In May 2009, author Rick Riordan released The Last Olympian, the final book in the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. The series introduced young readers to Camp Half-Blood, a summer camp to train half-bloods—human children of the Greek gods. In the final chapter of The Last Olympian, the oracle, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, delivers a new prophecy, leaving Camp Half-Blood readers spell-bound and expectant for a sequel series.
And Riordan delivered.
On October 12, 2010, Rick Riordan debuted his latest young fiction masterpiece, Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero.
Readers acclaim Riordan’s authorship by placing The Lost Hero number one on the New York Times best-seller list for the sixth week in a row. Impressed? What if I told you that book one in The Heroes of Olympus series isn’t the first time Riordan’s name has hung on the Times best-seller list? The current number two (with a twenty-nine week reign on the Times best-seller list) is The Red Pyramid, book one of Riordan’s Kane Chronicles.
Why is The Lost Hero ranked #1? Because Riordan grabs his readers from page one: “Even before he got electrocuted, Jason was having a rotten day.” From that point on, there was no putting the book down. The Lost Hero introduces the fans of Camp Half-Blood to three new heroes (well, two heroes and a heroine), while keeping us connected with old friends. Questions buzzed in my head as I searched for answers from page to page. Who was Jason and what was his connection to Camp Half-Blood? Why can’t he remember who he is? Who are Piper and Leo? And, where is Percy?
“Jason has a problem.”
Riordan first introduces Jason, a fifteen—or is it sixteen—year-old boy who suffering from a major case of amnesia. He can’t remember who the girl holding his hand is (she claims to be his girlfriend, Piper), how he got on the school bus in the middle of the desert, who he is, or where he came from. Amidst all the confusion, Jason finds himself in the midst of a mythological world that seems strangely familiar.
“Piper has a secret.”
Starved for attention from her movie-star dad, Piper uses her soothing voice to manipulate others to give her things—for free. Her smooth tongue landed her in the wilderness school—a private school for troubled teens, but Piper is troubled by more than her honey-tipped tongue. Since being separated from her father, she constantly dreams of his capture and torture. A voice as smooth as her own offers her father’s freedom, but only at a high price. Will Piper betray her friends to free her father?
“Leo has a way with tools.”
Leo constantly tinkers with metal objects—mechanical marvels are quickly created (and destroyed) as he thinks. His quick wit and sarcastic humor help Jason and Piper relax as the trio faces the unknown. A startling discovery at Camp Half-Blood shows Jason, Piper, and the others that Leo is more than a clown.
The Lost Hero takes fans back to Camp Half-Blood and continues to train “campers” in Greek mythology. The book introduces more gods (Hera, Aphrodite, and Hephestus take center stage). But Riordan doesn’t stop with Greek mythology. With a slight twist of his pen, Riordan introduces the gods Roman connections through Jason. While Annabeth (Percy Jackson and the Olympians), Piper, and Leo continually reference the Greek attributes of the gods, Jason instructs on their militaristic, Roman characteristics.
Whether you’re an old fan of Camp Half-Blood or a new recruit, The Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero will keep you on your toes. In just 550 pages, Jason, Piper, and Leo lead you on a chase against time from coast to coast with stops in New Mexico, Quebec, California, and New York. Once you start reading, you won’t want to put the book down until it’s finished.
The wait for book two, The Son of Neptune, due to release fall 2011, seems as painful as fighting off mythical creatures between summers. Nevertheless, a wait lies before Camp Half-Blood fans. Maybe now we’ll be able to focus on our school work (which isn’t likely)—or maybe we’ll pick up Riordan’s Kane Chronicles and dive into Egyptian mythology while we wait. After all, book two of the Kane Chronicles (still to be titled) is due to release in the spring of 2011.
01 December 2010
22 November 2010
roots of the home team
Fans across the nation unify in one loud, off-key rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” in celebration of America’s favorite pasttime, baseball. I can’t remember a summer passing that didn’t include baseball. The soft thud of a ball trapped in a leather mitt and the metallic ping from the collision of the ball and bat were the soundtrack of my summers. From backyard pick-up and church little league games to family excursions at major league games, baseball filled lazy summer days.
For me, baseball and community are synonymous. Backyard baseball games included all the kids we could gather in our small, downtown Independence community. The group of eight to twenty of us trooped half a block down to McCoy park’s ball diamond on hot, Missouri summer afternoons. The older boys would carry the ball bags filled with metal bats, extra balls, and a variety of old, worn-out gloves. Everyone else carried water, sandwiches, and sunflower seeds. Once at the field, the water and sandwiches were stored in the shade of a large oak tree and forgotten until lunch. We ran to the field, ready to start the game. We never really picked teams—we simply divided ourselves by family and street. No one was incredibly talented, so the teams came out pretty even. What we lacked in talent, though, we made up for in spirit.
Both the infield and outfield lacked players and few of us could throw the ball from the outfield to the pitcher (in fact, few of us could throw the ball with accuracy, let alone distance). My older brother, Jarid, usually pitched for both teams, as he was the only kid in the neighborhood who could get the ball over the plate. To speed up the game, he volunteered Craig or I to run home and drag our t-ball stand to the field. I struggled to carry the black, rubber stand the half-block to the park, but I didn’t complain. The stand doubled my chances of sending a line drive out to the right of centerfield with moderate accuracy. Games ended with the shrill blast of Mom’s silver whistle calling us home.
At home, my brothers and I continued to practice and improve our baseball skills. Dad led us to the private ally or up to the vacant lot and threw balls to us. By the time I was eight, I caught grounders, pop-flies, and line drives with moderate accuracy—the boys well exceeded me in skill, but they never minded that I tagged along. Dad taught me to love baseball and I despised anyone who told me that baseball was only for boys.
Dad coached one of our church’s little league teams from the time I was six until I was fourteen. I spent June to August at the baseball complex with Dad’s team. Throughout the years, Dad coached both of my brothers from t-ball, into coach’s pitch, and finally into fast pitch ball.
Baseball, for the Lawsons, was a family affair. Dad coached, Mom was the statistician, Craig and Jarid played, and Crystal and I kept the boys hydrated and prepared. In late May, we met with our new teammates as Mom and Dad handed out jerseys. The boys crowed around the table as they were handed white knickers and a jersey, hat, and socks of matching colors. Each boy ran to change as soon as he received his uniform—even Crystal and I dressed as part of the team. Dad taught us from the beginning that the team was our family and our family was a team. We did everything together, even baseball.
While Dad taught the boys the simple mechanics of baseball, he taught me to love and serve those around me. Tri-City Baseball League was an outreach program. Pastors and church members ran and coached the league, but the focus was to reach the community. While other coaches stacked their teams with talented ball players from secular leagues, Dad requested his team be built around boys from single-parent homes.
While our teams included three to five church members, boys from the community created our core. While he wanted to win (and had a winning record throughout his years as a coach), Dad desired to be a role model to the young men on his team.
Our team was our family. As much as I loved watching the games, I looked forward to spending time with the boys and their families off the field. Practices and games always extended into picnic lunches. The church families enjoyed the fellowship, but the single-mothers relished in the relaxing free-time and watched their sons interact with the fathers of the other boys. I smiled to myself as I watched Dad interact with his team. His action proclaimed one truth: life isn’t about baseball, it’s about impacting others.
I still love going to baseball games—especially when one of my brothers are playing. I spend most of the game on my feet, cheering on my favorite team with a cap on my head and a Pepsi in hand. But don’t be deceived—as much as I love watching the game, I go to the games for the atmosphere. Moms overlook their son’s errors, dads critique every play, fanatical fans disagree with every call, and teenage sisters ignore the game while they socialize with friends.
Baseball is community—people interacting and impacting each other.
For me, baseball and community are synonymous. Backyard baseball games included all the kids we could gather in our small, downtown Independence community. The group of eight to twenty of us trooped half a block down to McCoy park’s ball diamond on hot, Missouri summer afternoons. The older boys would carry the ball bags filled with metal bats, extra balls, and a variety of old, worn-out gloves. Everyone else carried water, sandwiches, and sunflower seeds. Once at the field, the water and sandwiches were stored in the shade of a large oak tree and forgotten until lunch. We ran to the field, ready to start the game. We never really picked teams—we simply divided ourselves by family and street. No one was incredibly talented, so the teams came out pretty even. What we lacked in talent, though, we made up for in spirit.
Both the infield and outfield lacked players and few of us could throw the ball from the outfield to the pitcher (in fact, few of us could throw the ball with accuracy, let alone distance). My older brother, Jarid, usually pitched for both teams, as he was the only kid in the neighborhood who could get the ball over the plate. To speed up the game, he volunteered Craig or I to run home and drag our t-ball stand to the field. I struggled to carry the black, rubber stand the half-block to the park, but I didn’t complain. The stand doubled my chances of sending a line drive out to the right of centerfield with moderate accuracy. Games ended with the shrill blast of Mom’s silver whistle calling us home.
At home, my brothers and I continued to practice and improve our baseball skills. Dad led us to the private ally or up to the vacant lot and threw balls to us. By the time I was eight, I caught grounders, pop-flies, and line drives with moderate accuracy—the boys well exceeded me in skill, but they never minded that I tagged along. Dad taught me to love baseball and I despised anyone who told me that baseball was only for boys.
Dad coached one of our church’s little league teams from the time I was six until I was fourteen. I spent June to August at the baseball complex with Dad’s team. Throughout the years, Dad coached both of my brothers from t-ball, into coach’s pitch, and finally into fast pitch ball.
Baseball, for the Lawsons, was a family affair. Dad coached, Mom was the statistician, Craig and Jarid played, and Crystal and I kept the boys hydrated and prepared. In late May, we met with our new teammates as Mom and Dad handed out jerseys. The boys crowed around the table as they were handed white knickers and a jersey, hat, and socks of matching colors. Each boy ran to change as soon as he received his uniform—even Crystal and I dressed as part of the team. Dad taught us from the beginning that the team was our family and our family was a team. We did everything together, even baseball.
While Dad taught the boys the simple mechanics of baseball, he taught me to love and serve those around me. Tri-City Baseball League was an outreach program. Pastors and church members ran and coached the league, but the focus was to reach the community. While other coaches stacked their teams with talented ball players from secular leagues, Dad requested his team be built around boys from single-parent homes.
While our teams included three to five church members, boys from the community created our core. While he wanted to win (and had a winning record throughout his years as a coach), Dad desired to be a role model to the young men on his team.
Our team was our family. As much as I loved watching the games, I looked forward to spending time with the boys and their families off the field. Practices and games always extended into picnic lunches. The church families enjoyed the fellowship, but the single-mothers relished in the relaxing free-time and watched their sons interact with the fathers of the other boys. I smiled to myself as I watched Dad interact with his team. His action proclaimed one truth: life isn’t about baseball, it’s about impacting others.
I still love going to baseball games—especially when one of my brothers are playing. I spend most of the game on my feet, cheering on my favorite team with a cap on my head and a Pepsi in hand. But don’t be deceived—as much as I love watching the game, I go to the games for the atmosphere. Moms overlook their son’s errors, dads critique every play, fanatical fans disagree with every call, and teenage sisters ignore the game while they socialize with friends.
Baseball is community—people interacting and impacting each other.
08 November 2010
the reading rainbow
Every summer morning while I was growing up, after finishing my sugar-coated Cheerios, I sank into my family’s burgundy couch and turned on PBS. I impatiently waited through the 1990s children’s commercials for Skip-Its and Ballzakits. Finally, LeVar Burton appeared on the screen and I began to sing, “Butterfly in the sky, I can fly twice as high, just take a look it’s in a book, The Reading Rainbow.” My imagination soared with the butterfly; LeVar Burton was my hero.
Books are a huge part of my life. Chills run up my spine as I read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter, even in the middle of a hot, Missouri summer. Little Women always teaches me a new lesson, and I fall in love with Mr. Darcy when I pull Pride and Prejudice off the shelf before the start of every semester. Life without books would be . . . empty and void. I keep Tribeca and Barnes & Noble in business—I can’t leave those stores without a new book in hand. Last fall, Dad complained that he nearly broke his back carrying my 50-gallon tub full of books from the basement to my room on first floor. “You need to get rid of some of these books before you graduate,” Dad grunted as he dropped the tub on the floor. My emphatic reply? “I can’t get rid of my books, Dad!”
Dad surprised me this summer by suggesting I research Barnes & Noble’s NOOK, a competitor of Amazon’s famous electronic book, the Kindle. I was hesitant at first—nothing can replace the pure bliss of turning the page of a book. An electronic book? No thank you. But then again, this was Dad suggesting a way for me to buy more books, so I did some research.
The original NOOK matched Amazon’s Kindle in every way—instant wireless access to over 2 million books, paper-like text, long battery life, lending options, and note taking and highlighting features. The difference between the two products? Amazon created one and Barnes & Noble the other. That's it. But this fall, Barnes & Noble is raising the bar.
On November 19, 2010, Barnes & Noble will release the NOOKcolor. The NOOKcolor screen fills the once gray world of electronic reading with color—16 million colors on an LG screen, to be precise. With continued wi-fi capabilities, Android 2.1, and 8GB of storage, the NOOKcolor is taking a giant leap forward, leaving the Kindle and iPad behind.
The NOOK’s sleek design invites the reader to get lost in a book. At eight inches tall and five inches wide, the NOOK is the size of a typical book cover. At half an inch thick and weighing under a pound, the NOOK’s light weight tempts the reader to carry it everywhere. The seven-inch color touch screen allows readers to access over a million books and magazines with the touch of a finger. The screen runs at a high resolution and is back-lit, making reading easy on the eyes, no matter the time of day.
But looks aren’t everything.
The NOOKcolor sports techie features that make the most refined reader drool. Each NOOKcolor comes equipped with wi-fi—no annual fee (it’s part of the original expense). The unlimited wi-fi allows readers to download their favorite books, or that new release, regardless of location. Owners of NOOKcolor also stay in touch with the world with one-touch, instant access to social networking sites like facebook and twitter.
Like the iPhone, NOOKextras allows the reader to download applications outside of books. Readers tune in to Pandora radio or upload their own MP3s to enjoy their favorite music while they read. Want a break? Other applications include games like Sudoku and chess.
Need to work on the go? No problem. The NOOKcolor uses Quickoffice, allowing readers to view Microsoft Office documents as well as saving and transferring PDF and JPEG files. Whether reviewing the job at home or during the long commute to the office, Barnes & Noble’s NOOKcolor keeps businessmen connected.
With access to over two million books, downloadable applications like Pandora and Sudoku, and on-the-go access to Microsoft Office, the only fear a NOOKcolor owner has is space. The vast 8GB will seemingly slip away fast, but don’t panic—simply slide a memory card into the back of your NOOKcolor and, viola—unlimited space.
I’ve grown up and life has changed, but I can still fly. PBS no longer airs The Reading Rainbow. LaVar Burton only appears on my screen when I watch Star Trek reruns on the science-fiction network. I can’t remember all the lyrics to my favorite childhood show, though I can still hum the tune. For me, there’s a new reading rainbow: the NOOKcolor.
Books are a huge part of my life. Chills run up my spine as I read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter, even in the middle of a hot, Missouri summer. Little Women always teaches me a new lesson, and I fall in love with Mr. Darcy when I pull Pride and Prejudice off the shelf before the start of every semester. Life without books would be . . . empty and void. I keep Tribeca and Barnes & Noble in business—I can’t leave those stores without a new book in hand. Last fall, Dad complained that he nearly broke his back carrying my 50-gallon tub full of books from the basement to my room on first floor. “You need to get rid of some of these books before you graduate,” Dad grunted as he dropped the tub on the floor. My emphatic reply? “I can’t get rid of my books, Dad!”
Dad surprised me this summer by suggesting I research Barnes & Noble’s NOOK, a competitor of Amazon’s famous electronic book, the Kindle. I was hesitant at first—nothing can replace the pure bliss of turning the page of a book. An electronic book? No thank you. But then again, this was Dad suggesting a way for me to buy more books, so I did some research.
The original NOOK matched Amazon’s Kindle in every way—instant wireless access to over 2 million books, paper-like text, long battery life, lending options, and note taking and highlighting features. The difference between the two products? Amazon created one and Barnes & Noble the other. That's it. But this fall, Barnes & Noble is raising the bar.
On November 19, 2010, Barnes & Noble will release the NOOKcolor. The NOOKcolor screen fills the once gray world of electronic reading with color—16 million colors on an LG screen, to be precise. With continued wi-fi capabilities, Android 2.1, and 8GB of storage, the NOOKcolor is taking a giant leap forward, leaving the Kindle and iPad behind.
The NOOK’s sleek design invites the reader to get lost in a book. At eight inches tall and five inches wide, the NOOK is the size of a typical book cover. At half an inch thick and weighing under a pound, the NOOK’s light weight tempts the reader to carry it everywhere. The seven-inch color touch screen allows readers to access over a million books and magazines with the touch of a finger. The screen runs at a high resolution and is back-lit, making reading easy on the eyes, no matter the time of day.
But looks aren’t everything.
The NOOKcolor sports techie features that make the most refined reader drool. Each NOOKcolor comes equipped with wi-fi—no annual fee (it’s part of the original expense). The unlimited wi-fi allows readers to download their favorite books, or that new release, regardless of location. Owners of NOOKcolor also stay in touch with the world with one-touch, instant access to social networking sites like facebook and twitter.
Like the iPhone, NOOKextras allows the reader to download applications outside of books. Readers tune in to Pandora radio or upload their own MP3s to enjoy their favorite music while they read. Want a break? Other applications include games like Sudoku and chess.
Need to work on the go? No problem. The NOOKcolor uses Quickoffice, allowing readers to view Microsoft Office documents as well as saving and transferring PDF and JPEG files. Whether reviewing the job at home or during the long commute to the office, Barnes & Noble’s NOOKcolor keeps businessmen connected.
With access to over two million books, downloadable applications like Pandora and Sudoku, and on-the-go access to Microsoft Office, the only fear a NOOKcolor owner has is space. The vast 8GB will seemingly slip away fast, but don’t panic—simply slide a memory card into the back of your NOOKcolor and, viola—unlimited space.
I’ve grown up and life has changed, but I can still fly. PBS no longer airs The Reading Rainbow. LaVar Burton only appears on my screen when I watch Star Trek reruns on the science-fiction network. I can’t remember all the lyrics to my favorite childhood show, though I can still hum the tune. For me, there’s a new reading rainbow: the NOOKcolor.
30 October 2010
can you hear me now?
“I’m sorry, what did you say? I didn’t hear you.” As soon as those words cross my lips, I see the other person’s reaction. I wince as their eyes roll & a deep, frustrated sigh escapes their lips. “You’re just not listening, Lynnae. Pay attention.” They repeat their question & I answer accordingly, but my mind slips back to a time they don’t know.
I contracted chicken pox from Jarid, my older brother, when I was eighteen months old. Mom says she couldn’t place the tip of her pinkie anywhere on my body without touching the bright red blisters. They covered my face, arms, legs & back, they were between my fingers & toes, down my throat, & in my ears. Just looking at the pictures makes me itch. The common childhood disease passed quickly, but the effects changed my life.
Mom held me, a screaming three-year-old, in her arms as she called the doctor’s office. “I need an appointment for Lynnae. . . . No, not in two weeks. Today.” Mom knew the office would close soon—it was Saturday—but she was desperate. I had been screaming for an hour. My ears where throbbing. Though I don’t remember the pain of that first experience, I remember others. The pain is indescribable. Mom finally haggled the nurse into an after-hours appointment that day. Eventually, the pain subsided & I stopped screaming.
That doctor’s appointment started years of monthly ear appointments. The chicken pox I contracted at eighteen months developed into Otitis Media, water on the ear in layman’s terms. The screaming was my eardrum bursting for the first time—my left eardrum would burst another three times & my right eardrum twice before I turned eight.
Unlike most kids my age, I loved going to the doctor’s office. Books & toys filled the waiting room—hour long waits seemed to fly bye as I read Dr. Seuss’ Lorax & caught up with Ranger Rick in Highlighter. The waiting room slowly emptied as I waited my turn. Finally, a nurse with red hair called my name, directed Mom & I to a room filled with medical equipment, & notified us that, “Dr. Hahn will be right with you.” I sat in a leather chair with more contraptions than a dentist’s chair & waited for Dr. Hahn.
A few minutes later, Dr. Hahn entered the room. Dr. Fredrick Hahn is one of my favorite people: I always smiled when he entered the room. A white laboratory coat covered his sixty-something year old, slender six-foot figure. The troll with neon blue hair peeking out of his pocket would seem strange, until you noticed that Dr. Hahn’s hair, though white, seems to be styled the same: a mix of Einstein & Doc Brown from Back to the Future. He completes the look with a headb& connected to a circular mirror that leaves a red indention on his forehead.
During the appointment, Dr. Hahn cleaned my ears with a metal funnel & tweezers & checked the condition of my eardrum. He always allowed Mom to look in my ear & explained to both of us, in medical & layman’s terms, the condition of my eardrum. Before the appointment ended, he dictated the details of my visit to his computer—just by talking. To me, Dr. Hahn just the man who took care of me & called me his favorite red-headed patient, to the world, Dr. Fredrick Hahn was the foremost ear doctor: leagues ahead of his colleagues.
Mom & I left Dr. Hahn’s office & headed down the hall to my hearing test with Dr. Hare. The room looked like a recording studio: an outer room with sound equipment for the audiologist & a sound-proof room for the patient. I saw Mom & the doctor through a thick glass window as I sat in the sound-proof room with headphones on & the testing began. Static buzzed in one of my ears while I repeated words to Dr. Hare. “Oatmeal, airplane, thermos,” he read each word distinctly, separating the syllables. The yellow paper covered his lips, stopping me from lip-reading. I cheated anyway. After five years of testing, I had the list memorized. I knew my hearing was declining, but something in me didn’t want him to know. If I couldn’t hear one syllable, I simply guessed the word from what I did hear. He fluxuated the volume, testing my hearing range. In my least favorite test, Dr. Hare used beeps instead of words. The beeps reverberated in my brain for hours afterwards.
In October 1996, Dr. Hahn delivered devastating news. I needed surgery. The bursting caused my eardrums to lie across my middle ear bones. Fluid built up beneath the eardrum & caused two of the three bones in my left ear to deteriorate completely. Without surgery, I would lose hearing in my left ear completely. My world shattered. Within a few weeks, Mom worked with the doctor’s office to schedule my first surgery: December 30, 1996.
The morning of the surgery, Dad & Mom drove me the half-mile to Independence Regional Hospital. A nurse directed us to a cold, white room in the children's wing. She blushed & apologized as she handed Mom an adult's hospital gown, "Sorry, we're out of gowns in her size.--Oh, & she'll have to remove all of her clothes for surgery." My eyes bugged out of my head--all of my clothes? I couldn't understand why I had to remove my underwear when they were operating on my ears. Mom just laughed & helped me change. The gown swam around me. Mom wove the ties in & out of the arm holes & around my waist for a snug fit. After I changed, nurses prepped me for surgery. Sticky pads connected me to a heart monitor—I couldn’t move without tangling cords.
Then, we waited for Dr. Hahn to arrive. We waited for an hour. Literally.
Dr. Hahn arrived at 8:30 am, flashed a smile & donned his white lab coat. I tried to act brave as I left my parents & a nurse wheeled me to the operating room.
When I got to the operating room, a male nurse transferred me to a new bed. Horror filled my heart as he lifted me off of the bed--what if my gown separated? My heart stopped thumping only when I safely reached the operating table. The anesthesiologist strapped a cherry-scented breathing mask to my face. For the next three hours I endured the horrible scent of cherry-flavored medicine. Disgusting. Before I had a chance to evaluate the room around me, Dr. Hahn’s head appeared above me, “We can begin. She’s asleep.” I panicked. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” my head screamed. The world began to spin around me. I fell asleep staring at the cold operating lamp above me.
I awoke in a panic. “Where am I? Why am I connected to all these wires?” I struggled to roll over & untangle myself. “Good morning, Sunshine!” I almost wet the hospital gown I was wearing. As I rolled over, Dad leaned forward & placed his face just centimeters form my own.
The surgery was a success. The following June Dr. Hahn performed the same surgery, a tempanoplasty, on my right ear. I still have moderate hearing loss, but it could be worse.
I can hear you now—most of the time.
So the next time I ask you to repeat something don’t get angry or frustrated. Though sometimes I don’t hear, I promise I’m listening.
I contracted chicken pox from Jarid, my older brother, when I was eighteen months old. Mom says she couldn’t place the tip of her pinkie anywhere on my body without touching the bright red blisters. They covered my face, arms, legs & back, they were between my fingers & toes, down my throat, & in my ears. Just looking at the pictures makes me itch. The common childhood disease passed quickly, but the effects changed my life.
Mom held me, a screaming three-year-old, in her arms as she called the doctor’s office. “I need an appointment for Lynnae. . . . No, not in two weeks. Today.” Mom knew the office would close soon—it was Saturday—but she was desperate. I had been screaming for an hour. My ears where throbbing. Though I don’t remember the pain of that first experience, I remember others. The pain is indescribable. Mom finally haggled the nurse into an after-hours appointment that day. Eventually, the pain subsided & I stopped screaming.
That doctor’s appointment started years of monthly ear appointments. The chicken pox I contracted at eighteen months developed into Otitis Media, water on the ear in layman’s terms. The screaming was my eardrum bursting for the first time—my left eardrum would burst another three times & my right eardrum twice before I turned eight.
Unlike most kids my age, I loved going to the doctor’s office. Books & toys filled the waiting room—hour long waits seemed to fly bye as I read Dr. Seuss’ Lorax & caught up with Ranger Rick in Highlighter. The waiting room slowly emptied as I waited my turn. Finally, a nurse with red hair called my name, directed Mom & I to a room filled with medical equipment, & notified us that, “Dr. Hahn will be right with you.” I sat in a leather chair with more contraptions than a dentist’s chair & waited for Dr. Hahn.
A few minutes later, Dr. Hahn entered the room. Dr. Fredrick Hahn is one of my favorite people: I always smiled when he entered the room. A white laboratory coat covered his sixty-something year old, slender six-foot figure. The troll with neon blue hair peeking out of his pocket would seem strange, until you noticed that Dr. Hahn’s hair, though white, seems to be styled the same: a mix of Einstein & Doc Brown from Back to the Future. He completes the look with a headb& connected to a circular mirror that leaves a red indention on his forehead.
During the appointment, Dr. Hahn cleaned my ears with a metal funnel & tweezers & checked the condition of my eardrum. He always allowed Mom to look in my ear & explained to both of us, in medical & layman’s terms, the condition of my eardrum. Before the appointment ended, he dictated the details of my visit to his computer—just by talking. To me, Dr. Hahn just the man who took care of me & called me his favorite red-headed patient, to the world, Dr. Fredrick Hahn was the foremost ear doctor: leagues ahead of his colleagues.
Mom & I left Dr. Hahn’s office & headed down the hall to my hearing test with Dr. Hare. The room looked like a recording studio: an outer room with sound equipment for the audiologist & a sound-proof room for the patient. I saw Mom & the doctor through a thick glass window as I sat in the sound-proof room with headphones on & the testing began. Static buzzed in one of my ears while I repeated words to Dr. Hare. “Oatmeal, airplane, thermos,” he read each word distinctly, separating the syllables. The yellow paper covered his lips, stopping me from lip-reading. I cheated anyway. After five years of testing, I had the list memorized. I knew my hearing was declining, but something in me didn’t want him to know. If I couldn’t hear one syllable, I simply guessed the word from what I did hear. He fluxuated the volume, testing my hearing range. In my least favorite test, Dr. Hare used beeps instead of words. The beeps reverberated in my brain for hours afterwards.
In October 1996, Dr. Hahn delivered devastating news. I needed surgery. The bursting caused my eardrums to lie across my middle ear bones. Fluid built up beneath the eardrum & caused two of the three bones in my left ear to deteriorate completely. Without surgery, I would lose hearing in my left ear completely. My world shattered. Within a few weeks, Mom worked with the doctor’s office to schedule my first surgery: December 30, 1996.
The morning of the surgery, Dad & Mom drove me the half-mile to Independence Regional Hospital. A nurse directed us to a cold, white room in the children's wing. She blushed & apologized as she handed Mom an adult's hospital gown, "Sorry, we're out of gowns in her size.--Oh, & she'll have to remove all of her clothes for surgery." My eyes bugged out of my head--all of my clothes? I couldn't understand why I had to remove my underwear when they were operating on my ears. Mom just laughed & helped me change. The gown swam around me. Mom wove the ties in & out of the arm holes & around my waist for a snug fit. After I changed, nurses prepped me for surgery. Sticky pads connected me to a heart monitor—I couldn’t move without tangling cords.
Then, we waited for Dr. Hahn to arrive. We waited for an hour. Literally.
Dr. Hahn arrived at 8:30 am, flashed a smile & donned his white lab coat. I tried to act brave as I left my parents & a nurse wheeled me to the operating room.
When I got to the operating room, a male nurse transferred me to a new bed. Horror filled my heart as he lifted me off of the bed--what if my gown separated? My heart stopped thumping only when I safely reached the operating table. The anesthesiologist strapped a cherry-scented breathing mask to my face. For the next three hours I endured the horrible scent of cherry-flavored medicine. Disgusting. Before I had a chance to evaluate the room around me, Dr. Hahn’s head appeared above me, “We can begin. She’s asleep.” I panicked. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” my head screamed. The world began to spin around me. I fell asleep staring at the cold operating lamp above me.
I awoke in a panic. “Where am I? Why am I connected to all these wires?” I struggled to roll over & untangle myself. “Good morning, Sunshine!” I almost wet the hospital gown I was wearing. As I rolled over, Dad leaned forward & placed his face just centimeters form my own.
The surgery was a success. The following June Dr. Hahn performed the same surgery, a tempanoplasty, on my right ear. I still have moderate hearing loss, but it could be worse.
I can hear you now—most of the time.
So the next time I ask you to repeat something don’t get angry or frustrated. Though sometimes I don’t hear, I promise I’m listening.
24 October 2010
kansas city lights
Christmas in Kansas City, for my family, begins the day after Thanksgiving. My parents rise early on Black Friday, not to beat the crowds to the department stores and malls, but to select the perfect tree for our living room. The sun is just breaking the grey morning sky when they return home with their prize. When I hear them enter, I jump out of bed and run to the large, grey radio in the kitchen. Within a few minutes, to Mom’s and my delight and my brother’s groaning, Christmas music fills the house.
As soon as we are dressed, my sister Crystal and I climb up a rickety ladder to the sweltering attic to pull Hallmark boxes full of ornaments and decorations into the living room. We untangle strands of white, blue, and red lights, select ornaments, and decorate the tree. By lunch, the tree stands by the front window, displaying it’s Christmas glory to the neighborhood. After lunch, Dad accompanies Craig, Jarid, and I to the attic to find the lights for the house. Mom hears thumps and laughter float through the ceiling as the four of us string the house with lights. Within a couple hours, a bead of white lights ices the house.
When I leave for school a few days later, I leave knowing that Christmas has come to Kansas City.
When I return home for Christmas break in mid-December, Kansas City greets me with snow and the twinkle of millions of lights. Sometime in the first week home, Mom and I drive around the city just to see all the lights on the houses. From the poor district where I grew up to the ritzy houses downtown, all of Kansas City celebrates the season with lights. Reds, greens, blues, and whites ice the eaves of the houses. Some race around the structure, others twinkle on and off, but most emit a steady, constant glow.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas in Kansas City.
The highlight of my Christmas holiday includes a family trip to downtown Kansas City and the Country Club Plaza. The Hallmark complex, located in the center of downtown, hosts a myriad of holiday family activities: ice skating, shopping, fine dining, and theatres. The grey December sky contrasts the illumination of the Mayor’s Christmas tree, our first stop. My family and I stand bundled beneath a 40-foot tree, gazing up at the slightly twisted pine strung with wooden ornaments and white lights. Eight-foot Nutcrackers guard the tree and the children play on a large train that surrounds the base. Bare trees iced with lights line the sidewalk up to the outdoor ice rink where a hundred people laugh as they skate in circles. The crowds thicken as we leave the biting winds and enter Crown Center.
The doors of Crown Center open to a large food court where a community high school or church choir sings Christmas carols. Mom and I hum along as we listen. My family wanders from store to store with no goal in mind except the annual visit to the train store. Crown Center and the Hallmark complex are connected by a little hallway that houses a train store. I remember visiting the train store every Christmas since I was five. Christmas would not be complete without watching the trains race around little villages and through tree-covered mountains.
As much as I love the lights and buzz of Crown Center, nothing compares to the Plaza lights. As Dad drives us a few blocks south of downtown, we are transported to Old World Spain. Buildings mimicking Sevilla, Spain, rise on both sides and the streets are lined with cars from around the world. Dad maneuvers the car between people, cars, and horse-pulled carriages to find a parking spot on the upper level of a parking deck. Christmas greets us as we step up to the snow-covered railing under the sky. Christmas music spills from every store and the sidewalks buzz with patrons as they shop for the perfect gift. The sharp clip-clop of horse hooves on the pavement sounds natural and drowns out the blaring car horns.
It’s Christmas in Kansas City.
Christmas is more than the sounds of Christmas music, laughter, and horses. As I step out of the car, I silence the noise around me and around. The real Christmas beauty isn’t captured by sound but by sight. Dad and I look down the street, not at the people, but at the lights. Thousands of Christmas lights outline the Plaza’s Spanish architecture against the black December sky. For a few minutes, the world disappears--it’s just Dad and me standing by the railing looking at the stars and Christmas lights.
As we drive home, Karen Carpenter’s smooth alto fills the car, “Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays.” I have to agree. For me, nothing is better than Kansas City’s light.
It’s Christmas in Kansas City.
As soon as we are dressed, my sister Crystal and I climb up a rickety ladder to the sweltering attic to pull Hallmark boxes full of ornaments and decorations into the living room. We untangle strands of white, blue, and red lights, select ornaments, and decorate the tree. By lunch, the tree stands by the front window, displaying it’s Christmas glory to the neighborhood. After lunch, Dad accompanies Craig, Jarid, and I to the attic to find the lights for the house. Mom hears thumps and laughter float through the ceiling as the four of us string the house with lights. Within a couple hours, a bead of white lights ices the house.
When I leave for school a few days later, I leave knowing that Christmas has come to Kansas City.
When I return home for Christmas break in mid-December, Kansas City greets me with snow and the twinkle of millions of lights. Sometime in the first week home, Mom and I drive around the city just to see all the lights on the houses. From the poor district where I grew up to the ritzy houses downtown, all of Kansas City celebrates the season with lights. Reds, greens, blues, and whites ice the eaves of the houses. Some race around the structure, others twinkle on and off, but most emit a steady, constant glow.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas in Kansas City.
The highlight of my Christmas holiday includes a family trip to downtown Kansas City and the Country Club Plaza. The Hallmark complex, located in the center of downtown, hosts a myriad of holiday family activities: ice skating, shopping, fine dining, and theatres. The grey December sky contrasts the illumination of the Mayor’s Christmas tree, our first stop. My family and I stand bundled beneath a 40-foot tree, gazing up at the slightly twisted pine strung with wooden ornaments and white lights. Eight-foot Nutcrackers guard the tree and the children play on a large train that surrounds the base. Bare trees iced with lights line the sidewalk up to the outdoor ice rink where a hundred people laugh as they skate in circles. The crowds thicken as we leave the biting winds and enter Crown Center.
The doors of Crown Center open to a large food court where a community high school or church choir sings Christmas carols. Mom and I hum along as we listen. My family wanders from store to store with no goal in mind except the annual visit to the train store. Crown Center and the Hallmark complex are connected by a little hallway that houses a train store. I remember visiting the train store every Christmas since I was five. Christmas would not be complete without watching the trains race around little villages and through tree-covered mountains.
As much as I love the lights and buzz of Crown Center, nothing compares to the Plaza lights. As Dad drives us a few blocks south of downtown, we are transported to Old World Spain. Buildings mimicking Sevilla, Spain, rise on both sides and the streets are lined with cars from around the world. Dad maneuvers the car between people, cars, and horse-pulled carriages to find a parking spot on the upper level of a parking deck. Christmas greets us as we step up to the snow-covered railing under the sky. Christmas music spills from every store and the sidewalks buzz with patrons as they shop for the perfect gift. The sharp clip-clop of horse hooves on the pavement sounds natural and drowns out the blaring car horns.
It’s Christmas in Kansas City.
Christmas is more than the sounds of Christmas music, laughter, and horses. As I step out of the car, I silence the noise around me and around. The real Christmas beauty isn’t captured by sound but by sight. Dad and I look down the street, not at the people, but at the lights. Thousands of Christmas lights outline the Plaza’s Spanish architecture against the black December sky. For a few minutes, the world disappears--it’s just Dad and me standing by the railing looking at the stars and Christmas lights.
As we drive home, Karen Carpenter’s smooth alto fills the car, “Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays.” I have to agree. For me, nothing is better than Kansas City’s light.
It’s Christmas in Kansas City.
15 October 2010
happy birthday to who?
September 23, my baby brother, Craig, celebrated his twentieth birthday. Throughout the day he received birthday wishes in a variety of forms: face-to-face greetings, the buzz of a text message, and posts on his facebook wall. Craig and I celebrated his birthday together eating Taco Bell and laughing at all his undesired attention. Friends, family, and strangers contacted him nonstop wishing him well on his birthday. As outgoing as he is, Craig hates receiving that much attention. While we laughed at his ridiculous responses, Craig delivered food for thought. He suggested that we wish Mom happy birthday, since, “she did all the work.” I almost choked on my Burrito Supremo. Mom?
Craig’s thought haunted me. Why don’t I wish Mom “Happy Birthday”? Yes, Mom birthed me, but what she birthed in me is greater. Nearly every aspect of my daily life connects to an idea or belief she instilled in me. Without Mom, in essence, I cease to exist. She created me.
First, Mom birthed in me the desire to serve. Mom serves everywhere. As I grew up, Mom worked at home to help pay the bills. The hum of her sewing machine filled the house. She never complained about working, in fact, she loved helping Dad. In 1996, her Alma Mater, Tri-City Christian School, hired her to teach art classes. Since then her roles have grown to include computer classes, office work, alumni coordination, and running the lunch room. Her impact on hundreds of students in the past fourteen years amazes me. She makes herself available to both staff and students, no matter how busy her schedule. She serves wherever she is asked, never expecting or wanting praise. A smile always adorns her face—even when life seems to be spiraling out of control. As I watched her minister, I learned that the reward of serving outweighs self-promotion.
Mom also taught me to overcome my fears. As a young child, thunderstorms terrified me. The booming sound of thunder sent me running to Mom—even in the dead of night. Dad’s strict “no child in my bed” rule left me crouched on the floor by their bed, trembling in the darkness. Mom always knew I was there. Her hand stretched out of the darkness and connected with mine. The terrifying booms faded and I fell asleep beside her bed, tightly grasping Teddy and her hand. Her hand comforted me—gave me courage to face the unknown. When I found out I had to have ear surgery, I clung to Mom’s hand. She sat with me, holding my hand and encouraging me with Scripture. While teaching me to overcome my fears, she birthed in me the necessity to turn to Christ for all things.
Craig’s comment set my mind in motion—I considered all that Mom birthed in me. When I returned to the dorm after dinner with Craig, I got on facebook and wished Mom happy birthday. I thanked her for not only birthing Craig, but also for birthing so much of my character as well. Two weeks later Mom sent me an e-mail that changed my life.
On October 4, Mom celebrated her fortieth spiritual birthday. My “happy birthday” made her think about her spiritual birthday. She shared that, like Craig, she had no part in her spiritual birth. Her salvation was a result of Christ’s labor of love on the cross.
Once again, “happy birthday” set my mind in motion.
On December 17, 1996, one week after my eighth birthday, Mom became my spiritual mother. With trembling knees and a heavy heart, I talked to Mom about salvation as Dad and the boys packed for a hunting trip. She took me to her room, wrapped her arms around me, and pulled out her old leather-bound Bible. Nothing else mattered. For twenty minutes she turned the thin pages and labored over me. She led me to Christ.
Her labor of love didn’t stop there. Every day we celebrate our “happy birthdays” together by sharing what God continues to teach us about Himself. The email I received on October 5 showed Mom’s deep love and compassion for me. I stopped in awe as I read her email. She is the reason I celebrate my spiritual birthday. Christ has, and continues to, use her to grow me in Him.
I never expected Craig’s birthday to incite so much thought, but it did. Who do you wish “happy birthday” to? Who has impacted and shaped you?
For me, the answer is Mom.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
Craig’s thought haunted me. Why don’t I wish Mom “Happy Birthday”? Yes, Mom birthed me, but what she birthed in me is greater. Nearly every aspect of my daily life connects to an idea or belief she instilled in me. Without Mom, in essence, I cease to exist. She created me.
First, Mom birthed in me the desire to serve. Mom serves everywhere. As I grew up, Mom worked at home to help pay the bills. The hum of her sewing machine filled the house. She never complained about working, in fact, she loved helping Dad. In 1996, her Alma Mater, Tri-City Christian School, hired her to teach art classes. Since then her roles have grown to include computer classes, office work, alumni coordination, and running the lunch room. Her impact on hundreds of students in the past fourteen years amazes me. She makes herself available to both staff and students, no matter how busy her schedule. She serves wherever she is asked, never expecting or wanting praise. A smile always adorns her face—even when life seems to be spiraling out of control. As I watched her minister, I learned that the reward of serving outweighs self-promotion.
Mom also taught me to overcome my fears. As a young child, thunderstorms terrified me. The booming sound of thunder sent me running to Mom—even in the dead of night. Dad’s strict “no child in my bed” rule left me crouched on the floor by their bed, trembling in the darkness. Mom always knew I was there. Her hand stretched out of the darkness and connected with mine. The terrifying booms faded and I fell asleep beside her bed, tightly grasping Teddy and her hand. Her hand comforted me—gave me courage to face the unknown. When I found out I had to have ear surgery, I clung to Mom’s hand. She sat with me, holding my hand and encouraging me with Scripture. While teaching me to overcome my fears, she birthed in me the necessity to turn to Christ for all things.
Craig’s comment set my mind in motion—I considered all that Mom birthed in me. When I returned to the dorm after dinner with Craig, I got on facebook and wished Mom happy birthday. I thanked her for not only birthing Craig, but also for birthing so much of my character as well. Two weeks later Mom sent me an e-mail that changed my life.
On October 4, Mom celebrated her fortieth spiritual birthday. My “happy birthday” made her think about her spiritual birthday. She shared that, like Craig, she had no part in her spiritual birth. Her salvation was a result of Christ’s labor of love on the cross.
Once again, “happy birthday” set my mind in motion.
On December 17, 1996, one week after my eighth birthday, Mom became my spiritual mother. With trembling knees and a heavy heart, I talked to Mom about salvation as Dad and the boys packed for a hunting trip. She took me to her room, wrapped her arms around me, and pulled out her old leather-bound Bible. Nothing else mattered. For twenty minutes she turned the thin pages and labored over me. She led me to Christ.
Her labor of love didn’t stop there. Every day we celebrate our “happy birthdays” together by sharing what God continues to teach us about Himself. The email I received on October 5 showed Mom’s deep love and compassion for me. I stopped in awe as I read her email. She is the reason I celebrate my spiritual birthday. Christ has, and continues to, use her to grow me in Him.
I never expected Craig’s birthday to incite so much thought, but it did. Who do you wish “happy birthday” to? Who has impacted and shaped you?
For me, the answer is Mom.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
04 October 2010
blank pages--journal 5
A blank page inspires me. Whether plain or lined, the page asks me to fill it. The scrambled thoughts in my head surge down my arms to my fingers until they spill onto the page. The ambiguous cloud of thoughts forms structured lines of processed thoughts. The page fills as letters form words, words form sentences, and sentences form paragraphs. My thoughts become reality: I am writing.
I speak through writing. To whom do I speak? Myself. Yes, I enjoy talking to others. In fact, Dad says sometimes I hardly know when to shut up, but sometimes I need to talk to myself. Writing my thoughts down allows me to think through them more clearly. I balance the pros and cons; I think through situations from multiple angles. I write. I don’t edit or evaluate what spills onto the page. Nouns don’t always agree with their verbs, and that’s ok. I simply write, letting the thoughts flow, unedited.
Writing nails my feet to the floor—keeps me from floating away on cloud nine. Evaluations come later, when I take the time to read my thoughts on the page.
Every year Dad feeds my writing habit by giving me a new journal. I prefer leather-bound, lined journals. The leather binding gives flexibility and the lined pages satisfy my obsessive desire for neatness. Journals of various shapes, colors, and sizes line my bookshelves. The thoughts that fill the journals vary as widely as the journals themselves. My personality fills every journal, every page, and every line. Journaling bans nothing. I write about everything—my hopes and my fears, my dreams and my disasters. Thoughts escape and live as I write them down.
Words, once absent, now fill this page. What will fill the pages of my next journal? Words, thoughts, life—me.
I speak through writing. To whom do I speak? Myself. Yes, I enjoy talking to others. In fact, Dad says sometimes I hardly know when to shut up, but sometimes I need to talk to myself. Writing my thoughts down allows me to think through them more clearly. I balance the pros and cons; I think through situations from multiple angles. I write. I don’t edit or evaluate what spills onto the page. Nouns don’t always agree with their verbs, and that’s ok. I simply write, letting the thoughts flow, unedited.
Writing nails my feet to the floor—keeps me from floating away on cloud nine. Evaluations come later, when I take the time to read my thoughts on the page.
Every year Dad feeds my writing habit by giving me a new journal. I prefer leather-bound, lined journals. The leather binding gives flexibility and the lined pages satisfy my obsessive desire for neatness. Journals of various shapes, colors, and sizes line my bookshelves. The thoughts that fill the journals vary as widely as the journals themselves. My personality fills every journal, every page, and every line. Journaling bans nothing. I write about everything—my hopes and my fears, my dreams and my disasters. Thoughts escape and live as I write them down.
Words, once absent, now fill this page. What will fill the pages of my next journal? Words, thoughts, life—me.
28 September 2010
the secret garden--journal 4
The long drive home and back to college this weekend gave me plenty of time to read The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgeson Burnett. The nine hour drive Sunday afternoon married the messages of the morning and the fantasy world of Misselthwait Manor in my mind. My thoughts compared the beauty of the secret garden to the peace I have in Christ.
I have always loved the story of The Secret Garden. I remember watching the movie over and over again in elementary, but time passed and I forgot about the beautiful garden. The story captured me once again after hearing Broadway’s version on an ipod at camp this summer. As soon as I returned home, I bought the CD for myself and listened to it religiously during the first two weeks at college. I finally bought the book last week and determined to read it during my trip home this weekend. And I did.
The magic of the story returned as soon as I opened the cover. Peaceful thoughts filled me as I delved deeper into the book. I could hardly wait to turn the page and read by the glow of a flashlight when the sun went down. Nothing could keep me from the words on the page. Well, almost nothing. As I read I was reminded of a verse I heard in Sunday School. Matthew 11:28 says, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and hare heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
For Mary Lennox and Colin Craven, peace and rest are represented by the “Magic” of the secret garden, but that is not true peace. God is peace. He promises the heavy-laden and overburdened ease and relief. He knows and can give exactly what is needed.
Distress is a part of life. Like Mary and Colin, I become overwhelmed with circumstances and only see the gray, dead world around me. Selfishness blinds the beauty that surrounds me; it separates me from the peace I have in Christ. If I listen to the voice of God and cultivate my soul to grow in Him, a secret garden will grow within me.
I have always loved the story of The Secret Garden. I remember watching the movie over and over again in elementary, but time passed and I forgot about the beautiful garden. The story captured me once again after hearing Broadway’s version on an ipod at camp this summer. As soon as I returned home, I bought the CD for myself and listened to it religiously during the first two weeks at college. I finally bought the book last week and determined to read it during my trip home this weekend. And I did.
The magic of the story returned as soon as I opened the cover. Peaceful thoughts filled me as I delved deeper into the book. I could hardly wait to turn the page and read by the glow of a flashlight when the sun went down. Nothing could keep me from the words on the page. Well, almost nothing. As I read I was reminded of a verse I heard in Sunday School. Matthew 11:28 says, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and hare heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
For Mary Lennox and Colin Craven, peace and rest are represented by the “Magic” of the secret garden, but that is not true peace. God is peace. He promises the heavy-laden and overburdened ease and relief. He knows and can give exactly what is needed.
Distress is a part of life. Like Mary and Colin, I become overwhelmed with circumstances and only see the gray, dead world around me. Selfishness blinds the beauty that surrounds me; it separates me from the peace I have in Christ. If I listen to the voice of God and cultivate my soul to grow in Him, a secret garden will grow within me.
22 September 2010
jello & dreams
I hate jello. Nothing about watered-down, partially-solidified Kool-Aid sounds edible to me. The thought of jello jiggling down my throat makes me cringe. Friends & family who delight in this dessert disaster confuse me. Sure, jello jiggles & invokes laughter in young children, but who really wants to eat a dessert that still moves in its final form. And don't get me started on putting fruit chunks inside. *Bleck!*
Opinionated? Absolutely.
Now, to completely change subject (I'll get to the connection in a second), I love to dream. Spare minutes, whether between classes or riding in the car, fill my mind with hopes & dreams. Scraps of paper & blank pages disappear quickly as I quickly try to capture the thoughts running through my brain. I currently keep up with three journals. Yes, you read that correctly: three.
Obsessed? Maybe.
In devos this week, Holly related dreams to jello. Dreams, like jello, conform to the shape of the mold they are in. The conformity deceives, though. A slight jiggle or squeeze changes the shape indefinitetly. I dislike jello because I cannot grasp it. If I grab too tightly, the jello oozes between my fingers & falls to the ground. My dreams are the same way, when I hold onto them tightly, they fall apart.
Dreams & jello must be held with care--hands open & palms to the sky. As a dreamer, I hold tightly to my dreams. I built them with sweat & tears, so I don't to see them destroyed or changed. How could they get any better? I built them.
But that's the problem. I built them. How can my dreams get better? By letting the Master Architect take over. By giving God complete control. When I hold my dreams like I hold jello--hands open, palms to the sky--I am allowing Him to shape my dreams for the best.
Carey Scmidt, author of Life Quest, uses Jeremiah 29:11 describes God's plan for my dreams this way, "He's [God] notonly thinking of me, He's thinking good thoughts [emphasis mine]. . . . But He doesn't stop there. It gets better. . . . He continues unabashedly unveiling His passionate heart for you. He says that He's thinking thoughts of peace to bring you to an expected end--a quest with a delightful destination! Those words expected end literally mean an arrival at the things you've hoped for or the fulfillment of the deepest longings of your heart. Are you falling in love with this God as much as I am?"
I am.
Dreams are jello, so don't hold on too tight, or they'll ooze between your fingers.
Opinionated? Absolutely.
Now, to completely change subject (I'll get to the connection in a second), I love to dream. Spare minutes, whether between classes or riding in the car, fill my mind with hopes & dreams. Scraps of paper & blank pages disappear quickly as I quickly try to capture the thoughts running through my brain. I currently keep up with three journals. Yes, you read that correctly: three.
Obsessed? Maybe.
In devos this week, Holly related dreams to jello. Dreams, like jello, conform to the shape of the mold they are in. The conformity deceives, though. A slight jiggle or squeeze changes the shape indefinitetly. I dislike jello because I cannot grasp it. If I grab too tightly, the jello oozes between my fingers & falls to the ground. My dreams are the same way, when I hold onto them tightly, they fall apart.
Dreams & jello must be held with care--hands open & palms to the sky. As a dreamer, I hold tightly to my dreams. I built them with sweat & tears, so I don't to see them destroyed or changed. How could they get any better? I built them.
But that's the problem. I built them. How can my dreams get better? By letting the Master Architect take over. By giving God complete control. When I hold my dreams like I hold jello--hands open, palms to the sky--I am allowing Him to shape my dreams for the best.
Carey Scmidt, author of Life Quest, uses Jeremiah 29:11 describes God's plan for my dreams this way, "He's [God] notonly thinking of me, He's thinking good thoughts [emphasis mine]. . . . But He doesn't stop there. It gets better. . . . He continues unabashedly unveiling His passionate heart for you. He says that He's thinking thoughts of peace to bring you to an expected end--a quest with a delightful destination! Those words expected end literally mean an arrival at the things you've hoped for or the fulfillment of the deepest longings of your heart. Are you falling in love with this God as much as I am?"
I am.
Dreams are jello, so don't hold on too tight, or they'll ooze between your fingers.
20 September 2010
first impressions--journal 3
As I was reading “The Mousetrap,” a mystery play by Agatha Christie, thoughts of first impressions came to my mind. “The Mousetrap” traps the characters and audience in the newly opened Monkswell Manor guest house during a snow storm. First impressions cause Mollie and Giles Ralston, the owners of Monkswell Manor, to question the character of their guests. Secrets hide the truth and a twist ending surprises all. Though the Ralstons and their guests are creations of Agatha Christie, assumptions based on first impressions occur often in real life.
Each new segment of my life brings change. Some changes I run to with anticipations, others I crawl slowly toward, afraid of the outcome. Whether I run with anticipation or crawl with fear, change involves people and first impressions. New semesters bring new roommates, camp brought new coworkers, and each camp week brought three to nine new campers. My first impressions of these new people are as varied as their individual personalities. My initial reaction to new people often parallels Giles’s attitude: everyone is weird.
Counseling at camp this summer showed me the flaws I make with first impressions. Every Monday for nine weeks, I met and made assumptions about new campers. I based my assumptions on church membership, dress height, and weight. Before I knew her name, I mentally evaluated the joy and trials my camper would bring to the cabin. The second week of junior camp brought four bubbly, hyper girls to my cabin. I anticipated a fun, stress-free week. I was wrong. Every day was filled with the constant giggling of four disobedient girls. Frustration filled me as I reprimanded them at every turn. My first impression was dead wrong. The angel-faced eight-year-olds I welcomed on Monday morning brought me to my knees multiple times throughout each day. By the end of the week, I realized that second impressions deceive as well. The four girls God sent me that week were what I needed to become more like Christ.
Each new segment of my life brings change. Some changes I run to with anticipations, others I crawl slowly toward, afraid of the outcome. Whether I run with anticipation or crawl with fear, change involves people and first impressions. New semesters bring new roommates, camp brought new coworkers, and each camp week brought three to nine new campers. My first impressions of these new people are as varied as their individual personalities. My initial reaction to new people often parallels Giles’s attitude: everyone is weird.
Counseling at camp this summer showed me the flaws I make with first impressions. Every Monday for nine weeks, I met and made assumptions about new campers. I based my assumptions on church membership, dress height, and weight. Before I knew her name, I mentally evaluated the joy and trials my camper would bring to the cabin. The second week of junior camp brought four bubbly, hyper girls to my cabin. I anticipated a fun, stress-free week. I was wrong. Every day was filled with the constant giggling of four disobedient girls. Frustration filled me as I reprimanded them at every turn. My first impression was dead wrong. The angel-faced eight-year-olds I welcomed on Monday morning brought me to my knees multiple times throughout each day. By the end of the week, I realized that second impressions deceive as well. The four girls God sent me that week were what I needed to become more like Christ.
12 September 2010
water--journal 2
As I was reading a quote by Helen Keller this weekend, I was struck with the impact my words have on myself and those around me. The life of Helen Keller has always interested me, so I jumped at the opportunity to read The Miracle Worker, a play on Keller’s childhood, for one of my dramatic production classes last year. Keller lived in a dark and silent world almost from birth. Until Anne Sullivan arrived and began to teach her, Keller never knew the beauty and wonder of the world that surrounded her. Sullivan’s games brought light to Keller’s world. Years later Keller looked back on the day she first understood the language Sullivan was teaching: “The mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that ‘water’ meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, joy, set it free!”
Words are powerful. I can affect a friend’s attitude just by my words. Keller said that words “awakened my soul, gave it light, joy, set it free.” What I have to say can bring light and joy to others. Counseling at a Christian camp this summer gave me opportunity to watch God use my words to brighten the lives of others. When my own wisdom and words failed, which was often, I delighted to see God speak through me. One Friday evening I was able to sympathize with a camper because of a personal trial God had already brought me through. God gave me the words she and I both needed so we could in turn give glory to Him. As I related my story to her, God brought verses to my mind. Ephesians 3:20-21 says, “Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, unto Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end, Amen.” The words of God’s promise awakened, brightened, filled, and freed me in the same way that the knowledge and understanding of ‘water’ impacted Keller.
Words are powerful. I can affect a friend’s attitude just by my words. Keller said that words “awakened my soul, gave it light, joy, set it free.” What I have to say can bring light and joy to others. Counseling at a Christian camp this summer gave me opportunity to watch God use my words to brighten the lives of others. When my own wisdom and words failed, which was often, I delighted to see God speak through me. One Friday evening I was able to sympathize with a camper because of a personal trial God had already brought me through. God gave me the words she and I both needed so we could in turn give glory to Him. As I related my story to her, God brought verses to my mind. Ephesians 3:20-21 says, “Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, unto Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end, Amen.” The words of God’s promise awakened, brightened, filled, and freed me in the same way that the knowledge and understanding of ‘water’ impacted Keller.
06 September 2010
castles in the air
Writing has always been a passion of mine, so a required class titled 'Advanced Writing' tickled my fancy. What could possibly be more fun than a class about writing? Each week I have to turn in a journal assignment that begins "As I was reading __________ this weekend, a thought struck me . . ." Being the planner that I am, I was anticipating writing my first journal entry on a new book I am reading, but my plans were changed when Mandy Jo gave me a journal she bought for me in China.
The cover reads 'DREAM' in big, bold, red letters. I was excited just by the cover--I love dreams! --but the real treasure are the pages between the covers. Pictures of sea & landscapes fill the book with little quotes on life & dreaming sprinkled along the way. Of course, there is pleanty of room to write as well. Mandy Jo could not have selected a better gift!
Homework was a quick & easy task this weekend & I soon found myself bored. Reading was an option, but I really wasn't in the mood. As I scanned my desk, my eyes caught the little DREAM journal. What fun it would be to fill those blank pages! I sat at my desk for five minutes or more contemplating what to fill the blank spaces with. Then it hit me. Why not write down my dreams--the realistic & fanciful, plausible & impractical--in the book filled with quotes on dreams?
Almost immediately, a quote by Henry David Thoreau came to mind. With the aid of google, I quickly located the entire quote, which, in turn, sparked the idea for my journal entry this week. Below is the entire quotation (I love the whole passage) & part of my writing assignment. Be encouraged! Dream big & build your castles in the air!
Thoreau’s encouragement brings to mind so many of God’s promises to me, particularly those of his thoughts for me and His will for the direction of my life. Jeremiah 29:11 tells me that God has thoughts and plans for my life that exceed my wildest dreams. The castles He would build for me are far greater than any I could build for myself.
I am, without a doubt, a dreamer. I desire to accomplish great things with my life: I want to change the world! Thoreau’s quote sparked thoughts of my “castles in the air.” My castles have changed shape and size over the years. Why? because of Psalm 37:4, “Delight thyself also in the Lord; and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.” As I have grown closer to my Lord I have learned that Psalm 37:4 is not saying that I should only obey God so I will get what I want, but rather that the more I delight and grow in my knowledge of the person of God, the more I will want what God wants for my life. I want to have built great, majestic castles in my dreams and I want to see them become a reality, but more than anything, I want God to be the master architect of my life. He helps me craft beautiful castles and gives me the ability to build the foundations I need to bridge fantasy and reality.
The cover reads 'DREAM' in big, bold, red letters. I was excited just by the cover--I love dreams! --but the real treasure are the pages between the covers. Pictures of sea & landscapes fill the book with little quotes on life & dreaming sprinkled along the way. Of course, there is pleanty of room to write as well. Mandy Jo could not have selected a better gift!
Homework was a quick & easy task this weekend & I soon found myself bored. Reading was an option, but I really wasn't in the mood. As I scanned my desk, my eyes caught the little DREAM journal. What fun it would be to fill those blank pages! I sat at my desk for five minutes or more contemplating what to fill the blank spaces with. Then it hit me. Why not write down my dreams--the realistic & fanciful, plausible & impractical--in the book filled with quotes on dreams?
Almost immediately, a quote by Henry David Thoreau came to mind. With the aid of google, I quickly located the entire quote, which, in turn, sparked the idea for my journal entry this week. Below is the entire quotation (I love the whole passage) & part of my writing assignment. Be encouraged! Dream big & build your castles in the air!
“I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavours to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favour in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.” (Thoreau, Walden)
Thoreau’s encouragement brings to mind so many of God’s promises to me, particularly those of his thoughts for me and His will for the direction of my life. Jeremiah 29:11 tells me that God has thoughts and plans for my life that exceed my wildest dreams. The castles He would build for me are far greater than any I could build for myself.
I am, without a doubt, a dreamer. I desire to accomplish great things with my life: I want to change the world! Thoreau’s quote sparked thoughts of my “castles in the air.” My castles have changed shape and size over the years. Why? because of Psalm 37:4, “Delight thyself also in the Lord; and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.” As I have grown closer to my Lord I have learned that Psalm 37:4 is not saying that I should only obey God so I will get what I want, but rather that the more I delight and grow in my knowledge of the person of God, the more I will want what God wants for my life. I want to have built great, majestic castles in my dreams and I want to see them become a reality, but more than anything, I want God to be the master architect of my life. He helps me craft beautiful castles and gives me the ability to build the foundations I need to bridge fantasy and reality.
19 July 2010
the best I can give
Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses,
let us lay aside every weight, & the sin which doth so easily beset us,
& let us run with patience the race that is set before us,
Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith:
who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross,
despising the shame, & is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.
let us lay aside every weight, & the sin which doth so easily beset us,
& let us run with patience the race that is set before us,
Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith:
who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross,
despising the shame, & is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.
Hebrews 12:1-2
The God & I study for the campers at Southland this summer focuses on the race of the Christian life. It has been a joy to dive into Hebrews 12 & learn how to run the race Christ has set before me without the weight of sin, focused on the prize He has placed before me.
During teen weeks, I have the opportunity to discuss the day’s devotion in depth with the girls in my cabin. Each week God has stretched my thinking & shown me something new & amazing about Himself.
This past week I was talking with one of my campers about the awesome sacrifice that Christ paid for my sins & yet the frustration I experience realizing that I don’t give God what He deserves. As we walked around the empty, quiet ball-field she looked at me & said, “The best we can give God is the least of what He deserves.” I stopped in shock. How true! God gave everything. He held nothing back. He sent His Son to pay for my sin. Even if I live the rest of my life in full dedication to Him, it would only be a drop in the bucket of the payment He deserves.
Though I can’t dream to repay Him for His merciful grace, I want to run the rest of my race according to His will: with energy, enthusiasm, endurance, & without encumbrance.
TUESDAY: RUN WITH ENERGY
The Tuesday devotional discusses the physical & mental energy needed to run a race. Mark 12:30 commands Christians to give the Lord ALL their heart, soul, mind, & strength. Discipline & hard work are needed to train the body to undergo long distances physically, but mental energy is more important. A runner may have the physical training necessary to complete a race, but if he/she starts the race with a negative spirit, then the race is lost before it has begun. If I want to be victorious in my Christian race I must first win mentally—Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”
“I work as though it all depends on me & I pray as though it all depends on God.” –D.L. Moody
WEDNESDAY: RUN WITH ENTHUSIASM
If you have ever met me or seen me as I cheer on one of my teams, you know that I fill my life with energy! Southland keeps a rather unhealthy stock of giant jawbreakers for campers to buy. During junior weeks you cannot escape the presence of those disgusting, sticky, white balls! The campers never put them down & the evidence is left all over their face—around the corners of their mouth, down their chin, & even on the underside of their nose! It’s rather disgusting! During the last junior week a church sponsor asked me if I ate one of those detestable sugar balls to keep up my energy. “No,” I laughed with only a hint of distain, “God has just naturally given me the energy in one of those things.”
Enthusiasm is defined in our God & I books as a “strong urgent desire or interest. . . . a compelling power that overcomes all obstacles.” Our culture depicts an enthusiastic personality as one who is the life of the party, but a spiritual enthusiast is one who gets excited about God. One who exuberantly shows his/her love for God & His Word.
For me, the most eye-opening part of this lesson is a list of activities I am to rate from 1 to 10 pertaining to my enthusiasm: watching a sporting event, listening to sermons, eating, God & I time, memorizing Scripture, ect. Sadly, as I look down the list, I realize that I am more enthusiastic about the secular, not the sacred. That shouldn’t be! I should be giving Christ my ALL! He gave everything for me; “the best we can give God is the least of what He deserves.”
At the end of the study, the campers are asked to list the names of people who have influenced them because of their enthusiasm for Christ. Then, another kicker question: “Would any of your friends write your name down?”
Well, would they?
If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always be the same person you’ve always been.
THURSDAY: RUN WITHOUT ENCUMBRANCE
For those of you who are racking your brain for the definition of encumbrance, let me help you: weights. There are two types of encumbrances that Christians must put off—sins & weights.
Weights are unnecessary baggage that we carry with us through life. There is nothing sinful about a weight except the limitations they put on the runner. I Corinthians 9:24-27 encourages the spiritual runner to “run that ye may obtain” & to “strive for the mastery.” How? By bringing your body “into subjection, lest that by any means you should be a castaway.”
I usually describe it this way. At the end of each meal, the campers pass their plates to me. Anything left on their plate, ketchup, half-eaten sandwiches, fries, ect., is scraped onto the top plate for easy disposal. Sounds delicious, right? When we fail to bring our body into subjection, we are offering God the castaways, that top plate. That’s disgusting!
Weights are priorities, people, pleasures, places and possessions that are given more attention than God & His Word. The weights differ from person to person. What do you need to get rid of?
The second encumbrance is sin. These must be gotten rid of because they do harm. Multiple times throughout Scripture, Christians are encouraged to “lay aside” or “put off” characteristics of the old, sinful man. In the same motion of putting off, the Christian must find something to put on & replace that old sin habit. What is the best thing to put on & fight sin? Scripture.
FRIDAY: RUN WITH ENDURANCE
Friday is possibly my favorite discussion. In their God & I time, the girls read the first eleven verses of Hebrews 12, encouraging them to run with patience, which can be translated as endurance. Endurance is the ability to run a long distance with consistent energy. I am to give Christ 100% 100% of the time (I know that looks confusing, but it’s true!) As the booklet puts it: “the Bible compares the Christian life to a race: not just a 100-yard dash, but a marathon.”
A second thing we discuss is the fact that Christ is the “author & finisher of our faith.” Being a literature person, I love this illustration. God is the author of my life. He has written every year, month, day, & hour. What could be more awesome than that? The fact that He has already completed the book. As I live out one sentence, He has already finished the book. All I have to do is follow His will & I will have the best “happily ever after.” I love it. As much as I love to read, my life is the best page-turner I will ever pick up.
“For I know the plans I have for you, saith the Lord,
thoughts of peace & not of evil to give you an expected end.” Jeremiah 29:11
“For the Lord God is a sun & shield, the Lord will give grace & glory;
no good thing will He withhold form them that walk uprightly.” Psalm 84:11
“For I, the Lord thy God, will hold thy right hand,
saying unto thee, “Fear not, I will help thee.” Isaiah 40:13
17 July 2010
wrong thinking
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times . . .”
As your mom or dad jambs their finger in your face and repeats that well-worn phrase for the millionth time you roll your eyes & turn off your ears. They’ll have to say it again later because you’re still not listening . . . true?
Sadly, we sometimes treat church messages the same way. After a simple introduction of the passage things like, “Uh, I’ve already heard this message. I could preach this message I’ve heard it so many times. Does this guy have any other messages or illustrations?” run through our heads. Before the message starts, we’ve already rolled our eyes & turned off our ears. In our minds we complain about the wasted thirty to forty minutes that lie ahead.
That’s wrong thinking.
Last week, I found myself wallowing in disappointment & selfishness as the preacher stood to deliver God’s word. “I’ve already heard this message,” I thought. “Doesn’t he have something else he could speak on?” How selfish! I had the gall to look back through the blue composition book that sat in my lap, look at the notes & considered not taking notes because I “already have this anyway.” Instead, with a sigh of boredom, I opened the book to a clean page & prepared to take notes. On the same message. For a third time. Filled with a complaining spirit, I wrote across the top of the page: Does he have any other illustrations/messages?
I wish I could tell you that as soon as I wrote those horrible, selfish words, I marked them out. But I didn’t. In fact, I started grudgingly taking notes. As Brother DeGuarde preached, those words seemed to lift from the page. “WRONG THINKING! WRONG THINKING!” my head screamed! The Holy Spirit grabbed a hold of my heart & I was ashamed. After ten minutes of conviction because of words I wrote myself, the top of my page said:
Does he have any other illustrations/messages? <---wrong thinking
What does God still need to teach me (through this message)? <---right thinking
All I had to do was change my perspective. Though I have been saved for over a decade, there is still much for me to learn. I should never come to a service with the predisposed thinking that I have nothing else to learn. You & I have heard it before: repetition aids learning. How true.
So, the next time you sit down in a service & begin to shut down because “I’ve heard this a thousand times,” give yourself a mental check & don’t be tempted by wrong thinking.
As your mom or dad jambs their finger in your face and repeats that well-worn phrase for the millionth time you roll your eyes & turn off your ears. They’ll have to say it again later because you’re still not listening . . . true?
Sadly, we sometimes treat church messages the same way. After a simple introduction of the passage things like, “Uh, I’ve already heard this message. I could preach this message I’ve heard it so many times. Does this guy have any other messages or illustrations?” run through our heads. Before the message starts, we’ve already rolled our eyes & turned off our ears. In our minds we complain about the wasted thirty to forty minutes that lie ahead.
That’s wrong thinking.
Last week, I found myself wallowing in disappointment & selfishness as the preacher stood to deliver God’s word. “I’ve already heard this message,” I thought. “Doesn’t he have something else he could speak on?” How selfish! I had the gall to look back through the blue composition book that sat in my lap, look at the notes & considered not taking notes because I “already have this anyway.” Instead, with a sigh of boredom, I opened the book to a clean page & prepared to take notes. On the same message. For a third time. Filled with a complaining spirit, I wrote across the top of the page: Does he have any other illustrations/messages?
I wish I could tell you that as soon as I wrote those horrible, selfish words, I marked them out. But I didn’t. In fact, I started grudgingly taking notes. As Brother DeGuarde preached, those words seemed to lift from the page. “WRONG THINKING! WRONG THINKING!” my head screamed! The Holy Spirit grabbed a hold of my heart & I was ashamed. After ten minutes of conviction because of words I wrote myself, the top of my page said:
Does he have any other illustrations/messages? <---wrong thinking
What does God still need to teach me (through this message)? <---right thinking
All I had to do was change my perspective. Though I have been saved for over a decade, there is still much for me to learn. I should never come to a service with the predisposed thinking that I have nothing else to learn. You & I have heard it before: repetition aids learning. How true.
So, the next time you sit down in a service & begin to shut down because “I’ve heard this a thousand times,” give yourself a mental check & don’t be tempted by wrong thinking.
28 June 2010
you are now entering your mission field
Going to a Bible college with a missions emphasis, I have often heard the phrase "You are now entering your mission field" (mostly thanks to Mr. Trainer). Though I have heard that phrase hundreds of times, I never let it become real to me.
Until this week.
I guess I should start at the beginning.
Monday was a repeat of the past two weeks—breakfast, choir practice, accountability groups, lunch, then—CAMPERS! Like every week, I was a little apprehensive of meeting my new campers (I know I seem really out going, but there is a shy side to me . . . I promise). This week was a smaller week (4-5 campers per cabin & 4 guy counselors without cabins at all) & I was selfishly looking forward to getting a little rest. I mean, how hard can it be? Four junior campers. I had 7 teens!
Boy, was I wrong.
My four campers were FULL of life. I know what you’re thinking, “Well, Lynnae, you got campers just like you!” But that’s not true! If you would have known me as a junior camper, you would never have thought I would be as outgoing as I am now!
Anyway, we had tons of fun this week (as we should, after all, it is camp!). I had prayed before the week began that God would (1) teach me where to change & (2) that I would be able to lead someone to the Lord.
He granted one of my requests.
The one that reminded me to “be careful what you wish for.”
Early in the week all of my girls gave clear salvation testimonies, so I knew that my second request would have to wait for the next camp week. But my desire to change? Yeah, God granted me that one.
My full of energy, hyper girls tried my patience. My fuse was short & sometimes, before they even started making noise, I was ready for them to be quiet. By Tuesday night it became very apparent where I needed to change—I needed patience.
But I didn’t learn my lesson right away. In fact, it took most of the week for me to open my eyes & see where I needed to change.
The week was filled with a variety of interesting, trying, & hilarious experiences. “Nap time” was filled with giggling girls & ‘Aunt Nae Nae’ would have them cover their mouths & face the wall. Jaw breaker suckers & coffee gave the girls extra energy (& subsequently more giggles), but overall, we had tons of fun, but Aunt Nae Nae was tired & short tempered.
Thursday & Friday were filled with small trials, adding to my irritant spirit. By Friday night, sadly, I just wanted to make it through.
That’s when God grabbed me & showed me the lesson He had been trying to teach me all week.
As the choir returned to their seats, Mike led the congregation in a song. The words cut me to the heart:
As I sang I finally opened my eyes and looked around me. Those four hyper, bubbly girls were my mission field & I had missed it all week. Rather than focusing on how I could be an encouragement to them, I had been consumed with making sure they were conforming to my satisfaction.
My heart changed at that moment. My focus altered & I was ashamed. After 3 years of Bible college, I had missed one of the most important messages: “You are now entering your mission field.” This was the ministry I prayed for & that God so graciously gave me. And I let Him down.
Now on the wall next to my bed, where I can see it as soon as I wake up, is a little 3x5 card that says “You Are Now Entering Your Mission Field” to remind me each day that God has given me the mission field I asked for.
Until this week.
I guess I should start at the beginning.
Monday was a repeat of the past two weeks—breakfast, choir practice, accountability groups, lunch, then—CAMPERS! Like every week, I was a little apprehensive of meeting my new campers (I know I seem really out going, but there is a shy side to me . . . I promise). This week was a smaller week (4-5 campers per cabin & 4 guy counselors without cabins at all) & I was selfishly looking forward to getting a little rest. I mean, how hard can it be? Four junior campers. I had 7 teens!
Boy, was I wrong.
My four campers were FULL of life. I know what you’re thinking, “Well, Lynnae, you got campers just like you!” But that’s not true! If you would have known me as a junior camper, you would never have thought I would be as outgoing as I am now!
Anyway, we had tons of fun this week (as we should, after all, it is camp!). I had prayed before the week began that God would (1) teach me where to change & (2) that I would be able to lead someone to the Lord.
He granted one of my requests.
The one that reminded me to “be careful what you wish for.”
Early in the week all of my girls gave clear salvation testimonies, so I knew that my second request would have to wait for the next camp week. But my desire to change? Yeah, God granted me that one.
My full of energy, hyper girls tried my patience. My fuse was short & sometimes, before they even started making noise, I was ready for them to be quiet. By Tuesday night it became very apparent where I needed to change—I needed patience.
But I didn’t learn my lesson right away. In fact, it took most of the week for me to open my eyes & see where I needed to change.
The week was filled with a variety of interesting, trying, & hilarious experiences. “Nap time” was filled with giggling girls & ‘Aunt Nae Nae’ would have them cover their mouths & face the wall. Jaw breaker suckers & coffee gave the girls extra energy (& subsequently more giggles), but overall, we had tons of fun, but Aunt Nae Nae was tired & short tempered.
Thursday & Friday were filled with small trials, adding to my irritant spirit. By Friday night, sadly, I just wanted to make it through.
That’s when God grabbed me & showed me the lesson He had been trying to teach me all week.
As the choir returned to their seats, Mike led the congregation in a song. The words cut me to the heart:
Let me see my mission field,
All around each day,
All around each day,
Fill my heart with Jesus’ love,
Use me, Lord, I pray.
As I sang I finally opened my eyes and looked around me. Those four hyper, bubbly girls were my mission field & I had missed it all week. Rather than focusing on how I could be an encouragement to them, I had been consumed with making sure they were conforming to my satisfaction.
My heart changed at that moment. My focus altered & I was ashamed. After 3 years of Bible college, I had missed one of the most important messages: “You are now entering your mission field.” This was the ministry I prayed for & that God so graciously gave me. And I let Him down.
Now on the wall next to my bed, where I can see it as soon as I wake up, is a little 3x5 card that says “You Are Now Entering Your Mission Field” to remind me each day that God has given me the mission field I asked for.
20 June 2010
the man of my life
Across America children from 3 to 103 are celebrating one important man. The man has a thousand different faces, comes in a variety of shapes & sizes, & may or may not have hair present on the top of his head. He is the man of a thousand faces, yet one thing can be agreed upon: he is the greatest man on earth. No one is faster, no one is stronger, & no one else can do what he does.
Have you figured out who he is?
It shouldn’t be hard considering today’s date. He’s your father. And whether you call him Dad, Pops, Daddyo, or Father, he is the most important man of your life.
I have been influenced by a multitude of men in the past 21 years, but one man stands above the rest. He’s the man of my life—he’s my dad. In my eyes, he can do no wrong (ok, so he does mess up sometimes, but I tend to overlook that), he can lift anything (including my 40 gallon tub filled to the brim with books), build anything, & you had better believe that my dad is faster, better, and stronger than your dad!
In church this morning, Pastor Wood took us to the Psalm for Fathers. Do you know what it is? Think a second . . . still can’t guess? Psalm 23.
Have you figured out who he is?
It shouldn’t be hard considering today’s date. He’s your father. And whether you call him Dad, Pops, Daddyo, or Father, he is the most important man of your life.
I have been influenced by a multitude of men in the past 21 years, but one man stands above the rest. He’s the man of my life—he’s my dad. In my eyes, he can do no wrong (ok, so he does mess up sometimes, but I tend to overlook that), he can lift anything (including my 40 gallon tub filled to the brim with books), build anything, & you had better believe that my dad is faster, better, and stronger than your dad!
In church this morning, Pastor Wood took us to the Psalm for Fathers. Do you know what it is? Think a second . . . still can’t guess? Psalm 23.
The LORD is my shepherd: I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in still waters: He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me;
thy rod & thy staff they comfort me.
Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou anointest my head with oil: my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness & mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
& I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
Pastor Wood compared our earthly fathers to our heavenly Father. He pointed out that our fathers provide for our needs, protect us from a variety of areas, comforts me in times of need, & disciplines me when I need it most.
This summer the staff choir is singing From Everlasting to Everlasting. The first line grabbed my attention today & reminded me of the love that God has for me:
As a father has compassion on his children,
So the Lord has compassion on His own . . .
I can rest confidently in my heavenly Father, just as Psalm 23 says. God the Father provides for my every need, protects me from all harm, comforts me in times of need, & disciplines me when I need it most.
He is the man of my life.
13 June 2010
kurango did WHAT??
For those of you who are interested, this is my cabin cheer:
Kurango Did WHAT??
There once was a cabin
Of mighty reknown
All the wanted posters said,
"The Coolest Girls in Town".
All the wanted posters said,
"The Coolest Girls in Town".
We are the mighty outlaws
Of the Wagon Wheeler team
And being number one
Is our number one dream
Kurango Did WHAT??
Wore bright blue!
Kurango Did WHAT??
Kurango Did WHAT??
The Wagon Wheeler crew!
who is the King of glory?
Junior Camp 1: Ron DeGarde
Who is the King of glory?
The Lord strong & mighty; the Lord mighty in battle.
(Psalm 24:8)
The Lord strong & mighty; the Lord mighty in battle.
(Psalm 24:8)
This week started with a little bit of apprehensive anticipation. After all, it was my first week of counseling! The counselors congregated in the chapel at 2 o'clock as we waited for the junior campers to flood in & begin the first week of Frontier Frenzy 2010. I'll admit, I was shakin' in my boots! God is good, though and it was an awesome week. I met my five junior campers, Ashleyn, Jennifer, Evelyn, Rachell, & Leslie, & we settled in for the exciting week to come. I couldn't wait to see how God would change each of us over the next 5 days.
During the evening service, Brother DeGarde introduced his theme for the week: Psalm 24:8. At each service he would say, "Who is the King of glory?" & the campers would reply, "The Lord strong & mighty; the Lord mighty in battle." That simple verse put my heart in check for the week--my God is the King of glory, He can do anything!
My apprehensiveness wore off as I got more comfortable with the girls & just enjoyed being a counselor at camp. Sometimes it was hard to get on to the girls (some of them are just so cute!), but overall they were well behaved & enthusiastic. Several times throughout the week my cabin could be heard reciting all the blue team cheers as well as screaming our cabin cheer at the the top of their lungs!
One thing God taught me this week was to praise Him even through difficult (or just plain interesting) situations. At the beginning of the week my shower began leaking into my closet. I thanked the Lord that I had a shower, closet, & a good supply of towels. On Wednesday, the plug in the tank of my toilet corroded to the point that the toilet would no longer flush. I thanked the Lord that I knew how to take care of the problem & theat Cody Bill would soon take care of the situation. Wednesday afternoon, after the watergame & swimming, we were blessed with an hour & a half of torrential downpours. I praised the Lord for the hour to get to know my girls (we were stranded in the cabin) & getting to know Rebecca, but I had a hard time praising Him for the leak that appeared above my bed. All in all, I learned to thank the Lord for what He has given me, especially maintainance men like Cody Bill who fixed all of my leaks & issues on Friday afternoon!
The Friday evening service is still ringing in my ears. I dedicated my life to full-time Christian service not long after being saved, but Brother DeGarde's message on surrendering reminded me that I must be continually living in dedication to God's will. Yes, I am still on the right track, but sometimes I have been a little distracted by selfish desires.
At the invitation, one of my campers went forward to dedicate her life to missions. It was so exciting to walk through the verses of how God has a plan for our lives with her! Afterwards, we went & talked with Tina, the lead counselor. She explained that we must keep our lives clean & ready to be used by the Lord.
What a rebuke! Am I an empty vessle, fit for the Master's use?
I hope so.
But there is one thing I know. When I am asked, "Who is the King of glory?" I will proudly answer, "the Lord strong & mighty; the Lord mighty in battle!" Through Him, I can do anything!
At the invitation, one of my campers went forward to dedicate her life to missions. It was so exciting to walk through the verses of how God has a plan for our lives with her! Afterwards, we went & talked with Tina, the lead counselor. She explained that we must keep our lives clean & ready to be used by the Lord.
What a rebuke! Am I an empty vessle, fit for the Master's use?
I hope so.
But there is one thing I know. When I am asked, "Who is the King of glory?" I will proudly answer, "the Lord strong & mighty; the Lord mighty in battle!" Through Him, I can do anything!
impossible is possible
Counseling at a Christian camp is something I have always wanted to do, but with the cost of college rising and the amount of decent paying jobs dwindling, I just never thought it would be possible.
I never should have doubted my God, He can do the impossible.
During the fall semester, Dave Keck, program director at Southland Christian Camp, visited Maranatha to recruit college students for the summer. I have always wanted to counsel at a camp while in college. And counseling at Southland would be a dream come true!
My brother, Craig, & I sat and talked with him for a couple hours, but we just didn’t think it would be possible. All four of us siblings were in college that semester & money was tight. God had been faithful to provide for my school bill in the past, but I was hesitant to ask Him to provide for even more. The only way camp would be possible would be if the Lord gave Craig & I the military scholarship we were waiting for.
Looking back, I can see that I doubted that God could do the impossible. I had forgotten His promise from Luke1:37: “For with God nothing shall be impossible.” Without completely understanding why, knowing now that it was the Lord’s will, I filled out an application to work at Southland.
And soon forgot about it.
In January, the Lord provided the military scholarship Craig & I had been waiting on. The finances appropriated were enough to cover the spring and next fall semester. With finances for school taken care of, I began praying that the Lord would give me an opportunity to minister this summer. Camp still seemed impossible, so I applied to go on a missions trip with the college. Soon after being accepted, I felt the Lord leading me to decline attending the trip.
“What’s going on, Lord?” I thought. “I want to minister for you this summer in some capacity!”
I had no reason to worry or doubt God’s providence. He knew exactly what He was doing.
A few weeks after declining the ministry I thought I had been praying for, the Lord opened a door I wasn’t expecting & fulfilled one of my life-long dreams.
Mike Herbster, director of Southland, emailed me one afternoon asking if I was still interested in working at the camp in Louisiana for the summer. The excuse that I had given Dave in the fall was invalid: I didn’t need to spend my summer working at home to make my down payment, God had already supplied that.
The door was wide open. The dream I thought impossible was a possibility.
God truly can do the impossible.
I never should have doubted my God, He can do the impossible.
During the fall semester, Dave Keck, program director at Southland Christian Camp, visited Maranatha to recruit college students for the summer. I have always wanted to counsel at a camp while in college. And counseling at Southland would be a dream come true!
My brother, Craig, & I sat and talked with him for a couple hours, but we just didn’t think it would be possible. All four of us siblings were in college that semester & money was tight. God had been faithful to provide for my school bill in the past, but I was hesitant to ask Him to provide for even more. The only way camp would be possible would be if the Lord gave Craig & I the military scholarship we were waiting for.
Looking back, I can see that I doubted that God could do the impossible. I had forgotten His promise from Luke1:37: “For with God nothing shall be impossible.” Without completely understanding why, knowing now that it was the Lord’s will, I filled out an application to work at Southland.
And soon forgot about it.
In January, the Lord provided the military scholarship Craig & I had been waiting on. The finances appropriated were enough to cover the spring and next fall semester. With finances for school taken care of, I began praying that the Lord would give me an opportunity to minister this summer. Camp still seemed impossible, so I applied to go on a missions trip with the college. Soon after being accepted, I felt the Lord leading me to decline attending the trip.
“What’s going on, Lord?” I thought. “I want to minister for you this summer in some capacity!”
I had no reason to worry or doubt God’s providence. He knew exactly what He was doing.
A few weeks after declining the ministry I thought I had been praying for, the Lord opened a door I wasn’t expecting & fulfilled one of my life-long dreams.
Mike Herbster, director of Southland, emailed me one afternoon asking if I was still interested in working at the camp in Louisiana for the summer. The excuse that I had given Dave in the fall was invalid: I didn’t need to spend my summer working at home to make my down payment, God had already supplied that.
The door was wide open. The dream I thought impossible was a possibility.
God truly can do the impossible.
27 March 2010
the real cinderella
In case you haven't noticed, I love fairytales. I know, I know, the title of my blog does gives that away, but I sincerely believe that everyone is part of their own fairytale. The masterful Author of life is writing an amazing fairytale just for me & you. Being a lover of fairytales, I have read Grimm's Fairytales & watched pretty much every Disney & other animated fairytales. But I found a new one.
This "new" fairytale is rather old. The story-line is slightly suggestive of Disney's Cinderella. But Walt & his artists' redition pales in comparison. Only one Author could write a story so amazing.
This "new" fairytale is rather old. The story-line is slightly suggestive of Disney's Cinderella. But Walt & his artists' redition pales in comparison. Only one Author could write a story so amazing.
The Real Cinderella
Life was wonderful for Cinderella. She had been married for 10 years to her "prince". He & his family fled their home country & entered hers. Life was perfect: a dream come true.
But then things began to change. Eli, Cinderella's father-in-law, passed away. Then her brother-in-law. And then her prince. Suddenly, her perfect world was falling apart.
Left with nothing, Cinderella's mother-in-law, Mimi, desided to leave the country she had called home for a decade & return to the land of her people. Mimi blessed her daughters-in-law as she encouraged them to return to their families. They didn't want to leave her. They begged to return with Mimi to her home, but Mimi was resolute: she would return alone. Opi left, but Cinderella refused. She chose to give up everything, her home, her people, and her gods, just to stay with Mimi.
Mimi & Cinderella returned to Mimi's homeland completely destitute. They had nothing.
To provide for her aged mother-in-law & herself, Cinderella worked in local fields. Without knowing it, she began working in the field of the richest man in the land, Bo, who also happened to be a relation of Mimi. Bo noticed Cinderella. There was a sparkle in his eye as he asked his reapers who the foreign young lady was. When he was told, he could hardly contain his excitement. Bo's heart was racing when he met with Cinderell. He told her to only come to his field--he would make sure she left with plenty. He carefully concealed his identity; he did not want her to know who he was just yet.
At the end of the day she returned to Mimi with more than enough. Mimi was shocked & asked Cinderella to retell the events of her day. Cinderella shared everything, specifically the kindness of the rich land-owner, Bo. Mimi's eyes sparkled with excitement! Bo would be the natural & perfect match for Cinderella!
Mimi prepared a plan for Cinderella to meet with Bo. Following Mimi's explicit instructions, Cinderella met with Bo, asking him to fulfill his duty as a near kinsman by caring for Mimi & herself. Bo was delighted! But there was a problem. There was a man who was a closer relation & must be asked first. He sent Cinderella back to Mimi, reassuring her that he would rectify the situation.
Again, Cinderella returned to Mimi, telling her of Bo's promise. Mimi was encouraged, for Bo was a man of his word.
Early the next morning, Bo gathered officials of the city & the nearer relation of Mimi. As the men sat listening, Bo presented the relation with a grand opportunity--the land & wealth of Mimi's deceased husband. Greed swept through the relation. His eyes sparkled as he immediately agreed to claim the fortune.
"One more thing," said Bo, "you must also take Cinderella as your wife." (The laws of the land required a near relation to marry his deceased relation's wife in order to continue that man's family line.) That was a problem. The relation already had a wife & would not like another.
So, reluctantly, the man offered the wealth to Bo, who was next in line. The man took of his shoe (that's right, he lost a "slipper") to signify his promise to Bo.
Bo shook with excitement as he left the meeting. He ran quickly to the home of Mimi & told Cinderella the news. He was her prince!
Bo & Cinderella were married & soon Mimi was a gleaming grandma.
It is true, that Bo & Cinderella lived "happily ever after", but that is not the end of the story. You see, though she was a foreigner, Cinderella's great-grandson became the greatest king of that nation. And from that line came the an even greater king.
A fairytale written & recorded in a time which barely had history. A fairytale written by the most masterful Author, God Himself. If you haven't guessed already, the real Cinderella is Ruth of the Bible. Mimi is the faithful Naomi & her rich land-owning prince is Boaz. Their great-grandson is King David & from that line came the Savior of all mankind, Christ, the King of Kings.
18 January 2010
remember. repent. repeat.
"Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love."
Revelation 2:4
I know, I am an English major & my title for this post seems a little odd. Remember. Repent. Repeat. The title is more than three words, it's three imparative commands. Three "thou shalts", if you will. But here, I'm getting ahead of myself, let me give you some context. Last week we had spring revival services on campus with Dr. Tom Farrell. Though I have grown up under the preaching of this amazing man of God, I always know that the Lord will challenge me to change through Dr. Farrell's messages. This past week was no different.
On Monday, January 11, Dr. Farrell spoke on "The Danger of Desertion" from Revelation 2:4. His challenge: "have you left your first Love?" He introduced the answer of this question with an equation: Life - Love = NOTHING. Not the love of one man to another, though, as Christians, we are required to do so, but the love that I, a wretched sinner, show to my glorious Savior, Christ.
I am not articulate enough to persuade you with the passion of Dr. Farrell, but I will share with you his answer to "how would you know if you had left your first love?"
- A coolness towards the Savior
"You will never work right until you worship right." - A caulousness about sin
"Can I prove by my watcing & listening that I really LOVE Christ?" - A contendtedness about self
"The closer you get to Jesus the less you will love yourself."
"Am I abhoring any & all sin that God points out?" - A carelessness about souls
"Here, read this & meet me in heaven someday." - A contendedness among the saints
The church belongs to Christ. I am honored to serve in it.
So, next time you read Revelation 2:4, ask yourself, "have I left my first love?" If the answer is yes, evaluate yourself, remember who God is, repent, &, if needed, repeat.
14 January 2010
filled to the full
God provides. Do you know that? I don't mean do you understand the statement, but have you ever seen God provide for you personally? I have. Boy howdy, have I.
Philippians 4:19 (AMP) says, And my God will liberally supply (fill to the full) your every need according to His riches in glory in Jesus Christ.
It is true that I have seen the Lord provide thoughout my life. Not just in little ways either. In big ways: money for the bills, watching over Dad with his appendix & me with my surgery two years ago, protection from car wrecks & fires, & security, just to name a few. Philippians 4:19 says that He will provide for our every need. My family & I have seen Him provide for our needs in the past, but this time He really "knocked our woolly socks off".
Jarid married Lindsay in Phoenix, Arizona on 01.01.10. It was a wonderful time for my family, but the combination of the event, the trip, & the soon beginning of second semester equalled great financial strain for my family. I had to clean out my savings for my down payment & I was still going to be short. Craig had nothing.Not two pennies to rub together. NOTHING. I am a worrier & I love my brother, so it took alot of faith to believe that the Lord was going to provide. But I knew He would. He was asking Mom & I to wait so we could see Him work & so we would know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that college was not paid by Mom or me, but my Him.
Craig & I had to be on campus January 4th for Craig's preterm class. That's right, Craig took a whole class whithout know how the Lord was going to provide for him to stay for the rest of the semester. I was praying. Craig was praying. Mom & Dad were praying. We knew the Lord would provide because we were all confident that the Lord had called Craig to Maranatha.
The down payment ws due on Monday, January 11th. On Saturday, January 9th, I got a call from Mom. The GI Bill had finally gone though. The Lord was providing. Not just that, Dad's "lost" pay was rectified. The Lord was providing! Philippians 4:19 (AMP) says the Lord will "liberally supply" or "fill to the full" your every need, but the Lord did more than that, He gave us a want too. On Saturday night, while I was still bubbling with excitement over the new Mom had shared with me that mornig, Crystal texted me: "I just won a Wii!" I thought she was kidding (she is, after all, my big sister). It couldn't be true. The Lord gave us not only the money we needed for college, but also a Wii? Is God really that good? Yes, He really is.
My skepticism came back on Monday, Down Payment Day. AKA: The Worst Day of the Semester (it always makes me feel poor & I hate that feeling). I just knew that the business office would give us trouble, saying they couldn't accept the finanial aid statement without money. You never know how fast the government will give you the money they say they have given you. So, with grumblings in my heart, Craig & I headed to the financial aid office. After a rather short conversation with Mr. Roth, who is in charge of military financial aid, Craig & I got our packets (after a rather long wait) & headed to the registration room with our financial aid slips in hand. While we waited our turn in the business office line so they could update our financial aid, I looked at my bill to calculate how much I would have left to pay. That's when it sank in. That's when I realized I had a sudden fondness for this particular registration day. The day I hated so much. That is when I realized how good God had truly been to Craig & I -- & to my family. I'm no good at math, but even I could calculate that my financial aid would exceed what I had left on my bill. And not by just a little. By ALOT. Not just mine either, Craig had a significant surplus too! GOD IS GOOD! As the men in the business office entered the new financial aid, Criag & I could not stop laughing. God had provided for us in a miraculous way! He had truly "filled to the full" all of our needs!
I don't know how the rest of the semester will go or what surprises the next few month holdl, but I know tha tthe Lord will provide. Not just my needs, but my wants too.
Psalm 118:23--This is the Lord's doing; it is MARVELLOUS in our eyes.
Philippians 4:19 (AMP) says, And my God will liberally supply (fill to the full) your every need according to His riches in glory in Jesus Christ.
It is true that I have seen the Lord provide thoughout my life. Not just in little ways either. In big ways: money for the bills, watching over Dad with his appendix & me with my surgery two years ago, protection from car wrecks & fires, & security, just to name a few. Philippians 4:19 says that He will provide for our every need. My family & I have seen Him provide for our needs in the past, but this time He really "knocked our woolly socks off".
Jarid married Lindsay in Phoenix, Arizona on 01.01.10. It was a wonderful time for my family, but the combination of the event, the trip, & the soon beginning of second semester equalled great financial strain for my family. I had to clean out my savings for my down payment & I was still going to be short. Craig had nothing.Not two pennies to rub together. NOTHING. I am a worrier & I love my brother, so it took alot of faith to believe that the Lord was going to provide. But I knew He would. He was asking Mom & I to wait so we could see Him work & so we would know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that college was not paid by Mom or me, but my Him.
Craig & I had to be on campus January 4th for Craig's preterm class. That's right, Craig took a whole class whithout know how the Lord was going to provide for him to stay for the rest of the semester. I was praying. Craig was praying. Mom & Dad were praying. We knew the Lord would provide because we were all confident that the Lord had called Craig to Maranatha.
The down payment ws due on Monday, January 11th. On Saturday, January 9th, I got a call from Mom. The GI Bill had finally gone though. The Lord was providing. Not just that, Dad's "lost" pay was rectified. The Lord was providing! Philippians 4:19 (AMP) says the Lord will "liberally supply" or "fill to the full" your every need, but the Lord did more than that, He gave us a want too. On Saturday night, while I was still bubbling with excitement over the new Mom had shared with me that mornig, Crystal texted me: "I just won a Wii!" I thought she was kidding (she is, after all, my big sister). It couldn't be true. The Lord gave us not only the money we needed for college, but also a Wii? Is God really that good? Yes, He really is.
My skepticism came back on Monday, Down Payment Day. AKA: The Worst Day of the Semester (it always makes me feel poor & I hate that feeling). I just knew that the business office would give us trouble, saying they couldn't accept the finanial aid statement without money. You never know how fast the government will give you the money they say they have given you. So, with grumblings in my heart, Craig & I headed to the financial aid office. After a rather short conversation with Mr. Roth, who is in charge of military financial aid, Craig & I got our packets (after a rather long wait) & headed to the registration room with our financial aid slips in hand. While we waited our turn in the business office line so they could update our financial aid, I looked at my bill to calculate how much I would have left to pay. That's when it sank in. That's when I realized I had a sudden fondness for this particular registration day. The day I hated so much. That is when I realized how good God had truly been to Craig & I -- & to my family. I'm no good at math, but even I could calculate that my financial aid would exceed what I had left on my bill. And not by just a little. By ALOT. Not just mine either, Craig had a significant surplus too! GOD IS GOOD! As the men in the business office entered the new financial aid, Criag & I could not stop laughing. God had provided for us in a miraculous way! He had truly "filled to the full" all of our needs!
I don't know how the rest of the semester will go or what surprises the next few month holdl, but I know tha tthe Lord will provide. Not just my needs, but my wants too.
Psalm 118:23--This is the Lord's doing; it is MARVELLOUS in our eyes.
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