risks

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out for another is to risk involvement.

To expose your feelings is to risk exposing your true self.

To place your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is to risk their loss.

To love is to risk no being loved in return.

To live is to risk dying.

To hope is to risk despair.

To try is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

Persons who risk nothing do nothing, have nothing and are nothing.

They may avoid suffering and sorrow,
but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love, or live.

Chained by their attitudes, they are slaves, for they have forfeited their freedom.

Only a person who risks is free.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Risks & gambles. A seemingly natural part of life. Now, some people believe risk and gambles are synonomous. They are not. Risks are calculated leaps of faith where the reward is sure; gambles are spontanious action with limited (& impractical) possibilty of reward.

I don't know about you, but my life isn't a gamble. But it's not a risk either. Risks merely offer freedom--freedom to expand my horizens & envision something more.

So, are you up to taking some risks?

perfect protection

Christ is my Perfect Protection

"The LORD is my Shepherd"

Before we begin studying the characteristics of the Good Shepherd, we must understand what that title means. John 10:11,14 (AMP) says, "I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd risks and lays down His [own] life for the sheep. I am the Good Shepherd; and I know and recognize My own, and My own know and recognize Me." Isn't that amazing? Christ laid down his life for me--but He doesn't stop with sacrifice, He has claimed me as His own & recognizes my voice when I cry out in the night.

What does that phrase, "The LORD is my Shepherd," mean?
(I'll give you a hint, look at the title)--that's right, God is our perfect protection. What words come to mind when I say 'protection'? The ones I immediately thought of were shelter, tower, shield, & defense (quite a list, huh?). The Psalms are filled with verses proclaiming God as our shelter, tower, shield, & defense--Psalm 89:18, 91:4, 119:14, just to list a few.

Man has an opposing, sinful characteristic to go with each of God's holy ones. If God is our protection, what is man's problem? Give up? FEAR. We are afraid of everything!--spiders, darkness, fire, paper cuts, failure, people, & death, just to name a few. But, & here's a wonderful thought, we don't have to be afraid anymore--God is our perfect protection!

the Good Shepherd

I must admit that I was a horrible room leader last semester. I allowed my schedule & my academics to reign--& missed out on getting to know the four amazing girls I shared my room with. At the end of the semester, Holly asked one of the girls to move to second floor & now I'mm regretting the time I wasted getting to know her.

This is my last semester and it's going to be different. No more complacency. No more (ok, so less) selfishness--I won't let ME reign.

In light of that, I made two commitments with the Lord:
1) read my Bible at least 20 days each month
2) prepare a devotional lesson every week for my room

I knew where I was going personally, but I had no idea what to do for my room. On Sunday, January 9, I headed to Sunday School for the last time before heading back to college for my final semester at Maranatha. I never expected the Lord to give me what I had asked for: a series to study with my roommates.

My Sunday School teacher pointed out 16 characteristics of the Good Shepherd from Psalm 23. I was stunned & challenged by the characteristics of my God in such a short Psalm. What a blessing!

So, over the next semester I will be sharing with you what the Lord teaching my roommates & me about Himself from Psalm 23. Enjoy!

almighty Father

Tonight, I attended a childrens worker's meeting at CBC (my college extension church). Pastor Kurtz spoke on "Encouraging Children through Music". I have to admit that I grumbled when I first heard the topic. "Ugh," I thought, "not another sermon on music." WRONG ATTITUDE.

Pastor Kurtz's thoughts encouraged me. Childrens music can (& should) be exciting, God-honoring, & doctrinal--it should not, however, be "funny". Pastor Kurtz led the childrens workers in several songs interspersed through his lesson: "Be a Missionary" ended with a somewhat excited "Let's Go!" & we were asked to lay "Father Abraham" to rest.

But there was one song he mentioned that really thrummed my heartstrings. I song I love to sing in prayer & praise to God--& a wonderful song to sing with children.

I am so ashamed by my initial thoughts of the meeting, but I was encouraged when I left. I hope & trust that my ministry with children is just beginning, because I can't wait to teach the next generation about my awesome God through song.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Almighty Father

Almighty Father, You alone are holy. You are my refuge, I will trust in You.

You are a tower, a mighty fortress, You are my strength and shield. You are God.

Almighty Father, You alone are holy. You guide my footsteps that I may not fall.

In joy or sorrow, I will exalt You. You are my righteousness, You are God.

Almighty Father, You alone are holy. You are Creator, You are all in all!

Yours is the power, Yours is the glory. Yours is the majesty, You are God

webcams & secret mics

Today I experienced my first live on-line Educational Psychology class. And my experience can only be described as mortifying.

Now, I want to preface the story by telling you that I typically enjoy my college classes & I love the professor, Dr. Bruce Jackson. You should also know that I have never used a webcam before & do not have one built into my computer. I don't even like the idea of a webcam. Hello? CREEPY! Plus, sometimes technology chooses to embarrass & mock me. Honestly. I work with computers in most of my jobs, yet they always find a way to . . . well, mortify me.

Once a week, I have to use my webcam to participate in a live class session (Dr. Jackson retired from MBBC two years ago and moved to Colorado. He teaches Ed Psych from the comfort of his home in the Colorado mountains.). The live session scared me because I've never used a webcam before (I know, I know, incredibly archaic of someone my age).

Mandy & I met in the dining common & found a quiet booth away from the laughter & buzz of students eating lunch. 12:15--five minutes until class started. Plenty of time to set up the computer & get logged in. Mandy ran to get coffee while I prepared the computer.

That's when the troubles began.

First, my computer showed no visible signs of life when I pulled it out of my bag. That meant relocation to a table near a plug in. By 12:18, Mandy returned with her coffee and helped me move. We would enter the class late, but we were sure Dr. Jackson would be understanding.

12:22--With the computer connected to power & the webcam set teetering at the top of the computer screen, we logged in. We could hear Dr. Jackson, see his PowerPoint, & laughed at our various classmates who sometimes acted as though they were unaware they were being videoed. As my gaze roamed the computer screen, I realized that we couldn't see our picture. Mandy texted a friend (also in the class). No, they couldn't see us either. Stink. What did we do wrong?

Precious class-time ticked off the clock as Mandy ran to her bag (which we cannot bring in the dining common) to get a cheat sheet we were given in class last week.

12:25--We skimmed the cheat sheet & figured out how to connect the camera to the Adobe program. Hooray we were on! That's when the real horrors (for me, at least--Mandy just laughed & laughed) began.

Apparently, as soon as you turn the camera in the program, it automatically turns the mic on--permanently. The function works like a walkie-talkie, only at the beginning it's like the talk button is taped down. Get my drift? Well, being the first time my computer has used the webcam, it (my computer) froze while it figured out what programs would be necessary to function properly (ie. the webcam, the mic I plugged in, the Internet, and the Adobe program opened).

Now, I consider myself pretty adequate when using computer technologies. However, I did not know that I had a speaker built into my computer (who would assume such a thing when I do not have a webcam built in?).

Are you laughing yet? I hope you are. Mandy hasn't stopped laughing since this afternoon. I'm learning to, though, again, I'm still mostly mortified.

Anyway, my computer froze once we entered the room. I knew the camera was on, however, I didn't think about the mic. When my computer froze, I assumed that the other members of the room were no longer receiving feedback. Wrong. Apparently several class members & Dr. Jackson tried to tell us what was going on--only I wasn't receiving any of their posts or comments. Finally, Deb texted us, "We can hear you." WHAT?! I could have died. So, for seven minutes (I mean that literally. We watched the recording of the class this evening--mortifying.) the class & Dr. Jackson heard Mandy laugh as I verbally shared my frustrations (luckily, Mandy was closer to the mic. The only thing I said that could be distinguished, "the program just froze . . . I hate this . . ."). I kept trying to resolve the problem while the Dr. Jackson tried to go on with class (Mandy & I even called for technical help. Unfortunately, the lady did not answer her office or cell phone). Unfortunately, because our mic was on, those seven minutes of lecture are muddled by the sounds of the dining common.

After what seemed to be eternity, my computer finally caught up with me to shut down the Internet. Finally, we were off-line. I unplugged the camera, hoping my computer would fare better tackling one task at a time. My hands trembled as I reconnected to the Internet. "Lord," I prayed, "please let this connect properly this time." Mandy laughed as I looked at her & said, "Shut up, we're logging back on."

Upon re-entering the room I immediately turned off the automatic talk function. We listened to the lecture for about five minutes before I braved plugging the camera back in. "You want to try?" I asked Mandy. "Sure." With a huge lump in my throat & knot in my stomach I plugged in the camera & turned it on in Adobe. I fully expected the talk button to automatically turn on. It didn't, praise the Lord.

The rest of the class proceeded as normal with a few sound glitches. We laughed as Deb & Trisha knocked their camera off, sending viewers on a 360 ride of Trisha's room. We laughed as we watched Korinne fall asleep. But I think everyone, including Dr. Jackson, got their laugh of the day watching Mandy & I struggle through the first ten minutes of logging in.

After class Mandy & I laughed (okay, Mandy laughed & I blushed to the point of clashing with my hair) with classmates as I tried to explain (with Mandy's interjections of "I thought it was hilarious!") what exactly happened.

All I can say is, I'm glad it's over. And, as I always seek to, I definitely learned something new today.

Oh, & for future reference, I think there should be a day where all the students log in before class starts to ensure all programs are working properly.

You know, so no one is mortified, like me.

the lost hero

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.

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.