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.

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.

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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It’s not really what you’d call the glamorous life.

Rick and I used to joke that we’d probably never be featured on the front page of our respective college alum magazines.  

I mean, for the first 15 years of our married life we worked for a college ministry. Most people didn’t even understand what that meant. Oftentimes they wondered why we were still taking classes and if we were ever going to graduate.

We used a backpack instead of briefcase. Wore flip flops instead of loafers.

My credentials were my Greek letters, not a license or a degree.

We weren’t in it for the money. In fact, we didn’t make a ton of money. Our favorite vehicle was an old-school SUV that a family gave to us after their daughter was finished with it. At least five or six times a year, we didn’t even receive a full paycheck.

And, to top it all off, it was a Christian ministry. Let’s be honest, in the U.S., Christianity isn’t as vogue as it used to be. Even professed Christians seem to think that we Christians need a “new kind” of something or other.

Like I said, it’s not exactly the kind of stuff that makes the front page of the alum magazine. (Come to think of it, both of our universities probably wish that Christian ministries would leave the college campus all together!)

But, we loved it. It was worth every high and low that we could give it.

It is  true that we don’t have tons of material stuff to show for it. I don’t have a big house or fancy clothes or dazzling jewelry or that sort of thing. But, I like to think that I have my own sort of “bling.”

It’s the women. Women around the country who were once college students and are now living out their calling in various vocations and roles. In God’s perfect timing and grace, we found each other during their four years of college and I got to play a part in helping them grow in their faith.

These five women in particular are some of the most precious things in my life. I’m proud of them. Thrilled that God used me to play a mentoring role in their lives. None of them came from Christian homes so I got to be a sort of spiritual mom to them.

Sometimes it was as simple as having them in my home for tea and quiet conversation off-campus. Or taking them to the movies after a heart wrenching day. Or teaching them how to study their Bibles. Or giggling with them about a boy that they liked. Or showing them some of my homemaking tips. Or encouraging them to take a step of faith and risk some discomfort among their peers.

I prayed for them, wept over them, laughed with them, had dinner with them, advised them, and just walked through life with them.

The irony of it all is actually sort of funny. I laugh because they were even sort of sad when Rick and I remodeled our kitchen. Our kitchen was the ugliest place in the house. I’m not kidding. Really ugly and gross. It took us eight years to save the time and money to fix it up. So for eight years, I made it work and learned to be thankful for beat-up kitchens. (Turns out, you can still make good food in an ugly kitchen!)

But, to these women that kitchen was beautiful. They remember standing there at the old butcher block while I sliced banana bread or boiled water for tea. They remember our conversations and our laughter. They insist that they don’t really even remember the peeling paint, the old appliances, the dirty cupboards and the limited space. Their memories are etched with the relationship and the moments, not the stuff that surrounded them.

Well, my role in their lives is different now. They’ve graduated and started lives of their own. Today, I’m more older sister than mom. And, they are my friends.

Four of the five are already married. All four times I cried with joy as those doors at the back of the sanctuary opened and these beautiful brides came down the aisle to become one flesh with their godly husbands. Their weddings each a glimpse of Jesus and His bride, the church.

Now, we’re about to watch sweet Molly do the same. I’ll be the old lady bridesmaid with the Kleenex hidden in her bouquet. I can’t believe that getting to know her and love on her was my job for a time.

I think as far as bling goes, that these gals are more dazzling than any diamond or piece of fine jewelry that I could ever have.

(Now… if only I could figure out how to fit them in my jewelry box…)

It was one of those weekends.

The garbage disposal sprung a leak. I forgot to take the library books back on time. Rick and I were arguing. I was getting stressed by a to-do list that seemed overwhelming. The sewer line was starting to smell a little funky. The car repair place had called: yep, the brakes on the car were shot. Mixing the vinegar and the baking soda for the rocket inside the house had turned out to be a bad idea…  

Clearly, it was not one of my best weekends.

So, as I come into this week, I come empty.

Turning my heart to gratitude because I must.

Because God is still on His throne and He is still lavishing me with good things.

Thanks to you God…

• For “I really do love you” whispered between husband and wife in the still night air – even after a day of dissonance
• For time with old, dear friends – talking so long that we lost track of time
• For a husband who can fix the leaky sink
• For moments of grace sprinkled throughout hard days
• For warm, homemade Toll House cookies – and the evidence left on Caleb’s face *smile*
• For warm spring days and walking the kids to school
• For purple crocs on 8-year-old feet
• For Caleb’s big blue eyes and his earnest “I love you, Mom” when he knows I’m sad
• For a living hope that extends beyond material things
• For windows open and fresh air wafting in
• For fresh cut grass – so green from the spring rains
• For a jewelry-making lesson from sweet friends who reflect God as they create
• For my pens and the simiple pleasure of writing in my journal with different colors
• For the mood of anticipation as I prepare for my scrapbooking retreat this weekend
• For this quiet moment and the time to regroup

And, last but certainly not least, for the writer of Hebrews who reminds me…

“Through [Jesus] then, let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that give thanks to His name.”

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Join me as I connect with other bloggers in gratitude today…

Okay. Okay. I confess. I’m a 24-junkie.

We got hooked by some friends a few years ago and have been watching ever since. I’m not saying it’s a perfect show. But I like the suspense and I like the moral dilemmas that it upends. It’s one of those shows where you constantly face “do the ends justify the means” type situations.

Last night’s show was an interesting one. Quick synopsis: President Taylor is close to negotiating a peace agreement in the Middle East that has eluded her predecessors and will be the crowning achievement of her presidency. Since the first hour of the show, we have watched that agreement teeter on the brink of failure. But, in typical 24 style, despite much adversity and challenge, it looks like they just might pull it off afterall. However, signing the agreement means that President Taylor must willfully ignore a lead that would implicate one of the countries in the day’s terrible events. This is the path she chooses.

At one point in the show she tells Jack Bauer that because the treaty will bring about a greater good, she is moving forward and disregarding the information she has received.

In an exchange between them, Jack disagrees and says “I don’t want revenge, I want justice.” “And, I want peace,” comes President Taylor’s response.

I’ve heard people say similar things in real-life issues over the years. We’re so tired of the conflicts and the carnage that they leave. We just want peace.

But, I wonder, can there be peace without justice? Maybe for a time. But, can true, lasting peace be built on anything but truth and justice? Sweeping things under the rug or pretending they’re not there never fixes anything. It really only prolongs the inevitable. Eventually, the bulge under the rug gets so big that you trip over it.

Whether we’re talking about two countries at war or two people who can’t seem to live together anymore. True peace comes on the back of justice.

That’s one of the things I love about the Cross. This horrible method of execution by a brutal regime became something beautiful on that day 2,000 years ago. In the Cross, we get both justice and peace. Jesus makes a way. He doesn’t sweep our junk under the rug. He doesn’t pretend it’s not there. He looks it square in the face and says “I’ll pay for that. Yep, it’s ugly and what you said/thought/did was gross, but I’ll pay for it. It deserves punished but let me stand in your place and take that punishment.” He doesn’t dress it up and make believe that it’s pretty when we all know it’s not. Whether it’s something as horrific as the Killing Fields or as ugly as a sister’s utter of “I hate you” to her brother. He calls it what it is and He pays the penalty it deserves. Justice. 

And, then in the greatest exchange of all time, He gives me His pure heart and righteous standing instead. He just gives it to me. FOC. All I do is take it. Peace. 

My part: to humble myself and admit that I see the bulge under the rug too. He does the rest. Both peace and justice are satisfied.

No, President Taylor. I’m pretty sure that you can’t get peace this way. It’s a noble attempt but it won’t last. Not if you ignore justice.