birth of a King who refused to occupy a temporary earthly throne to experience a stable and a cross. Because of his extraordinary love, he now sits eternally at the right hand of the Father.

Someday there will be a banquet table at which we’ll all gather to share in the Lord’s great supper. Jesus lived, died and rose again for the joy of inviting every single person: “Come to my table; there is a place saved especially for you.”

Exchanging Real Life for Decay

2007-11-03T18:45:00.000-04:00

I re-worked the wisdom tooth extraction experience for my column today. I'm copying it here because you can only link to the articles on line free for 7 days, so instead I'll to link to this post for the archive. The last thing I want to do is pay to get to my own words!

Twenty-two years ago, I had two wisdom teeth pulled. Because the whole ordeal wasn't a picnic, I decided to wait a while to have the others removed.

"A while" became 22 years.

In spite of meticulous brushing, flossing and even whitening, the remaining "wizzies" had to go. My dentist said there was nothing I could've done to avoid the surgery; the very nature of these nonessential, problematic teeth demanded that they go.

Driving home, I remembered his words, "It's the nature of the tooth, its anatomy, its physiology. It's just naturally bad."

Something being naturally bad made me think of sin.

I remembered a time when I hid sin similar to these teeth, keeping my secrets tucked so far back into the recesses of who I was that there was no danger of people seeing my misery. I practiced all of the spiritual disciplines -- reading scripture, attending church and serving others, but still, I hid my pain, thinking, "I'll take care of this at some point-just not yet."

Eventually, I realized as long as I harbored one unrepented sin, all the "whitening" in the world was either just for show or a half-hearted, prideful attempt to patch a serious problem. Living in denial about the state of my heart became a way of life. It hurt to expose flaws and release long-held anger, but it was necessary. And in the end, it was the best thing for me.

Although I knew I would feel some discomfort after this extraction, I trusted this surgeon -- unlike my father-in-law, who continually offers to perform all kinds of medical procedures fast and cheap for his family, and no, he's not a doctor! This surgeon didn't appear to have a sadistic bone in his body. He listened to all my fears and reassured me. I was in good hands.

Likewise, I know that when I release my grip on an ancient grudge or heartache, at first, it won't feel good. I might feel like I've "lost" somehow. But that's not so. The truth is, being set free from decaying forces in my life is the best thing for me.

And I trust my God. He wants to excise whatever harms me and drives a wedge between us. When I'm scared to turn over my hang-ups to him, he listens to my fears and reassures me. When life hurts, I could resort to all sorts of crazy methods to treat myself, but the truth is, he is the only one who can truly set me free. I cannot help myself. I will always need a savior.

Right now, my front teeth look great, but don't come too close! The inside of my mouth looks and smells like walking death. I'm reminded of Matthew 23:27, where Jesus warned, "You Pharisees and teachers are in for trouble! You're nothing but show-offs. You're like tombs that have been whitewashed. On the outside they are beautiful, but inside they are full of bones and filth." Yet I am comforted by Isaiah 1:18: "I, the Lord, invite you to come and talk it over. Your sins are scarlet red, but they will be whiter than snow."

To be human is to be naturally inclined to disobey, even though we know we are digging our own graves. When God says, "It's time for this rot to go," I have to remember to trust in his mercy and unfailing kindness toward me. Even though there's much value in doing good, no regiment of noble behaviors or charitable endeavors can purify my inner self. Therefore, to kick off this month of thanksgiving, I'm declaring my thanks to God for exchanging real life for my decay, for trading his joy for my sorrow. Great is your faithfulness, O God!

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.
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Originally published November 3, 2007

Chocolate's a Sin? Salvation is Sweet

2007-09-22T18:45:00.001-04:00

September 2007

I “heart” chocolate. Virtually all day long, I battle a nagging inner voice whispering, “Get some chocolate. Now.”

Behold my unsuccessful strategies for taming my habit: Cold turkey. One ounce per day. Fake chocolate. Caffeine. Fruity water. Vitamins and minerals. Candy. Chocolate-scented candles. I can’t believe I’m revealing this, but I have even opened up a packet of Splenda—the sugar junkie’s methadone, and poured it directly on my tongue. Oh yeah, this habit is bad.

Yesterday I was jonesin’ for some no-bake chocolate oatmeal peanut butter cookies, my personal tipping point when it comes to chocolate binging. I can make these cookies in my sleep. And eat them in my sleep.

I worked my magic. Guess how many my husband and daughter ate? Zero. Guess how many I ate? Whatever you guessed, you’re wrong, because I ate more than you guessed.

The morning after a night like that isn’t pretty.

I promised myself that when I came home from work today, I would not eat the remaining three. Can I just say in my defense that if cookies could wink with a flirty come-on, these did. So I wolfed them down.

Obviously, I cannot have cocoa, peanut butter and oatmeal in my house simultaneously. So I pitched the cocoa into the trash and grieved over it like it was a grave.

In Romans 7, Paul expresses how remorseful I felt in that moment. In fact, he communicates the whole human condition precisely: “I know that my selfish desires won't let me do anything that is good. Even when I want to do right, I cannot. Instead of doing what I know is right, I do wrong. What a miserable person I am!”

Although eating chocolate isn’t exactly a sin, my habit wields enough power over me to disrupt my life. God is concerned about our struggles because left unchecked, sin kills us, spirit and body. No loving father wants to see his children wither away or hit the wall at full speed.

Some people erroneously believe they must first clean up and straighten out their lives before God will be interested in them. But God is not stunned by our habits, weaknesses, and hang-ups. It’s all old news to him. First, he wants a relationship with us. Then, if destructive forces are compromising our lives, he will reveal them and help us say “no” to one thing in order to say “yes” to the ultimate good thing.

After his confession of moral impotence, Paul offers this hope, “Thank God! Jesus Christ will rescue me! If you belong to Christ Jesus, you won't be condemned. The Holy Spirit will give you life that comes from Christ Jesus and will set you free from sin and death.”

As long as I’m in this body, I will never be completely sinless. Sometimes I’m more successful than other times in battling my weaknesses. But when I find myself in yet another self-dug pit, knowing that a forgiving, compassionate Father wants to lift me up and dust me off gives me courage and hope for the next leg of my journey.

Her Anchor Will Make House Less Empty (My Son Goes to College)

2007-08-04T18:43:00.001-04:00

In three weeks, our household is going to change drastically.

Instead of maintaining four vehicles, we will dwindle to two, allowing me to pull into the garage without weaving through our private summer obstacle course called "the driveway."

Our grocery bill will plummet like the first drop of a roller coaster. The telephone will ring less. Toilet paper will no longer be on the endangered species list. Best of all, my little dog, a walking aggregation of nerves, will no longer be launched into outer space when our kids' friends ring the doorbell. (Her rockets fire before "ding" becomes "dong.")

The reason for these changes? Two of our three kids are leaving for college -- my son, Jordan, for the first time.

Cue the violins, because no matter how much I'll appreciate the pleasant changes, when I see their empty chairs at dinner and empty beds each night, I will struggle with just that -- emptiness.

I know that life is transitional and that the ultimate goal of rearing kids is to guide them to complete independence. Still, I long for permanence I can count on no matter how many years pass, no matter how my circumstances -- my job, my interests or my role as mom changes. I need an anchor.

Happily, just such a mainstay of peace has been mine over the years, even when my footing was unsure, or my heart raced with fear, or ached with sadness -- as when we left our daughter at college that first time. My anchor has been the constant friendship of Jesus.

In all of my ups and downs, relationship struggles, personal failures and insecurities, I have not been alone. When my head hit my pillow at night, I knew I was under his watchful eye. When I awoke to face another problematic day, (is there any other kind?) I trusted that he knew the paths I would take and would even order my steps if I submitted to him.

When I walked through fiery trials, he didn't extinguish the flames, but he held my hand through them. As a result, the purifying heat helped refine me, but more importantly, helped me know him more intimately.

As I prepared for Jordan's graduation a few weeks ago, I found a stick figure crayon drawing he made for us when he was six. On the page I had written, "Jordan wants us to keep this, even when he goes to college." And now that time is here. I did indeed keep it, treasuring the thought that as much as kids want to grow up and away, they also need an enduring love they can depend on; they need an anchor.

My greatest hope is that as my children grow more independent, they will grow more dependent on the one who loves them unconditionally and unflinchingly, through all of their personal trials. Despite the best of intentions and efforts, no parent, spouse or child of their own will ever be able to completely or perfectly fulfill their needs.

As a result of his faithfulness, I am able to release my grip on my son and daughter, and the only clinging I'll do will be to Jesus, my steadfast anchor and friend.

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

For 22 Years, It's Been Him, Her and God

2007-06-19T18:42:00.000-04:00

*This is a sticky post for a weekend submission to P31 Woman. For weekend updates, see posts below.

No More Tears for Fears--Marriage as a Three-Cord Strand

On June 15, 1985, I was a college graduate of three weeks and a bride of 24 hours. I remember languishing poolside in Floridian bliss, humming along to Tears for Fears' Everybody Wants to Rule the World, while sipping a cold drink and exchanging smiles with my bridegroom. I didn't want to rule the world exactly, but I did have big plans for my new married life.

When I hear the song now, I smile at the irony of the first line: "Welcome to your life; there's no turning back ... ." At 22, what did I know about a commitment to care forever -- no turning back?

Occasionally, I wish I could return to June 14, 1985, and meet myself as a young bride at the back of the church. I'd whisper candidly to the young me about my expectations versus the reality of the years ahead. If you had asked me then if I understood the scope and weight of my vows, I would have said yes, but I didn't really.

Being in love didn't prepare me for those first grocery shopping ventures, when I plopped favorites into the cart and he promptly removed them. I didn't know that without due warning he would change my radio stations. Who knew we'd spend 22 years disagreeing about how to mow the lawn? And how could I have known that he had a sleeping disorder? Or (and this still puts a chill up my spine) that we would have kids with sleeping disorders?

I didn't understand that he couldn't be "everything" for me. After all, he was the love of my life, with emphasis on "my."

And that poor bridegroom -- he didn't know the half of his bride's self-centered capacities. He didn't know his fun-loving girlfriend would be so uptight about clothes on the floor and dust on ceiling fans. How could an affectionate girlfriend neglect to meet her husband when he walked through the door after work each night? And how did she manage to break so many things weekly? Imagine his confusion about a wife who six months into marriage began daily afternoon naps that merged into nights. Had he married a narcoleptic?

No, the power naps were due to the hormonal changes of pregnancy, and he would be a dad in only his second year of marriage.

Who knew?

God did. He knew we would go through seasons of joy alternated with frustration, depression, family deaths, disappointment in each other and in ourselves. But by the grace of God who remained faithful to us when our commitment lagged, and through the support of church family and friends, we stand together 22 years later.

Ecclesiastes 4:12 says, "Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not easily broken"(NIV).

Three strands: God, my husband, and me.

At times, the cord frayed, but it didn't break, because ultimately, we love God and value who we are as a couple and a family more than we love our individual selves-- not because we're noble or martyrs, but because God's spirit in us "grew" this counter-human commitment to something bigger than ourselves as individuals.

Based on statistics, it's a safe bet that without positioning our marriage and family on his principles and grace, we wouldn't be together today.

A line in the aforementioned songs says, "There's a room where the light won't find you/holding hands while the walls come tumbling down/When they do I'll be right behind you..." In the tropical sun of 1985, I wouldn't have believed that darkness could ever threaten us. But by banding together when darkness came and walls fell, we defended each other when one was weaker. And when we were both tired, our anchor strand was strong enough to get us through.

I am not as naive about life and expectations anymore. I do know that when my husband is pushed, I'll be right behind him, supporting him. When walls tumble, I'll be right beside him, holding his hand.

And even if I could time travel and enlighten myself about the triumphs and trials to come, I'd trust in the outstretched hand of my bridegroom at the altar, squish my puffy dress through the vestibule, and confidently meet him there -- no turning back.

Written by Linda Crow. Word Count: 716. Previously published in the Muncie Star Press, June 16, 2007. Permission granted to Proverbs 31 Ministries to use this article in the magazine P31 Woman and its promotion, as well as in other facets of Proverbs 31 Ministries, including radio programs and website.

Jesus Goes To Greath Lengths to Reach Us

2007-04-28T18:40:00.000-04:00

Jesus goes to great lengths to reach us
By LINDA CROW

I should've named my tiny Yorkshire terrier "Enigma" instead of "Zoe" because her quirkiness could stump the best dog whisperer.

For example, she loves to sit on laps, so whoever is planted comfortably is the momentary apple of her little eye, and she begs to sit with the sitter. The problem is, she cannot jump high enough to get to us. We have to lean and scoop her up.

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Oddly, she then darts away, looking over her shoulder as if to say, "What are you trying to do, imprison me? Why are you so possessive?"

She repeats this approach and retreat until she is far from the sofa, causing us to forfeit prime couch potato time by getting up and carrying her back to our laps, thus creating a whole new, frustrating version of "fetch."

We've analyzed her bizarre routine, wondering if she is ...

afraid of being lifted to 2-foot heights.

playing a screwy game of chase.

a control freak.

communicating, like Lassie, that Old Man Hanson is trapped in a burning shed which toppled onto a railroad track and is now in the path of a locomotive and we must go save him.
Exasperated, I announced one day, "I wish I could become a dog and learn what is in that head of hers. I'd be able to tell her to stop this madness and convince her to trust us."

My family nodded in agreement, but I saw my son furtively dialing Dr. Phil and my daughter tracing "!PLEH" on the foggy window.

Allow me a very rough parallel here -- do you suppose this scenario is similar to how we often respond to the Father? In other words, do we "play" at knowing him, claiming we want intimacy but dart away when he gets too close?

Do you think we really fathom how far-reaching Jesus's love was, how he left a holy place and condescended to us on earth? Humanity didn't just happen to Jesus; he chose it. And John 10:18 says he gave up his life for us voluntarily. That is big love.

Because he decided to be Jesus and not a stone image or despot, we know he was misunderstood and despised. We know he endured temptation. He grieved when John the Baptist and Lazarus died. He celebrated weddings and loved children but never married or had biological children. In Jesus's death, the Father experienced what it means to have your child brutally killed. All of Jesus's earthly experiences culminated in propitiation for our sin but also in our assurance that he knows our struggles and our needs because he was "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief" (Isaiah 53:3).

Jesus still reaches for us, and not half-heartedly -- he goes to great lengths -- leaves the couch, if you will, to bring us to him. Luke 15:4 and John 10 tell how he is the Good Shepherd who searches for the lost and for those who stupidly run away from his protection and love.

Do you sense the Shepherd reaching for you? Do you know your Shepherd's voice? Do you vex him with indecisiveness and lukewarm responses? Do you trust him, or do you doubt his ability to carry you?

Don't just glance at him over your shoulder when he beckons you. Stay a while. You can never thank him enough for the great length he went to so that you can be with him forever and know him right now.

Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

When God Says "No"

2007-02-17T18:36:00.000-05:00

No one likes to be told, “No.” In fact, we often feel entitled to an explanation or apology when things don’t go our way.

When I worked for a renowned weight-loss company, which I shall refer to as “Plate Watchers,” one piece of advice I offered members was, “Realize that when you say ‘no’ to one thing, you’re saying ‘yes’ to another. Therefore, you might say ‘no’ to dessert in order to say ‘yes’ to a smaller dress size.” Often that suggestion motivated members, but had I stood in front of my group and said, “You wanna lose weight? Just tell yourself ‘No:’ ‘No, I’m not going to have this entire box of Girl Scout Cookies. No, I’m not going to mega-size my fries. No, I’m not going to have a piece of birthday cake. No, no, no,’” I don’t think I would have lasted long in that position!

As much as we don’t like it, “no,” is good for us sometimes.

Once I yearned for a specific house in a great neighborhood. I could just see my children playing in the yard with friends. But I prayed for God to shut the door on the opportunity if it wasn’t best for us. We didn’t get it, and to say I was disappointed is an understatement. A few months later, a man who lived directly across from that house was arrested for molesting children, luring them in by fixing their bicycles, etc. You can bet my vision of my children playing on that street became a shuddering thought, and I thanked God we didn’t move there.

For the last two weeks I’ve ridden an emotional roller coasting waiting for a door to open or close. One outcome would’ve drastically changed my family’s lives, so it occupied most of my waking thoughts and prayers. As it happened, the door swung shut with a thud, and without much explanation. That hurt.

For about an hour, I was really upset. But even in the midst of the turmoil, because I have already offered God my whole life and know that every step is taken under his providential eye, I felt at peace. After the emotional release, my disappointed feelings began catching up to my faith.

I may never know why that door was shut, but I did receive comfort in Psalm 25:12-13, “Where is the man who fears the Lord? God will teach him how to choose the best. He shall live within God’s circle of blessing, and his children shall inherit the earth.” I did not have the opportunity to choose in this situation, but I trust that God chose the best for me. I will not worry about my future, or my children’s futures.

A key verse in my life is Isaiah 30:21: “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, you will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” There is no golden opportunity in this life that can compare with walking in The Way. And that’s why I’m thanking God for saying “no” this week.

Peace and Pain Aren't Mututally Exclusive With God's Help

2006-12-28T09:50:00.000-05:00

I have a column due for January 6. I decided to upgrade a previous post for the column topic, especially since I have even more "perspective" now after the horrendous Christmas I had this year.

I usually keep my Christmas decorations up until after January 1, but this year, I ripped them down December 26th. What's so ironic is that from Thanksgiving on, I could feel that old, deep, warm Christmas feeling rising like I hadn't in years, like in the times before I battled depression. Actually, I almost felt giddy.

I never saw what was coming. And I never want a repeat of this year again, although wishing doesn't make it so. So if it does happen again, I hope I can remember that I am connected to the source of all peace, and that some trials only paralyze you if you give in to them. Well, here it is.

*********************************************************

Here's the newspaper copy from January 6:

Peace and pain aren't mutually exclusive with God's help

By LINDA CROW

Unless we smell smoke or hear glass break, we usually don't pay much attention to our kids' bickering. Recently, though, we noticed our daughter Kristin reacting peculiarly toward her older brother Jordan, who was taunting her with normal sibling stuff like, "I got the last Pop Tart," or "The dog loves me more than you."

While he rambled, we watched Kristin raise her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, frame Jordan's head between them, squint one eye, then calmly and with vengeful pleasure compress his head like snuffing out a flame. She then turned smugly and left him standing there with a half-finished wisecrack. Big brothers live for this stuff, but we all cracked up.

Anyway, noting how effective the technique was for Kristin, the rest of us started squashing our own daily irritants. I personally work this magic on rude drivers who approach our intersection, clearly see me backing out of my drive but plow on through the stop just to make sure they don't have to wait a millisecond for me to straighten my wheels.

I suppose the reason it feels so good is that it keeps annoyances in perspective. Once you miniaturize a problem, it becomes laughable and loses its power to frustrate.

Of course, "the pinch" doesn't work on every problem. One night two weeks ago, I wanted to squash Christmas and New Year's Eve, due to a death in the family and other trials that crashed in on us like very unwelcome holiday guests. But I couldn't run, hide or snuff out my pain; I had to live through it.

Lying awake, I felt the relevance of my faith once again: I couldn't escape suffering, but I could still have peace. It seems a contradiction, but pain and peace are not mutually exclusive. My life history has had an undercurrent of peace like a quiet babbling brook, a gentle but constant force because of Christ.
I remembered the scripture, "Then, because you belong to Christ Jesus, God will bless you with peace that no one can completely understand. And this peace will control the way you think and feel . . . keep your minds on whatever is true, pure, right, holy, friendly, and proper. Don't ever stop thinking about what is truly worthwhile and worthy of praise. You know the teachings I gave you, and you know what you heard me say and saw me do. So follow my example. And God, who gives peace, will be with you (Philippians 4:7-9).

Resolved for 2007: Don't sweat the small stuff; pinch it! With my mother-in-law's passing, I'm reminded that the summer of life inevitably slips into winter, when the grand picnic will be remembered either as the battle against the flies or the feast of sweet strawberries, depending on your perspective and your connection to the source of peace.

This year, I'm going to focus on letting the Prince of Peace conduct the way I think and feel. May he reign on the world's stage, in our relationships and in our hearts in 2007.

Linda Crow, Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

Words of Hope for the Depressed

2006-11-11T09:48:00.001-05:00

Here is the final version of this column that appeared in the Muncie Star Press on November 6, 2006. They called it, "Words of Hope for the Depressed."
Lauren sits at the Thanksgiving table with her head gratefully bowed, realizing she's holding the hands of God's cornucopia of love: family. But Lauren's Thanksgiving prayer is an exercise in faith and maturity because she doesn't feel much emotional warmth or connection. She is numb. Lauren is fighting depression that intensifies during the holidays, when the pressure is on to be happy.

Can believers, claiming to know the source of peace and wholeness, be depressed? From David, who poured out his intense angst in the Psalms, to you and me, it happens. Whether by circumstance or biology, people of faith struggle with this paradox.

Others simplistically advise, "Read your Bible more," or "Quit navel-gazing and go work in a soup kitchen," or "Depression is a part of life. Get over it." The depressed person knows that compared to those in Darfur or those facing catastrophic illness and loss, she has nothing to moan about, so the admonishment only contributes to her implosion -- guilt and shame are heavyweights. Some people are born seeing their proverbial gravy boats half full instead of half empty, and they will never understand persistent depression.

Many in the heat of the battle faithfully follow directives for coping, including counseling, medication, serving others, exercising, keeping a gratitude journal, etc. They are committed to slogging through the wet cement of depression. Still, they are wondering, "Will this ever end?"

It will.

The key is not to ask, "How long, O Lord?" but to continually affirm, "His grace (strength) is sufficient for me," whether enduring the holidays or 3 a.m. insomnia. Just because you don't feel spiritual doesn't mean God has left you; relationship is more than feelings. The verse 2 Timothy 2:13 says, "If we are faithless, he will remain faithful."

Sometimes we travel through dark tunnels we never saw coming. We look around, and others don't seem to be affected. We look ahead and can't see any light. We pray and hear an echo. Pretty soon we just sit quietly, confused and anxious.

Keep praying -- your prayers are heard.

The shortest distance between two points, the beginning and end of your tunnel, is a straight line. Don't be so impatient to stop the pain that you lurch out sideways; you'll feel the wall you throw yourself into. Listen for the voice that says, "This is the way, walk in it; do not turn to the right or to the left."

You are going to come out on the other side of depression like waking from a coma. Your spiritual eyes will open, and you'll see how God was with you, teaching you, comforting you. You won't be so tired anymore. Your relationships will be meaningful again. The glass wall between you and others will shatter. You'll be glad you hung in there for one more day ... then one more day.

Your purpose and destiny are not nullified because of this struggle. In fact, you'll be able to help others better because you'll be spiritually richer, more compassionate, more humble, more usable, and more in love with God.

So stay the course. The darkness is almost over. Hold on one more day ... and then one more.

Linda Crow, Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. View her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

What's On Your Permanent Record?

2006-08-31T00:00:00.000-04:00

At Franklin Middle School, my seventh grade teacher of family and consumer science (that’s home-ec to geezers over twenty) possessed one weapon in her disciplinary arsenal: the Red F. Every day, she threatened to emblazon Red F’s on our PERMANENT RECORD if we didn’t behave.

I can’t remember her name, but I remember how she looked during Red F tirades. By the end of the period, her head and neck looked like a tree that was attached to gigantic roots (neck tendons) bulging through topsoil. [Mrs. Home-Ec, I’m sorry if you have truckloads of chiropractic bills from all that neck tension, but at least now you know the genesis of your affliction. You’re welcome.]

When I was older and wiser, I realized that unless I had some fancy felonies up my sleeve, I didn’t need to worry about my permanent record. In fact, I stopped believing in it.

Now, however, I’m back to believing in a new kind of permanent record, one that holds both public and private information and is available to anyone at the click of a mouse.

To borrow a popular slogan, “What happens on the Internet stays on the Internet.”

For example, I once published an article on an online magazine. On a whim, I recently searched and re-read it for the first time in years—discovering appalling, obnoxious writing. I was embarrassed that those words were floating around out there with my name attached to them. I wanted to scream, “That’s not how I write! I don’t normally talk like King James! I want a do-over!” I re-wrote the article for my blog, but the original mortifying writing is on my PERMANENT RECORD, out of my control--forever. Obviously, when I published the piece, I was confident it was good enough for public consumption. Now I’m a victim of the old joke, “It seemed like a good idea at the time . . . .”

Aside from Internet predators and identity thieves, you can be your own worst online enemy.

For instance, suppose you’re someone who doesn’t exactly live on the edge, and you decide to jolt your friends by staging some risqué photos of yourself engaging in illegal behavior or other dubious conduct, just for laughs. Even though it’s just a private joke, the joke could be on you when your future employer searches your name and sees your prank. She may not be impressed that at 17, you were able to hang upside down from a tree limb drinking a Corona in your underwear.

Does that sound far-fetched? In the June 6, 2006, issue of New Scientist, Jon Callas, Chief Security Officer of PGP Corporation (a software encryption company) warned, “You should always assume anything you write online is stapled to your resume. People don’t realise you get Googled just to get a job interview these days.” So whatever you blog about yourself could provide interesting tidbits of personal info to a prospective employer, but you’ll be left out of the loop.

You may think that built-in security options protect you, but compromising info has a way of slipping through the system. Students have actually been expelled or implicated in crimes because of friends’ indiscretions. One simple “forward” could set you back in reaching your goals.

An article entitled Facebook connecting more than students from PhysOrg.com relates this example of students implicating themselves online:
At Fisher College, a small liberal-arts school in Boston, controversy arose after two students were expelled for conduct on their Facebook accounts. Kurt Vachon and Cameron Walker, a sophomore and the Student Government Association president, were both members of a group expressing anger at a specific university police officer. A confidential investigation began when a fellow student came to university officials with concern over the group. According to John McLaughlin, Fisher College chief of police and spokesman, members of the group were going so far as to plan a scheme to get the officer in trouble in a sexual-assault setup. "Essentially they were students conspiring to set up a police officer on campus," he said.

However, the students involved contend their group was simply an online joke. Walker told the Brown University Daily Herald newspaper in November, "I had bad judgment, but I did not deserve to be expelled. I clarified that the Facebook group was a joke ... but (Fisher administrators) chose to take it seriously anyway. They chose to make it an issue when it didn't really have to be."

What messes we get ourselves into.

On another level, there’s a spiritual record of our messes, as well. I used to think God monitored me so that he could instantly engrave Red F’s on my permanent record. Whenever I asked for forgiveness, I felt somewhat better, but the specter of the Red F haunted me.

One day, I read John 3:17: “God did not send his Son into the world to condemn its people. He sent him to save them!” (CEV) I began to understand that God’s favorite pastime is not keeping a grade book on his creation, that he was quite eager to forgive and forget when asked. The forgiving part was familiar; the forgetting part, the expunging, was too good to believe, and yet there it was in black and white throughout the Bible: “He doesn't punish us as our sins deserve. How great is God's love for all who worship him? Greater than the distance between heaven and earth! How far has the LORD taken our sins from us? Farther than the distance from east to west!” (Psalm 103:1-12 CEV)

One of my favorite songs is “Ocean Floor” by Audio Adrenalin because the chorus encourages you to see and accept that you can be completely pardoned:

Your sins are behind you
They'll never find you
They're out on the ocean floor
Your sins are erased
And they are no more
They're out on the ocean floor

At the end of the song, eerie sonar beeps remind you how deep and dark and cold the ocean floor is--unfathomable. It’s comforting to know that when we own up to our sins and ask for forgiveness, God takes great pleasure in plunging the Red F’s of our permanent record to the ocean floor, where they dissipate into nothingness forever.

Whatever We're Called at Home or School, God Has a Special Name for Each of Us

2006-08-12T00:00:00.001-04:00

August 12, 2006

By LINDA CROW
Back to school -- ahhh, the memories I'd like to forget.
For instance, I had an oddball last name: Batt. Other than allowing me to whip across two T's in one express stroke, "Batt" brought nothing but school days opened with and hemmed in by Batt jokes. By middle school, I learned to answer clever quips like, "Hey, is that your Battmobile? Is that coat your Battcape? Is Battman your dad? Do you live in the Battcave?" the way you answer a two year-old: "Yep, umm-hmm. Gee, you're funny." Or sometimes, I'd sarcastically go along, "Yes! And this is my Battpencil, my Battdesk, my Battclassroom and Battschool!" I became pretty tired of "Battworld."

Ancestry.com offers this charming Batt history: "Origin and meaning are not clear, but it is perhaps akin to batt 'cudgel' and so, as a byname, given to a thick-set man or a belligerent one." I guess that includes thick-set, belligerent females, too, which I am at least once a month.

Like a lot of little girls, I dreamed of Prince Charming. Only along with his shock of dark hair and white teeth, his name would be "Someone Smith," or "Somebody Jones." Yes, I daydreamed we would seal our love with a K.I.S.S.: Keep Important Surname Simple.

And then I met the Prince. Dark hair, white teeth, athletic, funny, dark skin, religious, and very, very smart. One problem: His last name was Crow.
Imagine that. I had fought the black flying-object battle my entire life, knowing that there would be light at the end of the Batt Tunnel upon marriage. I found "the one" but --holy irony, Battman! -- his name denoted another black flying object, proving once and for all that God has a sense of humor.

Eventually, the Prince and I prepared for little Crows. I didn't know whether to read Dr. Spock or Caring for Nestlings. I did read one piece of advice that seemed pretty useful in a Crow handbook: Before you decide to tackle the job of raising a baby crow, there are a few things you should consider. Baby crows, depending on their stage of growth, will need to be fed every 30 minutes up to every couple of hours from sun up to sun down. My teenaged son still eats by that schedule, usually at a popular local Mexican restaurant. His name is Jordan, but having a witty English major for a mom, he's lucky he didn't get named "Edgar Allan Crow."
I don't mind my name anymore. Someday it's going to change again for good -- not by legal document or marriage but by the Lord, who promised in Revelation 2:17, "I will also give [her] a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to [her] who receives it."

Why is this exciting? Because a long time ago, God created and then Adam named. Someday, I'll hear my creator himself say my name, and it will be a perfect fit. Until then, I am content to be the daughter of a Batt and wife of a Crow. Anyway, it could be worse -- I've seen the surname "Butt."
So no matter what name you're called by at home or at school, remember that the truest thing about you is what God says about you -- that you are loved beyond mere human words. He has a special name waiting for you, too.

Linda Crow, Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Read her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.

Originally published August 12, 2006

Promise in a Fox Hole

2006-06-05T09:45:00.000-04:00

In 1942, on the NBC Radio “Army Hour,” Lieutenant-Colonel William J. Clear commented wryly, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” Of course, he was generalizing, but many people facing imminent death do pray frantically in order to be spared or carried to heaven if they don’t survive. In fact, those in peril often beg, barter or surrender their souls to God in that somber moment. I wonder how many of those foxhole promises are kept.

The first time I understood the foxhole observation, I was a teenager, asking my mother how my dad became a Christian. She was ironing, wearing a cotton print shirtdress, eyes down and head moving back and forth with the iron as she told the riveting story. And like most people who lived through that war, she told it without drama or exaggeration.

She began, “It was in St. Lazare-Lorient, France. Your dad was driving his jeep when heavy shelling began. He was really scared; it was his very first time to be attacked like that. He jumped out of his jeep, got down in a bank at the side of the road and prayed, ‘God, if you will just see me through this, I promise I will live for you and serve you the rest of my life.’” She didn’t look up; she just kept ironing.

After a second of heart-stopping visualization, I understood. A foxhole is a trench or a pit—a muddy, undignified hole in the ground. A lonely place to die. My dad, at only twenty years old, had lain in a rut on the other side of the world crying out to a God he did not know. My throat tightened, and my eyes filled with tears from a daughter’s love and belated fear for her father. For the first time, I deeply appreciated the sacrifices my dad and so many others made for freedom and for our country. Later I found out that he saw other foxholes, shellings and open graves, although he was always reluctant to talk about them.

“And so, did he keep his promise?” I asked.

“Yes, when he came home, we got re-acquainted and started our life together. He said, ‘I told God I would serve him, and I’m going to do what I promised.’ So we started going to church.” That simple--promise made, promise kept.

My father didn’t follow through grudgingly, either. He had a powerful conversion experience and stayed loyal to his faith to this very day, at 84 years old. My parents have attended the same church for over 50 years, serving in almost every capacity except preaching. And really, although Dad may not have taught from behind a pulpit, more than one person has told me that his life has been a living sermon.

Most of us can’t relate to a literal foxhole experience, but we do have our own personal ruts, and muddy, undignified existences. Like my dad, we have to choose our next course of action. We can cower alone in a pit for the rest of our lives, or we can surrender to our enemy and be subjected to a miserable life of slavery or even a cruel death. Or we can cry out to God with a tiny bit of faith. And if we resign our helpless selves to him and he does lift us from the pit, what then? Can he give us meaningful, worthwhile lives?

I know what one soldier would say. I know what his wife would say. I know what his children and grandchildren and great grandchildren would say. Generations have been blessed because my dad was not a bitter atheist in a foxhole, just a very young man who kept a word heard only by God in a moment of crisis many years ago. I am honored to dedicate this column about youth and faith to an example of the two attributes at their finest: my beloved father, Virgil H. Batt.

What Labels Are You Stuck With?

2006-04-25T19:34:00.000-04:00

The last person you’d expect to be interested in a primitive hand-held label maker would be a thirteen year-old girl who enjoys Mp3 players and blogging. But my daughter was mesmerized by one at my office and then obsessed with owning one. In what may be one of the least spiritually relevant, tacky parental moves ever, I put a label maker in her Easter basket.
She was elated.

As days passed, I was repeatedly informed by strategically placed labels about the running of our household. I found labels that read, “Kristin’s hairbrush,” or “Kristin’s window,” or “Kristin’s laundry.” On her mirror, the label simply said, “Kristin,” in an apparent effort to clear up any confusion about who was looking back when she checked herself out. Thank goodness she had the good sense to label everything she owned. Before the labels, I’m not sure how I found my way through this domestic labyrinth otherwise known as, “Kristin’s house.”

Soon, objective labels morphed into subjective statements such as, “Kristin rules,” and my personal favorite, “Zoe is the best” stuck on the backside of our four-pound Yorkshire Terrier.

Enter a seventeen year-old brother. I don’t know who struck first, but soon I discovered a silent battle of the labels in full swing, with insults alternately showing up daily on each other’s bedroom doors. All I know is, the label on Kristin’s door no longer said, “Kristin’s room” but “Craphead’s room.” (Note to my mother: I do not know where they learned this word. Must be that crappy public school system! Geesh!)

Later, Jordan’s door read, “Pretty, pretty princess’s room.” And so it went.

Sometimes in life, just like in the game “tag,” you get stuck with a label that you never saw coming. Or maybe you rebound from being hurt by labeling someone else.

“Slow learner,” “smart,” “backward child,” “clumsy,” “shy,” “all-boy,” “life of the party,” “nerd”--we stick all kinds of labels on our kids; our kids stick them on their friends, and we even stick them on our selves, as silly as that is. For instance, we might stick “ugly" or “loser” on our mirror just to remind us how worthless the person looking back is. Sometimes we label other people to lower them in comparison to us, as if life is a competition.

The Bible has all kinds of references to slandering and judging others, and there’s even one reference to slamming each other with insults: “But I promise you that if you are angry with someone, you will have to stand trial. If you call someone a fool, you will be taken to court. And if you say that someone is worthless, you will be in danger of the fires of hell” (Matt. 5:22, Contemporary English Version).

Maybe one of the reasons God loathes name-calling is that even when he removes a label, stubborn glue remains, attracting other dirt. In other words, scraping the underlying glue is more tedious than peeling the label. Likewise, even after God breaks through our negative self-images and envelopes in his love, sometimes past hurts affect our relationships and cause us to react defensively toward others. We need the Holy Spirit to remove the residue and provide touch-ups from time to time.

As they scrubbed the glue from each other’s bedroom doors, my kids discovered that labels are more than paper deep. I hope they remember the consequences the next time they’re tempted to call someone a name. And if one day they teach their children about the battle of the labels, what a great teaching tool the hand-held Easter basket labeler turned out to be.

Revised 08.19.06

The Chicken Chronicles (Newspaper Story)

2006-03-01T19:32:00.000-05:00

THE CHICKEN CHRONICLES
(a journal about my backyard chickens)

The rooster is getting a comb. I watched him groom himself today. It is a strange thing to see a chicken lie down, not at all like a dog. They look like they’re slowly dying, and they often lounge on their sides as if they are centerfolds.

May 23, 2001

I went outside to sit with the chickens. I put my lawn chair in their yard and let them out. They pecked around, and I watched them, and it was great entertainment. Today the rain left everything dewy, and the chickens were around me, the squirrels were on the fence about 10 ft. away, a cardinal watched us for a while, and a rabbit hopped up to us. I felt like I was in that old margarine commercial as that lady playing “Mother Nature.”

I have put the finishing touches on, painting it barn red, adding an American flag in the yard, a mailbox and doorbell. Yes, they have received not one but two pieces of mail, one from the May family and one from the kid next door, who I think really believes the chickens can read. I painted flowers on the outside of the door. When you pull down the door, there is a rung for the chickens to get their grip so that they do not slide down and get discombobulated anymore. I purchased a small sign and nailed it below the rung: “Watch your step!” Chickens are very observant, so every time they come out, they stand on that door and look at that sign as if they are reading it and reminding each other.

Painting the barn was sort of an ordeal. First I painted the red parts, then the white parts, then the grass, some leaves, some bricks, my clothes, and Dandy, by accident. At one point, I fell over the straw bale backwards and spilled red all over. Then when I was standing holding the white paint, the limbs of the trees got into my tray. But I just kept at it, no matter what obstacles befell me. I was painting over straw that was on the wood, grass that was growing next to the wall, chicken wire, chicken poop, whatever was in my path got painted. At one point, Dandy got scared of something (probably his own reflection in the water bowl) and ran through the pan, thus painting himself and the grass where he kept on running. He still has red paint on one side of him and white paint on the front of his legs.

As I gathered my painting tools, I stood back to admire my work and looked around me. I turned to see a crew of roofing men across the street watching me. They waved. I bet my face was as red as the coop.

When we installed the roost, it was comical to see the chickens attempt to stay on. Evidently, the instinct is there, but the ability has to be developed. They looked like log rollers until we found a way to stabilize the roost

I was sitting in my chair, and the hen went under me and repeatedly pecked my rumpus, at least the parts that were pooching through the plastic slats. How embarrassing. Was it that noticeable that she had to peck at me like I was a melon slice or something? When I got up, I laid the phone on my chair and walked away, and they both jumped up there and walked all over it, even the phone. Yes, George, the very phone you put by your mouth.

P.S. I think I figured out why my chickens’ droppings are gargantuan—I caught them eating throwaway Styrofoam left over from the construction. This would definitely add bulk.

Speaking of farm folk (like myself), Katie and I clipped their wings so that they will stop flying so much. I held them out, and she cut them. She is now a farm girl, too. Anyway, it seems to have worked. When they take off, they bank to the left or right because we didn’t cut them even. Oh well.

Clipping their wings did not affect their running speed, however. There is nothing faster than a scared chicken. They look just like the RoadRunner. Jordan usually helps me corral them, but I have to use the big black rake to catch them because I can’t get close enough. It’s a little like catching a butterfly with a net, only magnified 50 times. Every time we go through this, I can swear I hear Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs’ banjo music going while we chase them! This routine happens frequently. As you might guess, the chickens are now deathly afraid of the rake. If they just see me with it in the yard, they go bonkers.

They are also deathly afraid of anything flying overhead, which is understandable. But the rooster is extra skittish because it’s his job to protect everyone. But my rooster is like Barney Fife, trying to run and find his one bullet at the same time. His eyes are even big and wild like Barney’s.

I went outside today to sit a spell with the chickens. I lay back in the lounge chair and closed my eyes. I could feel them pulling on my clothes and hear them snapping the grass. It was nice to lie there, looking up through the leaves of the tree into the beautiful sky. The breeze was barely perceptible. The temp. was perfect. I dozed off.

The next thing I knew, I was startled by a great slashing pain on my thighs. Dandy Randy had jumped up on me and was walking up my body to visit my face. He stopped on my chest and was peering down at me. He would look and then cock his head and look some more, keenly observing me as if he were an alien who had landed on me. I tried not to make a giant noise or movement because I’m always trying to show them they don’t need to fear me (except when I’m wielding a rake). So I held it in, but then I thought, “Oh no! He’s going to go for the eyes!” They peck everything out of curiosity, you know. At that moment, Daisy joined him and tore up my remaining flesh. Just then Kristin walked out of the house toward me, stopped dead in her tracks and yelled, “Mom! What are you doing????” Of course, this spooked the daylights out of the chickens who puffed up their feathers and banked a left turn, tumbled on the ground and then ran like the sky was falling and hid in their coop. Can’t wait ‘til we get that privacy fence up.

Advice for Dealing with Your Senior Year

2006-03-01T00:00:00.001-05:00

When you’re 15 and waiting for the day you’re eligible to get your driver’s license, the months pass so slowly they can seem the gestation period of an elephant. Fast-forward to your senior year of high school, and time can blur like the view from a frenzied, nonstop merry-go-round.

So what’s the best way for a senior to deal with the last few months of school—that tricky time of maintaining academic standards and friendships and planning for the future? Many students find that having a life guided and enriched by strong spiritual faith is the answer.

Keegan Ferris, a Delta senior, says, “My biggest challenge will be staying balanced—preparing for the future while realizing that I have the opportunity to influence younger kids daily. I don’t always do things perfectly, but God reminds me every night that tomorrow is another day. I’m just going to keep things light with my friends and live for the day.”

Wes-Del senior Josh Zimmerman adds: “Balancing time between family, school work and friends is already an issue. Your senior year requires lots of responsibility, but it also has many distractions. I’ve found that as along as I put quiet time with God first, the other things seem to fall in place and get done. That relationship gives me peace and calm about my future.”

Anderson University freshman Katie Crow (my daughter) offers perspective: “Surrounding myself with a group of friends who shared my values and beliefs helped support and keep me accountable. As for friendships, try not to project the future sadness of separating onto the time you have together now.”

And what about the great unknown after graduation? Katie suggests, “Pray about what to do and where to go. If a door doesn’t close, go forward; that’s probably God’s will. It may be just for a short time or a lifetime. Whatever you decide, God can use it to your and his advantage if you believe he will.”

This is Katie, the wise freshman

How Do You Hear God Speak?

2006-02-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

Teens of Different Faiths Share How They Hear God Speaking to Them

The controversial show, “The Book of Daniel,” is cancelled. That was fast. I wanted to see for myself what all of the hubbub was about because the only commercial I saw intrigued me. It was the one where the Episcopalian priest is driving along, and what do you know, Jesus appears right there in the passenger’s seat. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but they look like they’re having an ordinary conversation, maybe about whether the new coffee shop is really necessary, or possibly something a little deeper, like providing help to inner city families.

Anyway, the commercial unsettled me, but not in the way most Christians were troubled. Mulling over my uneasiness, I realized I actually envied the priest’s experience with Jesus. I mean, how many times have I walked to the mailbox, waited in line or driven somewhere, casually praying and even imagining what it would be like if Jesus were there with me in person? How would I react? Would I still be familiar and casual in my prayer, or would I immediately switch to a more reverent attitude? What would He look like? Would He smile at me? Would He share a deep meaningful truth or offer something simple enough for me to grasp instantly, like, “Better keep your eyes on the road.” Hey, that could be either simple or deep, depending on how you interpret it! Whatever would happen, I yearn for His presence; I want Him by my side.

I haven’t always felt that way, especially when I was a teenager. In fact, the possibility of God popping up and giving me a verbal scathing if not a lightning bolt terrified me. Although I wouldn’t have admitted this, I secretly believed God didn’t really care for me personally because I messed up so much. However, because He said in scripture that He would love and accept anyone who came to Him, I figured He sort of had to keep His word and at least tolerate me. No wonder I feared Him more than I loved Him! It saddens me to know that my level of intimacy and communication with God was so misguided and underdeveloped that I missed a lot of precious opportunities to be in a deeper relationship with Him. However, when I had children of my own, almost immediately, I experienced unconditional, extravagant love and made the connection that my parental love was miniature model of God’s parental love, and my life was changed forever.

Because of my teenage experience, I’ve been wondering how today’s teenagers think about communicating with God. Do they fear Him? Do they yearn for Him? Do they sense Him guiding them, protecting them? Do they talk to Him daily or mainly whenever they need help? How do teens hear God in spite of distractions such as media, friends and activities? And because I’m interested in and love teenagers as individuals and children of God, even when their beliefs are radically different from mine, I want to know how kids of different faiths talk to God, as well.

I asked Solomon Sajjad, Muslim and senior at Yorktown High School, about his prayer life.

“As a Muslim, I follow the laws of Islam and pray five times a day. At the Islamic Center of Muncie, the Imam leads the prayers, and we follow. When I am at home, I may slowly recite a prayer, and if I concentrate intently, I believe Allah is watching me. If I need something, if I am very, very sincere, I believe He sees me.”

When asked what he would do or say if Allah were suddenly in front of him, Solomon said, “I would ask Him to help me follow his laws, guide me to Paradise, and save me from Hellfire.”

Brady Ridge, a junior at Delta High School who belongs to the Latter Day Saints faith, says, “My Heavenly Father often prompts me as I read scripture to make corrections in my life or to do more to serve Him. I usually pray when I wake up, or during the day if trouble comes up, or if I’m thankful for something, and again at night. My Heavenly Father is always available to me.”

When asked if his prayers were conversational or formal, he replied, “They are conversational but with respect and reverence. I would never begin a prayer like, “Yo, God!”

Brady’s reply to God suddenly appearing beside him was, “I guess I would be like the biblical characters and fall on my face out of reverence, or at least kneel. I would be at a loss for words, and I would probably cry. As for what He would say to me, I hope He would give me words of encouragement and instruction, and I hope He would say He is proud of me, and I know He would say He loves me.”

Bethany Planton, a Christian who attends Heritage Hall, shared, “Right now, it seems like God is telling me ‘No’ to one of my prayers, which has been very hard to deal with, but I keep trusting His perfect plan. Prayer does change my perspective. Each time I pray about something, I usually see it in a new light. I had to really pray about going on a mission trip this summer, but because I prayed about it, it made the decision a lot easier.”

Kraig Lehman has pastored Christian youth for 13 years. He offers this insight: “In my experience, I feel there are some young people that we, ‘the elderly,’ can learn from. While many teenagers do not have a personal relationship with Jesus, there are those who have the child-like faith that Jesus speaks of in the gospels. In fact, teenagers who have such a strong faith in God and know that He answers prayers have helped shape my faith. In fact, I have asked myself, ‘Why don’t I have that same kind of childlike faith?’ As a result, at a recent funeral, I was imagining how incredible it would be to see the dead rise from their caskets as they did in Jesus’ day. I found myself praying for that person to rise up, and I can’t help but think it’s because I have been around young people for so long that those thoughts enter my mind.”

Stacy Wall spent five years working with students through Intervarsity Christian Fellowship. She encourages teenagers to keep talking to God even when they can’t hear or sense a concrete answer to prayer. Stacy suggests, “Just the same way you’re trying to figure out your relationship with your parents or friends, you have to stay in communication with God, even when you’re unsure about the relationship. Having doubts or struggles is OK and normal, but don’t stop pursuing your relationship with Him; don’t give up because you don’t ‘feel’ an immediate solution or answer. ”

For some reason, God chose prayer as the main method of communication between Him and us. It was His idea, and He loves for us to talk to Him and listen for His voice. What an awesome thought--that the God of the universe likes for us to verbalize what’s on our finite minds to Him--whether we’re on our knees or stopped at a light. Every once in a while, my childlike faith emerges, and I steal a glance at the passenger seat, in hopes of seeing Him there, smiling.

Ever Get the Church Giggles?

2006-01-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

When I was little, my parents attended church every time there was an opportunity, so I was quite comfortable and uninhibited there. Familiarity grew into boredom, which bred misbehavior almost always manifested in giggling, especially when I sat with my best friend, Melodee. What an instigator! Want an example of what could set off two girls into barely-controllable snort laughter? Shamefully, certain hymns were hysterical to us. For example, Melodee and I thought, “There never was a sweeter mel-o-dy; ‘tis a mel-o-dy of love . . .” was hilarious because we sang her name with exaggerated enunciation and volume (Think George Beverly Shea). Once something triggered us, there was no turning back. Very naughty, but great memories.

So why do kids get church giggles?

Notes written on bulletins. Recently, I confiscated a series of playful insults. I do have to give them credit for creatively pulling from the scripture reading: “Your teeth are like a flock of shorn sheep.”

Ringing cell phone. Adults squirm, but what kid doesn’t enjoy watching a frantic, embarrassed adult fumbling to push the right button?

“Usher Tango.” When the plate travels down the wrong row, or two plates meet mid-row, compelling the ushers to dart back and forth to make it all come out even. Very entertaining.

“Sanctuary Re-Entry Disorientation.” The moment when someone returning from a “break” suddenly realizes he has passed his seat and can’t seem to find it again. For kids, this is like church Candid Camera.

“The Dozer.” Provides expanded moments of entertainment. Every head bob or low rumble causes shoulders to shake with laughter.

Rowdy babies, squealing microphones, and excessively demonstrative singers round out the list.

As long as all of these events don’t happen within the same service, the giggles will work themselves out. Some churches actually welcome laughter as a form of worship, and getting carried away could be deemed biblical: “Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away,” Isaiah 35:10.

At least church giggles are a step above a worse fate: funeral giggles.

Kids Get the Deeper Symbolism of Narnia

2005-12-01T19:30:00.000-05:00

One of the strongest entertainment draws for the teenagers this Christmas season is the The Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe, a movie based on C.S. Lewis’s venerated novel. By nearly all accounts, this interpretation is engaging and riveting, so it’s not surprising that some teenagers see it first with a friend or their family and then again with a whole posse of friends or their youth group.

Besides compelling action and captivating special effects, why do teens like this movie? When I asked a group who had just seen the movie, on theme emerged that pointedly communicated that teens “get” the symbolic undercurrent of the plot, “the deeper magic” of Narnia, which is the pre-existent plan for a sacrificial death inspired by timeless, unfathomable love.

Laura Hapner, seventh grade, said her favorite scene was the death scene because “Aslan was mocked, tormented and finally killed just to save the one who was really guilty, which reminded me of Jesus’ crucifixion, and it almost made me cry.”

Mason Haskett had been waiting for months for the premiere, and he was not disappointed. “Besides being a really great movie, it showed what humans are really like in the character of Edmund. I could relate to him. We have all done wrong just like Edmund.”

Senior Seth Kirby enjoyed when Aslan crested a hill, resounding a commanding, impassioned roar, signaling his eminent victory. “It gave me goose bumps because I related it to when Jesus Christ will return to earth someday in all his power and glory.”

Lauren Davis, ninth grade, and 000000 000000, eighth grade, both cited the resurrection scene as the most moving because of biblical similarities.

In short, sacrificial death, resurrection and triumph of the virtuous spoke to all of these teenagers.

Adults should never underestimate the creativity or the emotional and spiritual depth of teenagers. After all, C.S. Lewis was merely sixteen when he had a dream about a faun holding a parcel in a snowy forest.

2006 Junior Miss is Inspired By Her Faith

2005-11-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

Sunday night I was already half-standing in anticipation as the name of Delaware County’s new Junior Miss, Allison Hatcher, was announced. I have watched Allison grow from a typical, kooky, brace-faced, giggling pre-teen into a graceful, compassionate young woman whose faith is an integral part of her life.

Allison became a Christian when she was four years old and has grown in her faith steadily, although there have been bumps along the way,

“In middle school, my best friends didn’t always share my values, and their influence was not the best for me. I had to break away from them to maintain who I was, and that was very painful. But over time, those issues were resolved, and our friendship was restored in high school.”

At Delta, Allison tries to balance her time between academics, dancing, Honor Society, pep band, drama, church activities and friends. Into that mix came the demanding schedule of Junior Miss rehearsals and activities.

When asked about the pressure of the competition, Allison said, “The scholarship awards were really important to my family, so the stakes were high, but I knew that ultimately, God is in control of my future. The biggest challenge for me was protecting my friendship with two close friends also in the competition. I was praying for balance because each of us wanted to win, but we didn’t want the competition to come between us, and it didn’t.”

Every young girl has just as many unique abilities and traits as the smart, talented contestants displayed Sunday night. But being on stage isn’t the only time to “Be Your Best Self,” as the Junior Miss motto encourages. Allison didn’t put on a show for the judges; she simply let the light shine that comes from knowing God loves her, and she exuded confidence and capability.

Allison says, “Being a Christian doesn’t mean you will always come out as number one. But even when you’re disappointed, you can rely on God’s comfort and plan for your life.”

Shine on in the state competition, Al!

Celebrating the Midkid

2005-10-01T00:00:00.002-04:00

Originally published 10.01.2005.
October is the official “Month of the Young Adolescent.” Basically, that translates to, “Let’s give a shout out to middle schoolers,” since adults usually avoid them until forced to interact, like when the kid breaks a collar bone or melts down about her project due tomorrow.

Adults have even neglected to coin a decent name for this developmental stage; thus, these kids are awkwardly called “middle schoolers” at best, “Tweeners” at worst. Therefore, I proudly debut my name for this group: “Midkids,” signifying a niche smack dab in the middle, in a sort of developmental no man’s land.

Actually, this distinctive group defies a one-word name. It is multi-faceted, like phyllo dough, comprised of many layers forming one flaky entity. I say that lovingly because I currently parent a Midkid and work with about 30 in a weekly ministry. I know and love Midkids, in spite of their being “too big to act like that” but not big enough to do a lot of things unsupervised. Here are some lovable attributes of Midkids:

-They’re flexible. They go with the flow quite easily, as long as their friends are flowing down the same creek. Most Midkids travel in small chosen herds, which are best not disrupted for such trivialities as small groups or teams, as they become disoriented and suffer separation anxiety until reunited. That’s why Midkids love to do group community service projects; they get to work within the security of the pack while trying something new.

--They are passionate. Their famous emotional outbursts are often expressions of righteous indignation for others, namely friends. If someone is being slighted, Midkids often ardently take up the cause as their own.

--They’re compassionate. I’ve noticed that they don’t forget friends’ prayer requests and are eager to help the sick and needy, such as Katrina survivors.

--They love God. Many times I hear Midkids express their relationship with Him as “He’s my best friend,” and of course, to a Midkid, this is the ultimate compliment.

So here’s to you, Midkid—energetic, honest, energetic, faithful friend—did I mention energetic?
You are so fun!

About Me

2005-09-30T00:00:00.003-04:00

I remember watching the clock tick toward recess in the 2nd grade and then making a beeline for the paper my teacher kept on the windowsill in the back of the room. “Let them play kickball,” I would say to myself, “I will write stories!” Yes, I have been an English major nerd my entire life. I not only embrace the nerdiness but revel in it. Soul Mate? Perhaps Garrison Keillor--Patron Saint of English Majors.

I thought I would teach high school English, but I married my college sweetheart and soon began a family which has grown into:

A 22 year-old recent college graduate daughter (an English major, no less) who is my pride and joy.

A 20 year-old son who draws the line at snacking on anything nonporous, excels at lifting heavy weights such as dumbbells and his mother but not heavy clothes hampers or trash cans.

A 16 year-old, quiet, unassuming girl who likes to startle her family by randomly bursting into Ethel Merman-esque Broadway tunes.

My husband, referred to as "Jorge the Jabanero" on my blog, speaks a strange language called “math,” which has made for some zany communication attempts between us. Here he is in our 1981 high school newspaper after being voted "best male body." I told you he was hot.

Thus, there are five people in my family, plus one dog and one other intrusive entity who moved in in 1986 and never left: Laundry Pile.

I reside in Muncie, Indiana, home of the Garfield the Cat and Ball State University, of which I am an alum. I work in a large youth ministry called "Oneighty" because one cannot have too many teenagers in one’s life. I’m a regular contributor to Christian Women Online’s Devotional “Internet Café,” and I also write a small column for the local newspaper, which I am “scrapbooking” on this blog.

Reared in a Christian home, I completely surrendered my life to Jesus in college and then lived a fulfilling life mothering my kids full time for many years.

In my early thirties, I encountered the most difficult period in my life, the onset of clinical depression. I can personally verify Psalm 34:17-19: "Unless the Lord had given me help, I would soon have dwelt in the silence of death. When I said, 'My foot is slipping,' your love, O LORD, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.” It was a long, arduous struggle, but God was faithful.

Although I'm not sure who he is, I agree with William Davis who is credited with saying, “The kind of humor I like is the thing that makes me laugh for five seconds and then think for ten minutes.” I aspire to write in that vein in my columns. My goal is to entertain and encourage readers, share life's ironies, point readers to Jesus without preaching, and to live long enough to see my children have teenagers of their own.

Finally, Erma Bombeck is my writing hero. But Dave Barry is a close runner-up because he autographed his book to me, "Linda, you are a goddess." Nevermind that he writes that phrase every time he signs anyone’s book. If Dave Barry likes me in a totally abstract, non-personal, doesn't-even-know-I-exist way, I hope I can win you over, too.