As I crack the door, I hear the sounds of laughter. They’re congregating around Faye’s big wooden kitchen table.

The chatting is easy now and the cares of the day roll away as we settle in. Coffee flows freely and we drink deeply of community.

We reminisce about the amusing moments of the day: the guy with the funny name who called the office earlier that day and her trying not to giggle as she took the message; the silly antics of kiddos who ask crazy things of us mamas; the angry man who cussed at her because she had pulled her foreign car too close to his American one. Recounting the day puts it into perspective and, oh, how we laugh.

Pretty soon one of us glances at the clock and our playful banter turns to the more serious stuff of life. We’ve been reading a portion of Titus 2 together – “encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be dishonored.” We’re asking ourselves what it means to live this out. How do we pursue these seven qualities? And how can we encourage each other in that pursuit? Could we really dishonor the very words of God if we don’t?

This is where you will find us on the first Wednesday night of every month. Around this table. Coffee cups in hand. Journals open and ready. Kids all tucked in at home under Dad’s care. Each month we explore another quality on the Titus list and we ask each other the hard questions. The questions that are all too easily ignored in the fast pace of life. Questions like: How are you doing at loving your husband? What does it mean to be a worker at home? Are you doing what it takes to maintain a pure heart?

We’ve been at it for about eight months now. Call it an accountability group, call it a gathering, call it whatever you want. We just know that we need each other. We know the women that we want to be and we know that gaps that keep us from being those women. We know that we want to make it “home” before dark. Home to Jesus before we’re vulnerable, stumbling around in darkness. And we’re just humble enough to know that the stumbling happens all too easily. We’ve all seen the carnage along the path – women who decided they just couldn’t love their husbands anymore or got distracted from the simple stuff of tending their home or stopped being vigilant over their own hearts. We know what is at stake.

And so we meet together, talking or emailing in-between our monthly gatherings. We celebrate birthdays together, bring cookies or flowers to each other when needed, pray for the hard stuff, rejoice in the good stuff, email encouraging words, and check-up on each other. Each month looks a little different depending on the need. In many ways, we’re still figuring out how to make the most of our time together. I’m not sure there’s a formula. I just know that I’m coming to really love these women and that I am grateful to have them in my life.

We’re five very different women. There is variety in our loves and hobbies. Some of us work outside the home, some of us have part-time jobs we can do from home, one of us is a full-time homemaker. We have kids that span the toddler through teenage years. Three of us have kids in Christian schools, the other two have kids at public schools. We serve in our church and community according to our different giftings.

Our common bond is simply Jesus. We are grace-dwellers, seeking with our whole lives to worship the One who rescued us.

And, we are finding that the seeking is all the richer as we do it together.

I’m a reader. To a fault. The internet doesn’t help much either because now I have access to all kinds of book reviews and blogs and articles. I could read all day. Sometimes I do. That’s where the “to a fault” part comes in. *wink*

Right now I’m in the middle of the book Radical by David Platt. It’s a challenging read. And I don’t mean that it has big words that are hard to read or convoluted thoughts that are challenging to follow. I mean that it is challenging the hidden corners of my heart. The subtitle alone is enough to make you squirm a little bit: Taking Back Your Faith from the American Dream. Ouch. That’s a little bit, well, uncomfortable.

Like I said, it’s challenging. And I’m only in the second chapter.

As I read, I’m wondering what does it look like to take back your faith from the American Dream? I mean, put some flesh on that one. Who do I know that is living that way? Is this just another fad in Christian circles or is this something I can really do? I still have a lot of wrestling to do as I consider Platt’s ideas. I really think he’s on to something. But, more on that later.

In the meantime, I wanted to share an example of someone who IS getting a little radical. It might not be for everyone but it is a pretty cool story of a Kentucky couple and their unusual wedding reception. It came to me through my friend Kait, who knows the bride personally. Read on…

Tanya Ferguson and Christian Torp are getting married this coming Labor Day and are hosting their entire neighborhood at their reception in Lexington. Instead of handing out favors, they will hand out canned goods and clothing to those in need.

 “We wanted our wedding to be about more than a dress and a fancy dinner,” Tanya said. “We live in this community surrounded by people who work hard just to be able to put a hot meal on their table. What better opportunity to care for our neighbors than at our wedding, an occasion that’s supposed to be the happiest day of our lives!” The couple has invited local service organizations to attend as well.

 The couple has purposely chosen to live in the struggling William Wells Brown neighborhood so they can provide legal assistance and other forms of help to those without. The groom has formed his own law practice dedicated entirely to providing affordable law services. It has been no easy feat for him to achieve.

“We want our neighbors, the church and our love for people to intertwine,” said the bride. “We recognize that our neighbors are not a charity case, but are deserving of respect and dignity. We have spent time with many of them and look forward to living and working together for our community,” she added.

Sounds a little like taking back your faith from the American Dream, doesn’t it? If you’d like to participate, the couple is accepting donations of food, meal service items, clothes and canned goods. Monetary donations will be used expressly toward providing these items. Donations can be sent to P.O. Box 861, Lexington, KY 40588.

She wandered around looking for them, perking her ears at the sound of a car door or of young kids playing nearby. She ran to the window and whined a bit, moving from one spot in the house to another. Restless. Unsettled.

Her other “puppies” back to school. And the Papa back at the office after some days off for home projects.

I love my alone time but truth be told, it’s just awfully quiet here.

As I watch her roam the house, looking from room to room, my heart ponders the goodness of family ties that are not easily broken. The ache is a welcome one.

“Yes, sweet dog-girl. I miss them too.”

The kids started school yesterday. Dad was taking vacation time so he was home and the day began with his smoothies and his famous-amazing-stupendous egg sandwiches. The kids dressed quickly – Madison in her new outfit with the splurged-on matching purse. Both chattered with that nervous-excitement that comes with a new school year.

In record-time, they were ready. Teeth brushed, bellies full, backpacks at the ready, fresh new supplies already dropped off at school, coolest duds picked out. They were ready – physically. And, yet, one thing remained.

The heart preparation.

I sent them off to their rooms to grab Bible and journal. They needed time with the One who understands their nervous hearts and deepest longings. This preparation would be more important than fashionable knee socks or super cool skateboards or a special Dad-made breakfast.

And in that place they laid all their cares at the feet of Him who loves them with an everlasting love. All the insecurities and questions: Will it matter that some of my friends are in the other class now? What if the new girl that I sat by just isn’t interested in being friends? Will my teacher really like me? What if third grade is too hard? Will past mistakes haunt me?

Oh, to just unload those burdens and be reminded of the things that really matter. The One who really matters.

Earlier that morning, I had wrestled with the mommy version of the same questions. The questions that plague me as I evaluate the summer. Did I use our time well? Are the kids ready for a new year? How am I doing in my nurturing of these two? And what about this new year – am I involved enough at the school? Do their friends like coming here? Do their friends’ parents think we’re weird because we love Jesus so much? What if I’m not a good mom? How will I best spend my moments while they’re away?

I too had to unload those burdens and focus my attention on the One who gives me true significance and satisfies the deep places of my soul.

I need those times as much as the kids do. The day-to-day floods in and it’s just so easy to forget.

I don’t want to forget.

My toenails are hot pink this morning. I’m really more of a muted-color-type of girl. I don’t think I’ve ever had hot pink toes before. But, then again I’ve never had an almost-third-grade daughter before either.

Truth be told, I also know all the words to Party in the USA and have listened to Selena Gomez’ version of Magic like it’s the first time I’ve ever heard that song. I know about Jeggings, silly bands, and Twinkle Toes. I know that pink and green plaid skirts with knee highs are all the rage this fall. I’ve even taken the quizzes in American Girl magazine to determine what kind of friend I am. (Turns out, I’m a good friend but I’m not a very good quiz-taker because I don’t usually like the choices and want to make up another, more realistic option. Note to self: for the love of everything holy and decent, just pick one answer and quit obsessing about it!)

These are the things I do so that I can glimpse into Madison’s world. So that I can understand the things on her heart and feel the challenges that she faces as she grows.

Sometimes it’s hard to get out of my 40-year-old mindset. To stop thinking about bills that need paid, laundry that needs done, meals that need planned, and phone calls that need made. I have to be intentional about it. I have to really look when she shows me an outfit that she likes and listen when she wants to tell me about the book she’s reading. Sometimes it means I need to play the Jonas Brothers when I’d rather listen to Fernando Ortega or David Nevue while I cook. Sometimes it means hot pink instead of mocha on my toes.

This weekend was a rite-of-passage sort of weekend as we ventured to the mall together and she got her ears pierced. She was nervous but really wanted to do it so I pushed her a little bit. Worlds collided as she tried to be mature and brave but admitted that she’d like to sit on my lap while they did it. She was trusting me; believing that it would be OK because I had said so. A trust that was built on lots of intentional moments.

We had a great time together that day. After she got her ears done, we sat on a bench and shared an Auntie Anne’s pretzel and she beamed. We talked about third grade and friends and I savored every minute.

And, you know, here’s the bonus: not only do I get to forge a budding friendship with my daughter but getting into her world allows me to shepherd her through it. Listening to her music gives me an opportunity to evaluate the messages with her. Instead of giving her a list of music that I choose, I get to teach her to think and choose good music that will help her dwell on all that is lovely and pure. When we shop together, I explain modesty and she begins to understand why some clothes are OK and others are not. When I take a friendship quiz out of her magazine, I can ask her why some choices are better than others and help her become a better friend.

I wish I could say that I always do this well. The truth is I don’t. Sometimes I miss the moment because I’m too busy with other things. Or I fill our schedule up so that there is no margin for these natural moments. Or I tend toward legalism and lists of rules instead of heart change. Or I correct in a way that squashes her instead of developing her. Or I think I know what she thinks or likes when really it’s what I think or like.

But, for THIS morning I have pink toes. And a heart that is brimming with precious moments that Madison and I shared this weekend as we prepared for third grade.

Adding to my gratitude list after too many weeks away from blogging:

• Freshly pierced ears and a grin that won’t go away
• Mom and daughter talking about beauty – both inward and outward
• Dancing around in the living room when no one else is looking
• Hot pink toes
• Back-to-school supplies – I love new pencils & fresh notebooks and so does she!
• Checking out a new coffee shop together and thinking it might be our new haunt as we both lick the whip cream off of our steamers
• Making silly faces together for the camera
• Splurging on the purse that matches her new plaid skirt
• Holding hands as we walk across the parking lot – she’s old enough to cross without my hand but we both still like it
• Snuggles in her loft and a contented sigh as we reflect on the weekend – the sigh was mine

Thanking God for my daughter and the blessing she is to my life… even if it means hot pink toes for this mocha girl.

Having just returned from a nine-day mission trip with some folks at our church, I’ve been thinking a lot about the dynamic that happens on a trip like this one. Of course, a lot of things happen in the community where you serve. That’s the point. That’s why you go.

But, a lot of by-products happen as well.

Things happen in your own heart. God changes you in ways you never expected. Suddenly the “giver” ends up being the “receiver” and you remember that Jesus is the real giver. We’re ALL receivers.

One of the great by-products is the kinship that develops between the team members. We laugh together. We take turns using the outhouse. We scream together when we find a scorpion in the sink. We cry together (especially when women come along). We sit in a smoke-filled room with stingy eyes together. We rub each other the wrong way and figure out how to be longsuffering. We marvel together at the hand of God.

We put shoulder to the plow and we serve together. Day in and day out. And it is good.

Missions trips are a greenhouse for those things. But, it can happen here at home too. For instance, our Community Group is beginning to experience it. My sister is finding it as she serves in the nursery. Something just happens when you throw down your chips and go all in. It’s not always easy but it’s a beautiful thing.

Just this morning I found this clip from Pastor Mark Driscoll in Seattle. He expresses it well. How about you? Are you all in? Are you invested in the family of God?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ne9DzfH3Ej0]

“Please remember to pray for us when you return.” His voice is earnest,  his eyes searching our faces. He sends his son, the one in the family who can read and write, to go get paper. His instructions are simple: “Write our names down so that they’ll remember.” I take the paper, honored by his vulnerability.

And how could I forget them? Standing in the courtyard of their adobe home, praying together – some of us in English, one voice in Spanish, and another in their native tongue of Zapoteco.

How could I forget their tiny church, overflowing to standing-room-only as people gathered to watch a film about the life of Jesus? The only film ever translated into their own language. Their wonder as the book of Luke is lived out before them on screen. The way they cradle the MP3 players that have the words of Jesus in their own language – the first time they’ve had access to a Bible in their homes.

How could I forget one of the village leaders inviting us into his home and sitting with rapt attention as we listened to Jesus’ teaching on being born again in John 3? I couldn’t understand the words in his language but my heart was knit with his as I recalled Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus. I watched him as we listened in the quiet still of the evening. Words of life echoing around the room. Emotion across his face as he nodded and took them in.

How could I forget their hospitality and their warmth? Offering what they had to us and taking the leftovers for themselves. Warm pepitas; fresh seeds from their own garden bounty and cooked on their open fire stove that is so common in the mountain homes. Wrapped up  in paper and given with a wide, proud grin.

How could I forget the boy who saw Rick & I taking a walk and came running from his home with the MP3 player at his ear? He and his mother had been listening on their porch.

How could I forget walking through the cornfields and winding pathways  to get to the home of the 100-year-old woman who was my “hermana” in Christ? Her stooped back and tired eyes. Her toothless grin as she reminded us that she would see us again one day… in heaven.

These and many other images fill my mind as I try to take in last week’s trip. I turn the memories over in mind as my worlds collide and I try to get back to life here.

It’s amazing really. This capacity for relationship that God has built into our hearts. That I could come to love a people in a short span of days. Love their way of life and their language and their families. This range of emotions and experiences that we can have in such a brief time. That is a God-thing. A bit of His capacity for love, lived out in His people.

“God I do remember the people of Oaxaca. But, more importantly, You remember them. You have loved them with an everlasting love. Them and people in every nook and cranny of this vast world.  Help me to love like You do and to always remember that life is much bigger than my little world. Help me to remember them.”

Well, we´re down from the mountain villages of Oaxaca… my heart is full from our days with the precious people who live there. But for now, we´re in a hostel in the city and I have a few moments to make some lighter observations from our time there.

- It is not true that roosters crow when the sun is about to rise. Unless your watching Looney Tunes. In truth, roosters crow all night long. Usually right outside your window.

- Outhouses can be much more of a welcome sight than you might have previously imagined.

- Wild dogs are a tad, well wild. They like to bark at all times of the day… and night. There are many in Mexico. When one starts, others usual follow. I like to think of it as a serenade of sorts.

- Lily-white legs look especially lily-white when then are next to Mexican ones.

- A diet that includes lots of beans can make for awkward moments in tight quarters. Enough said.

- A team of people who have been together 24-7 for 9 days can laugh about a lot of pretty silly things.

- Leathery skin and dirty hands can be more beautiful than the cover of any Vogue magazine. Especially when they´re holding the word of God for the first time… ever.

More to come in the days ahead. Thanks for joining me in this journey…

Luggage under 50 lbs. Check. Passport. Check. Itinerary. Check. Second dose of Malaria meds ingested. Check.

Bills have been paid in advance. POA has been transferred to Mamo & Pa. I’ve been vaccinated. Sunscreen and a hat (a must for this fair-skinned girl) have been packed. To-Dos have been done. At this point it’s just time to go. To snuggle the kids one last time. To enjoy a last cup of tea – I’m pretty sure they don’t have Irish Breakfast tea with a spot of milk and sugar in the mountain villages of Oaxaca!

It’s hard to believe that a week ago I was crying alone in the basement wondering why in the world God would want to send me as His representative. Me, the stress-wad who had spent the morning yelling at her children. Me who had forgotten that the preparation of my heart was more important than the preparation of my luggage. How could He use me? Why would He want to?

There are a million ways He could get His story to the people of the world. But for some crazy reason He entrusted that task to us. To people. Not perfect people who have it all together. Not the religious elite. But, regular people. People who yell and get mad about stupid stuff. People who are selfish and sinful even while they’re packing to go “serve” others. Moms who get overwhelmed and are affected by hormone mood-swings.

Fellow grace-dwellers – just like the people we’ve yet to meet. Just people.

I don’t know why He left the most important news ever told to people like me. But He did.

I am filled with wonder at the privilege of it. That I might in my own frailty be able to tell another of the amazing grace that can be hers.

For now I’ll borrow from Paul’s second letter to the church in Corinth:

“For God, who said, “Light shall shine out of darkness,” is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves;” (2 Cor. 4:6-7)

Earthen vessels indeed. May His light shine through the cracks in my life…

We know that God’s Word has power. With it, He spoke the world into existence.

No, really. Think about that for a minute.

He spoke into a void of nothingness and the world came into being.  He didn’t labor all day or work up a sweat. He just said it and it was.

With His words He told a storm at sea to be still… and it did.

There is such strength in His word that Job’s friend likened it to thunder. “Listen carefully to the thunder of God’s voice as it rolls from his mouth. It rolls across the heavens and his lightning flashes out in every direction. Then comes the thunder – the tremendous voice of his majesty.” (Job 37:2-4)

But for all that strength and power, His words were also gentle and healing. When Elijah was hiding in a cave from the wicked Queen Jezebel, God’s voice came not in the great wind or the earthquake or the fire. God’s word came quietly in the sound of gentle blowing. (1 Kings 19)

In this modern age, we use a lot of words. But, in all of that chatter there is still nothing quite like a word spoken by God. Words as profound and awesome as the One who spoke them. The great King David of Israel’s glory days would try to describe God’s words through poetry and song. Grasping for metaphors to illustrate the wonder of them, he said that the words of God were sweeter than honey and finer than gold.

Words that could bring life, give insight, heal deep hurts, illumine the dark and fearful places, cut beyond the layers of pride and insecurity that encase us, discern truth from error. Words spoken with power and authority. Words that nourish with both grace and truth.

Words that give us a glimpse of the One who spoke them. Just a peek so that we might begin to comprehend the very nature of God. How gracious of God to tell us a bit of His story. To reveal Himself to us so that we don’t have to grope around in the dark… wondering and guessing. To let us know that we are part of that story.

Wonder of wonders. That the very voice that once called the stars out by name and commanded the morning to come forth, is the same voice that sings love songs to us. Lavishing words of delight over us. Calling to us and making Himself just a tad vulnerable like a suitor pursuing his beloved. And, then writing it all down for us so that we wouldn’t forget. So that when the days seem lonely and nights especially dark, we can open the love letters and remember. Reminders that the story isn’t over. That it’s not just a fairy tale. It’s really all true. And, He’s coming back for His bride.

But… what if you’d never heard the story? What if all these years you’d been looking at the wonder of creation and felt the longing? Sensing that Someone amazing must have done it. Instinctively wanting to worship this One who made such beauty. And, yet, never knowing the story.

Maybe you’d worship the creation itself or a wooden idol of what you imagine this diety must be like. Maybe you’d tell stories to try and fill in the gaps. Stories that would pass down from generation to generation. Your attempts to explain the mysteries. The trouble is, it’s hard to explain things you don’t really understand.

 If only you knew that He’d written it all down for you. That He wasn’t  an impersonal force or a golden statue or a set of ideals. Rather, He was a personal God who spoke… to you.

The truth is, this is the situation for many people. Here in America we have God’s words, written down in the Bible. We have it paraphrased. We have bits of  it on plaques and bumper stickers. There are Bibles just for kids with fun facts and maps in the margins. There are Bibles with pink covers just for women and large print Bibles for people who have trouble seeing. We have Kindle Bibles and laptop Bibles. We have so many Bibles that we’ve grown numb to the power of the words on the pages. We don’t even care anymore. In fact, a lot of us would rather argue than listen anyway. And, that’s OK with God. He lets us make that choice.

But,  in the mountain villages of Oaxaca, Mexico, there are people that have never had the opportunity to make that choice. Precious people who have been lovingly created and cherished by a God they don’t even know. People whose ancestors sacrificed people in an attempt to appease the deity they imagined. They’ve never heard the real story or read His love letters written to them.

And, so tomorrow I go to give it to them. I’ll join with a team of 10 people from our church who will help get God’s words to them – for the first time ever in their own language. On solar-powered MP3 players of all things.

For 10 days, we’ll live with them and dine with them and help them finish the concrete floor of a building in their village. We’ll pray with them and for them and we’ll talk to them about the God who made their mountains and put the sun in their sky. We’ll let them hear the words of the One who came full of grace and truth – the words of Jesus spoken to them in their own language.  

I’ll have to leave some of the people that I love most to go do it. I’m not sure what to expect or how safe I’ll be. I don’t know what they like to eat or if I’ll get to shower or if tarantulas will crawl in my shoes while I sleep.

But, this I do know. Everyone should have a chance to taste words that are sweeter than honey and hear truth that is worth more than gold.