I’m intrigued by his quiet service. “Who is that guy anyway?”

He’s behind the project house stomping on pop cans for the recycling bin. No one knows he’s back there doing this thankless job. It’s only 1990 and recycling hasn’t even become very vogue yet. He’s alone in the alley and I watch him from my window. He in his Nike Vulturo hiking boots, cargo shorts and Denison tee. “Denison? Where’s Denison?”  I linger there a few minutes more and then on with my evening chores.

It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college.  I was far from home, living in a huge house with 90 other students from around the country – my friend Cheryle was the only other person I even knew. We were on an adventure with Campus Crusade for Christ. Little did I know all the ways that summer would shape my life…

Not the least of which was that Denison guy that I’d spied in the alley.

I hadn’t been looking for love. In fact, I’d started the summer dating someone else from my own college. He was a great guy but conversations with roommates, some soul-searching, and a “Dear John” letter led to the close of that relationship.

It wasn’t more than a few days after I’d sent said letter that I had been paired up with the Denison guy to go do spiritual interest surveys on the boardwalk in Atlantic City.

By this time I knew his name was Rick. We’d met in the lobby a few weeks earlier when his first words to me were “cop a squat” as he pulled up a bench for Cheryle and me. I in my navy blue, Delta Gamma pull-over, hoping that my Greek letters would hide all the apprehension and insecurity I’d been feeling at meeting 90 new people. “Cop a squat? What the heck does that mean? Sort of a weird thing to say.”

That survey pairing was just random; but, looking back, we’re pretty sure God had His fingerprints all over that one. For we talked in between surveys and something began to stir within both of us. Interest was piqued. Interest became pursuit. That pursuit was received and blossomed into romance. In time the romance became something deeper and love was born between us.

But it was more than a summer of young love. It was a summer of deep spiritual challenge as our director, Jim Sylvester, encouraged us to live in the shadow of God’s amazing grace. Not only for our own lives but he implored us to also take that grace to a parched and dying world.

Our fledgling relationship took root in that soil – right from the beginning we talked of living for something more than the proverbial picket fence. Of a life that revolved around Someone worthy of everything we had to give.

That was nearly 20 years ago.

Yesterday we celebrated 18 years of marriage. Eighteen years of covenant life together – no matter what has or will come. Eighteen years of letting Jesus chip away the junk in our lives bit by bit as we laugh and cry and agonize and rejoice through life together.

Coincidentally, we celebrated it with our Community Group serving a meal to homeless people in downtown Akron. No silver or candlelight or wine. Just plasticware with big pots of chicken soup, donated cornbread and jugs of red punch.

I’m not sure I’d have it any other way. In fact, as I looked across the cafeteria last night at my man talking with a young man who has spent the last seven of his 25 years in and out of prison, I was sure of it.

I think it’s exactly the best way we could have spent our anniversary.

Isn’t that what we said 20 years ago when two college students sat on the rock jetty, stared out into hugeness of God’s Atlantic Ocean and dreamed of living for something more than the picket fence?

Happy Anniversary, Denison guy…

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I’m adding to my gratitude list today. So thankful for 18 years with the man who still gives me butterflies… and for the life we have together.

Caleb’s best friend from 1^st grade was a boy from China. In 2^nd grade it was Song Jae from S. Korea. Not to mention other classmates like Shreya from India and Liza from Russia and Benil from Nepal and Ming Cho from China.

Then there’s Madison’s dear friends YuNing from Taiwan and Jun Sa from S. Korea and Alexa and Sergio, who are both from Mexico.

If I thought about it a little bit longer, I know I could think of other kids from other parts of the world. And, those are just the kids from other countries. They both also have friends who are Hispanic-Americans or who are Black or who were adopted from other countries but were raised in American families.

This racially-diverse environment is our public elementary school!!

And we love it. What a wonderful place for my kids to gain an appreciation for God’s creative design of people from every tribe, tongue, and nation in this beautiful world.

Last night we had an event at the school to celebrate that diversity – our international families bring a favorite dish from their country and the rest of us dig out a family tradition or an American favorite and we all come together for a meal.

As I stood in line with a man from Senegal and his Japanese wife and their two beautiful daughters, I was struck once again with what an amazing place this world is. How good of God to make people in such rich diversity – even among people of the same race, there is an incredible range and variety. A farmer has a totally different life experience than a man on Wall Street than an artist in Appalachia. And, yet, when we can appreciate those differences, we are all better-off for the variety.

As much I love the diversity in our school, I’m also mindful that the world can also be a very ugly place. I know that if I were to move to my one friend’s country, my family might be beaten and my husband slaughtered in the night because we have a Bible and believe in Jesus. Our own country’s history with slavery shows the uglier side of failing to give equal worth to all people.

I cling with tenacity to my Lord’s example. His love for all people. His sacrifice so that all might come to Him.

And, I enjoy this tiny glimpse into His amazing world. Right here in my own backyard – at a small school in Midwestern America.

A sharp intake of breath and the room is silent. They look at me with wide-eyes. Their expressions a mixture of shock and sorrow.

I’ve just read Peter’s words that Susan is “no longer a friend of Narnia.” We sit there quiet for a moment while I let the words sink in. Then a chorus of questions. “How? She was a queen. What happened, Mom? Why doesn’t she love Narnia anymore?”

I read on as Jill Pole explains a bit further… “she’s interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations.” And Madison recalls a clue from an earlier book. “Oh yeah, and remember before how she didn’t see Alsan when Lucy did? She didn’t even believe Lucy at first.”

In truth, Lewis had been giving us clues all along. He makes it clear that in her effort to seem more grown-up, Susan had lost her way. For example, in The Horse and His Boy, Corin tells his brother, “She’s not like Lucy, you know… Queen Susan is more like an ordinary grown up lady.”

She who had ridden on Aslan’s back and ruled in his stead. She who had watched him pay the white witch’s price in Edmund’s place. She who had watched him rise from the dead and felt his warm breath on her face.

Had she forgotten all of it? Had she relegated it to the realm of childish fancies? Had she let other, wordly concerns crowd-in and squelch the truth?

Lewis doesn’t really tell us the full account. He leaves Susan’s story somewhat vague. He gives us just enough to pause and consider but not so much as to answer all the questions for us. He doesn’t even tell us what happens to Susan in the end. Does she eventually join the others in Aslan’s country? We don’t know. Lots of people have speculated and recreated scenarios. But Lewis simply doesn’t tell us.

In another place, Lewis underscores that fact: “The books don’t tell us what happened to Susan. She is left alive in this world at the end, having by then turned into a rather silly, conceited young woman. But there’s plenty of time for her to mend and perhaps she will get to Aslan’s country in the end…”

And, so, there it is. The books end and Susan is no longer a friend of Narnia. As we sat there on the floor in Caleb’s room, we were sobered as we read the final pages. Honestly, the joy of entering Aslan’s country was somewhat tainted by the sorrow over Susan’s choice.

(One caution: The book is just that. A book. A work of fiction with some beautiful spiritual analogies. Lewis did not intend it to be a theological treatise. So, we must be careful not to draw too much about heaven and salvation from his ponderings on Susan’s life.)

But, as I tucked the kids into bed, my mind replayed the passage. And I couldn’t help but let my heart cry out, “Oh, Jesus, I don’t want to be like Susan. I don’t want to just start well. I want to finish well.

“Don’t let me be one of those tired, old souls who gets sidelined because it gets too hard to keep believing. Or one of those material girls who is so distracted with image and schedule and stuff that she can’t find room for an ugly cross. Or one of those stale church-goers who only remembers the “glory days” – when she went forward or when she was baptized or when she went on that one amazing missions trip in high school or college – but has no current faith stories.”

As I’ve continued reflecting on Susan these last few weeks, my heart has turned to Jesus’ parable of the soils.

He spoke by way of a parable: “The sower went out to sow his seed; and as he sowed, some fell beside the road; and it was trampled under foot, and the birds of the air ate it up. And other seed fell on rocky soil, and as soon as it grew up, it withered away, because it had no moisture. And other seed fell among the thorns; and the thorns grew up with it, and choked it out. And other seed fell into the good soil, and grew up and produced a crop a hundred times as great.” As He said these things, He would call out, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” (Luke 8:4-8)

Jesus later describes the good soil. Soil where the seeds didn’t just start well but actually survived the tests of time and bore fruit. Of the good soil, He said, “…these are the ones who have heard the word in an honest and good heart, and hold it fast, and bear fruit with perseverance.”

That’s what I want. A heart that is rich for the seed of gospel. A heart that holds fast and bears fruit that will last.

How about you, dear friend? What are you doing to cultivate a heart like that?

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I’m a tad behind in my photo albums. Five years to be exact. I hate telling you that. Especially if you’re one of those caught-up people like my friend Jen.

BUT, being behind has its blessings. It gives this mamma’s heart time to pause and look back. To revel in days gone by. To savor in today before it becomes a photo in an album five years from now.

I got some time away to scrapbook this weekend. And, an amazing thing happened. When I finally stopped berating myself for being so far behind, I was able to just enjoy all those memories. The photos of Maddie when her hair was still really blonde and her cheeks were chubby. The antics of my Caleb as a preschooler-becoming-Kindergartner. I was reminded that I have much for which to be thankful: 

• A husband who gets down on the floor and plays with his kids. He’s in so many of the photos with them; not distant behind a newspaper but on their level and right in the thick of it. Giving hugs when the training wheels came off, congratulating a hard-earned soccer goal, holding tired kiddos, praying with them, tickling them. Loving them.
• Two kids who are full of personality and life and orneriness – even the photos capture it.
• God’s design in creating them each so differently. They live in the same house, have the same upbringing and the same last name, but they are two distinct people with dreams and gifts and desires that shaped their activities even in those earlier years.
• Several years that my extended family lived close and we were able to live life together. Mamo & Pa didn’t always live in Mississippi. For the early years they lived right here in Northeast Ohio; we could stop by unexpectedly and they were able to be at all the cousin birthdays. The kids roamed their yard and loved on their dogs and played legos in their guest room. I’m remembering big bonfires and watermelon juice dripping down all the dirt-caked cousin cheeks after a day of helping Mamo mulch. Life changes and moves happen but I’m thankful that we had those years.
• A sister’s new life. As I work through my albums, I’m seeing her in more and more family photos as Jesus grabbed hold of her heart and she starting coming around more often. Now, she’s one of my dearest friends.
• Lots of work to our fixer-upper house. Old photos reveal the tired walls and the worn-out carpet and the effort of transforming it into the place we call home today.  
• McKee cousin memories and the way those big boys dote on our little Madison – the only girl on that side of the family.
• Always enough provision to make birthdays and holidays special times together. Our photos are full of simple traditions that have shaped our family.
• The four of us together. A lot.
• Pages of Christmas card photos from friends who live all over the country. Our years with Campus Crusade allowed us to cross paths with so many precious people.

The time away was refreshing and the pause was good for my soul. I’d like to be caught-up on my photo albums. But, sometimes being behind has its own advantages. It was a good thing to look back and celebrate. To thank God now for the things I might have taken for granted back then.

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Thanks for joining me and others for Monday gratitude!