Aisles, Empty Nest, and "I DO"

 August 22, 1992, I walked down an aisle to marry the man that I love.

Today, August 22, 2016, exactly 24 years later, I watched another man that I love walk down another aisle--an airport corridor, actually, to head back to the States to begin his second year at Liberty University. 

Today, August 22, 2016, exactly 24 years later, I received a text message with a photo of another man that I love heading off on a bicycle to his first day of classes at Ivy Tech.

Suddenly, I'm keenly aware of the fact that we officially have an "empty nest." Who knew time could pass so quickly? How I cherished every minute! And I'm eager to cheer them on in their next steps. 

Many have warned me about the deep sense of loss that a mother might experience at this point in the parenting journey. I thought that perhaps I'd be immune from such sentiments. After all, I have a pretty full life, a busy ministry schedule, and all sorts of projects in the works, not to mention I'm in seminary. And it's not like those boys have needed much mothering these past few years.

And yet....

Yes, something has changed. Its not so much about a loss of identity, but a loss of proximity. They're still my boys, they're just, well, far. Far away from me. Getting on with life. Moving away. Moving on. 

As they should.

In the meantime, that guy to whom I said "I DO" 24 years ago is sitting by my side, holding my hand. Together we marvel at what has been and delight in what is still yet to be. 

This one I get to keep.

Tweet

40 Things I Love about My Forties!

Today is my 45th Birthday. I like my age, and I'm glad for every one of the 45 years I've lived. They'll be no whining about the fact that reading glasses are now a required accessory or that I can't pack away the ice cream like I used to. I love the changing seasons of life, each one bringing new hopes and dreams into focus. 

So as I hit the half-way mark through my forties, I thought I'd list 40 things I love about my forties--so far. Ready?

Thus far, in my forties...

1. I learned to speak French!
2. I fell in love with comté, vouvray, and fois gras.
3. I saw both my boys graduate from high school.
4. I learned to knit.
5. I became a "grand voyageur" according to SNCF, the French rail system.
6. I started seminary.
7. I tried to write a book, and failed, but didn't regret trying!
8. I went to Spain, Austria, Ireland, Italy, Croatia, and Greece for the first time.
9. I started learning calligraphy.
10. I went through a "dark night of the soul" and lived to tell about it.
11. I came to terms with my apostolic and prophetic gifting, and gave up trying to fit into the "good Christian woman" box.
12. I made the switch to an iPhone and did not lose my soul.
13. I fell more and more and more in love with David.
14. I got a Dutch God-daughter!
15. I learned to love community prayer. I learned to need community prayer.
16. I changed my view about the role of women in the church.
17. I stopped driving (except when I'm in the States) and learned to rely on public transportation.
18. I stopped buying clothes that are "Made in China." I started buying Fair Trade Coffee.
19. I discovered Ignatius' Spiritual Exercises--and did them. And keep doing them.
20. I learned to practice the discipline of Silence. Every. Single. Day.
21. I became a "third culture" person. No longer fully American, yet never fully French.
22. I kept running, even though I would have liked to have quit.
23. I stopped eating or drinking anything with artificial sweeteners and greatly reduced my sugar intake at the same time.
24. I became a church planter.
25. I marveled at the wisdom of my young adult children. 
26. I found that I love to read memoirs.
27. I learned to wear scarves. And boots. And even bikinis.
28. I made amazing friends at George Fox Evangelical seminary--Shout out to Cohort 14!
29. I have a deepening appreciation of God's work in my life.
30. I participated in the Leighton Ford Mentoring Community, which ministered to me in deep and healing ways.
31. I skied in the Alps. Lots of times.
32. I learned to make Tartiflette. Yum-o!
33. I started putting honey in my tea.
34. I lost a house, and realized, in the end, I didn't need a house anyway.
35. I discovered the band Of Monsters and Men (Thanks, Graham!)
36. I preached a lot. In French. But I also learned that I don't need to preach. My identity is no longer tied to my gifts.
37. I crocheted an Angry Birds hat and a stuffed Hobbes (from Calvin and Hobbes). Those are my favorite things I've ever made!
38. I  reached the expert level of Hot Shots Golf on the Play Station (Thanks, Chan!)
39. I finally read Richard Foster's classic book on Prayer and regretted waiting so long to read it.
40. I am less and less sure of me, and more and more sure of Jesus.

Tweet

Fill Their Treasuries

I was raised by a man who was well-traveled. My father's work took him around the globe, and he never ceased to be amazed by his adventures. But the continent of Europe always held a special place in his heart. For years he corresponded with a German pastor who had come to a living faith long after he became a pastor in the State-sponsored church. My Dad often dreamed about the possibility of moving to Europe to start small group Bible Studies or even house churches. While he had a vision for what could be--he never received a Call. And so he remained faithful to the Call God had given him--serving in the local church, teaching Junior High Sunday School, leading Agape Groups, chairing Elder Boards, fathering his daughters (and countless numbers of their friends), and loving his wife.

When I tell people about our call to mission service in France, I often explain that I have the sense that my Father's heart is beating in me as I live out this call. And I never get the feeling that Dad was disappointed wth his own call--he served (and continues to serve) with joy and grace and passion. Yet, he can hardly talk about what I am doing in France without tears in his eyes. Part of that is simply a Father's pride. But most of it is a sense of fulfillment. The vision he had is being fulfilled, and as God's vision for Europe moves towards a time of great fruitfulness, Dad delights to watch it happen. My participation just gives him a front row seat to the action.  

Still, I couldn't help but wonder for the past five years if Dad was experiencing regret. Did he wish it had been his call? Today I have a new insight.

One of my sons is writing a book. This morning I received a draft of the preface, and as I read it my eyes welled up with tears. It's brilliant, real, and profound. I have dreamed my whole life of writing a book, but as I read the words written by my son, I knew deep in my soul that he would be the first one in the family to publish a book. And in the same moment, I realized that the thought of my son publishing a book brought me much MORE joy and satisfaction than the thought of publishing one myself. 

Similarly, there was a time when David dreamed of being a surgeon. Clearly, that was not God's call on his life. But this morning we sent one of our boys off to his first day of medical school. The thought of his son becoming a doctor brings David much MORE joy and satisfaction than the thought of becoming one himself ever had. 

Which makes me think of King David, and his vision to build a Temple for the God he dearly loved. There is no doubt that the vision was God inspired--but the call would belong to another. It was David's son Solomon who saw the vision come to fruition. But David played his part. He recognized that God had not called him to build  the temple, but God did give him the joy and the privilege of gathering supplies. For years King David procured materials and built up storehouses so that when the time was right, Solomon had everything that he needed to build the temple. The vision was so sure in David's heart, that he planned for it to become a reality even though he himself would never see it.

My Dad gave me storehouses of resources that are fueling the work that I get to do. It is out of those storehouses that I find my own sense of joy, grace, and passion for my call. And I can only hope that my sons are as richly supplied. For this is the best inheritance we can give.

Parents of little ones--think even now about the storehouses you are filling--for it may be your babies that will live out your God-inspired vision. Are you equipping them for task?

I walk in the path of righteousness,

in the pathway of justice,

21 

that I may cause those who love me to inherit wealth,

and that I may fill their treasuries.

Proverbs 8: 20-21

Tweet

Good News/ Bad News

Good News: I finished my summer term of seminary, and I now have a break until September! I am eager to read FICTION, get back into a regular rhythm of blogging, and begin working on plans for a new ministry endeavor that I have brewing in my head.

Bad News: Our third application for an apartment in Lyon was denied.

Good News: Some very dear friends have offered to be co-signers for us, so our next application has a fighting chance!

Bad News: I (who almost NEVER play video games) have become addicted to a Play Station game called Hot Shots Golf. No, I don't golf in real life. But I'm beginning to understand the attraction. I'm having to self-impose limits on my gaming time, and while I can stick to my limits, I'm amazed at how confining they feel. And for the record, I totally blame Chandler, who had actually started praying that we would find a video game that I like to play.

Good News: I'm getting good at Hot Shots Golf. Yesterday I even beat David. I shot a -11 on 18 holes in Okinawa.

Bad News: My hip, which started hurting back in October, has worsened. I'm going in for an x-ray next week.

Good News: A hip x-ray in France costs 27,50€. That's a little over $30 with today's exchange rate. For reals.

Bad News: If the x-ray shows any sign of arthritis (which my doctor says is unlikely given my age, but still a possibilty) I will have to stop running.

Good News: If the x-ray shows any sign of arthritis I get to stop running!

Bad News: We won't be taking a vacation this summer--moving is our big splurge.

Good News: We still have some time off in August, which we will (hopefully) be able to use to get settled in Lyon. And exploring our new city will feel sort of like a vacation! Except the packing. I hate packing.

Bad News: I need to pack.

Good News: When all things are offered up to the Lord, bad news is made good. That's the gospel, Friends. Beauty from ashes. From video games to x-rays to packing--I rejoice, for my redemption draws near.

Tweet

The Bac Results

French Bac results are posted on the door of the main office of the Lycée, and since we live right accross the street from the Lycée, we have witnessed the excitement of this day every summer for the past four years. Students arrive, nervous. Then they quickly scan the pages, looking for their name. Chandler's school has a 97% pass rate, so for the most part students are not too worrried about passing, they are curious to find out if they received a "mention," which is what I think Americans would call an "honor."

The grading system is a complex formula that assigns varying coefficients to each subject matter depending on the chosen major of the student. For example, as a Science Major, Chandler's math, biology, and Physics/chemistry exams had the highest coefficients, while history, philosphy, and languages had lower coefficients. The highest possible grade is 20/20. A student must acheive 10/20 to pass. Honors are given for 12-14/20 ( Assez Bien or Satisfactory), 14-16/20 (Bien or Well Done) and 16-18/20 (Très Bien or Very Well Done). Anything over 18 is extremely rare, but when it happens the student receives a Very Well Done plus the congratulations of the jury.

This year, the event had personal significance, since Chandler's results would be posted on those doors. It's a quintessentially French moment...there are no graduation ceremonies, no caps and gowns, just the day of results coupled with millions of text messages offering congratulations (or condolences, as the case my be). Once the students see their posted results, they can pick up their official results in the office, which gives the breakdown of their perfomance in each subject area. Then they gather with their classmates and compare notes. Here you can see Chandler (in orange) consulting with his friends.

Chandler passed with a "mention Bien," which is signified by the B after his name in the photo below. (By the way, that is a reflection of our house in the photo, Chandler's name written on our roof!) Professors also gather at the school to congratulate students on their results. Chandler's professors were pleased with his results, some were clearly emotional. They have watched him fight these past four years, having to learn French while preparing for this major exam. Their respect for what he has accomplished and their delight in his success was was evident in their words and demeanor. 

Chandler's overall score was 15/20, but he was most pleased with his score on the Math section--a perfect 20/20. For us, the greatest achievement has been his perseverance, his resilliancy, and his faithfulness. He has done a really hard thing with amazing tenacity and a brilliant attitude. We couldn't be more proud. 

Tweet

A Birthday to Remember

Wednesday was Chandler's 18th Birthday, and I wanted it to be special!

I wanted it to be special because I have such special memories of my own 18th Birthday. When I turned 18 I asked my parents for a new Bible. They took me out to dinner at Benihana's where they presented me with a lovely new Bible. And then they handed me another gift. Much to my surprise, my parents gave me pair of real diamond earrings. I was stunned by the beauty and extravagance of the gift. I still have my diamond earrings and I wear them often. I don't remember many birthdays, but I will always remember that one.

So with Chanlder's 18th Birthday fast approaching, I was eager to figure out how I could make it a day to remember. We had purchased him a nice wallet as a gift and I had planned all of his favorite meals, but it just didn't seem, well, special enough. And with David out of town, I would be the only guest at the party. I just knew it would be a flop. And I was so sad.

At prayer that morning, we prayed that God would especially bless Chandler on his birthday. Still, I didn't know how to make that happen. After prayer a friend asked what we were going to do to celebrate. As 18 is the legal drinking age in France, I mentioned that I was cooking a special dinner and that Chandler has requested a shot of whiskey to celebrate. He had tried whiskey when touring the Jameson Distillery in Ireland a few years ago, and he had taken a liking to it. So my friend suggested that a few of us go out to a local bar and toast Chandler for his 18th Birthday. I was thrilled at the idea, and a plan was set in motion.

At 8:30 pm we gathered at The Caravage. There were ten of us all together, aged 16 to 70. Some brought gifts. All brought love. And Chandler was completely in his element.

The waiter brought the whiskey list, insisting that the Japanese whiskey was the best. Chandler took his advice--and ordered a glass. The smile on his face says it all. We sat outdoors, chatting and sipping drinks until the sun went down. Deeply content, we kissed everyone goodnight, said our farewells, and began to walk back home. And that was when the magic happened.

As we walked over cobblestone streets, we began to see lights floating up into the air. Up in the royal part of the medieval city, hundreds of laterns were being released. As they danced across the velvet sky, Chandler marveled and I held back tears. I had done nothing great to make his birthday special, but God surprised us all with diamonds in the sky.

Tweet

A Birthday Walk

Yesterday was my 44th birthday.

As I headed toward the track for my scheduled run, I found myself moved to take a detour. I turned toward Les Prairies du Roy, a nice big field with  a walking path through it. I didn't have a plan or an agenda, yet; I felt inclined to slow down, breath deeply, and listen.

The sun was shining, a rare sight in Loches in February. A gift.

Lifting my eyes up to the deep blue sky, I asked the Lord to join me on my walk. I knew, of course, that he was already there. What I really sought was a greater awareness of his presence--remembering how he used to take walks through Eden with Adam and Eve.

There was no glowing aura, no thundering voice, no rustling leaves. But somehow I knew he was near. And we walked.

I went automatically towards a known path, but quickly discovered that it was flooded. The impasse meant either the end of my walk, or a need to find another way. My eyes moved to different path. One I had often noticed but never taken.

A new year, a new path.

The road less taken was uneven and rocky. It meandered seemingly meaninglessly, turning when straight seemed possible. I was forced to slow my pace again to avoid tripping or twisting an ankle. I felt like a pioneer, urged on by the thrill of discovery. But safe because I knew my travel companion had not abandoned me.

Just when I began to think that the path I was on was no path at all, I saw a carefully placed bench. A place for rest and reflexion there on the rocky road. I didn't sit, I was on a quest. Yet I was somehow reassured by the bench. As if its presence validated my route.

While God didn't speak words to me on our walk, he spoke gently through the walk. As David and I seek his plan for our future, we somtimes come up against impasses. The way is blocked. The door is closed. But the journey is not over.

As way opens in another direction, it may not be smooth sailing. The path may be uneven and rocky, but that doesn't mean it isn't the right path. And so I'm learning to rest in the meandering rhythms of grace. Delighting in the journey rather than obsessing about the destination.

Trusting the silent guide who never leaves my side.

Tweet

The Suitcase

If I had to choose an ornament from my tree to represent 2014, I suppose I would choose this one. A suitcase. Which is ironic because one of the things I hate most in life is packing a bag. I love to travel. I hate to pack. I put it off to the very last minute, and it is about the only time EVER that I actually resort to whining. But I'm learning to accept packing and suitcases as a regular part of life these days. 

In 2014 I:

• crossed the Atlantic 6 times
• took over 20 trains
• set foot in 4 countries

Compared to those who travel for business, my miles are fairly conservative. But compared to my life ten years ago, where I rarely left Spokane, my miles are significant. I can't even count the number of times I've packed my suitcase, as the above numbers don't take road trips into account. But I do know that there were only three months out of the year (Feb, Mar, Jul) that I didn't use my suitcase, and there were many months (May, Jun, Aug, Oct, Nov) when I used it multiple times. 

And mostly I like the activity. I love the things that I get to do, the ministies with which I am involved, and the people I get to meet and serve. It all comes at a lovely season in life, as my boys are becoming more independent and I have been able to begin seminary and make greater investments outside of the home. The travel itself can be exhausting, but the reasons for the travel are extremely invigorating...life-giving. After four and half years in France, I am finally finding my sweet spot. 

The Lord gave me the word, "fly" for 2014, and apparently it had both literal and figurative meaning. Being married to a pilot, I have many tiny airplanes hanging on my tree. So why did I choose the suitcase instead of un avion? I think it's because the flights represent the changes and transitions, but the suitcase stays the same. In the suitcase, I have my essentials. No matter where I go, the clothes I bring are pretty much the same. I pack my necessities, and while I don't have much, I always have enough. Seasoned travelers--of which I am becoming one--travel light. They quickly learn that having too much is not an asset, it's a liability. 

This has been a year of learning what is essential. Of clinging tightly to the things that matter, and releasing freely everything else.  

There is already a decent bit of travel on the calendar for 2015, not to mention a move. We will be relocating--still in France--to plant a church in another village. I suppose the suitcase may be a lasting icon for my life. In some ways, I was made to be a vagabond. In other ways, my feet long for a place to root. A nest that feels like home. A place to belong. Suitcase people belong everywhere and nowhere all at once. I need to let my heart find its continual rest in Jesus while my body practices perpetual motion. And I'm learning to lean into the comfort of the few brave souls that God has given me as refuges--they are like spiritual docking stations located around the globe. These people carry me with their prayers, sustain me by their encouragement, and bless me with their love. They know how a kind word spoken at the right moment can traverse any distance. They help me stay connected to my source. 

So as the year draws to a close, and I replay with wonder the joys and the sorrows that have graced 2014, I'm thankful. Thankful for suitcases and docking stations. For meetings and partings. For God's kingdom work around the globe, and the tiny role I get to play in his redemptive drama. 

And now, I kid you not, I need to go pack. 

Tweet

Counting by Subtraction

We count our blessings by addition. That's how it's done.

But I wonder, can we also count our blessings by subtraction? 

Can we look at the things that have been taken from us, and count ourselves blessed? Can we see the grace of God by what he gives AND by what he takes away?

Often when we pass through the valleys of life well-meaning people will tell us to think of those who have it worse. In the beloved movie White Christmas, Bing sings, "When my bankroll is getting small, I think of those who have none at all, and I fall asleep counting my blessings." 

Is this how we are meant to traverse the trials of life? There are two major problems with this approach! First, it reveals a tremendous lack of compassion for those whose struggles are greater than my own. The fact that I have it better than another person is no reason to rejoice! That thought should double my grief, not ease it. Second, this approach fails for the one is at the bottom of the pile. Finally someone has it worse than everyone else. Where is their consolation? I don't think that God ever advocates the comparison technique. It's great to have perspective so that we don't become completely overwhelmed by a hangnail, for example. But we can't grade God's grace on a curve. His grace and love are always 100% for every living being. 

If I start there-- if I begin with the belief that come what may, God is always acting on my behalf with amazing grace and unending love, then I look at my trials through different lenses. In fact, I think we need such lenses--corrective lenses--to see our life and our circumstances more clearly. 

So while 2014 has been a beautiful and blessed year in so many ways, we have also had the privilege of walking a difficult path, where regret threatened to overwhelm us. But the mighty hand of God proved greater and stronger than all our shame.

Many of you know that back when we lived in the States, our house flooded severely. We lost everything on the ground floor of our home and it took more than six months to rebuild and refurnish. Because our house was situated in a 100-year flood plain, and because the house hadn't flooded in 80 years, we figured that we had suffered our one flood for our lifetime. We put great care into every detail of the rebuilding, believing that this would be the home where we would spend the rest of our lives. And then God called us to France. So we rented out our home, believing that keeping it would allow us to continue paying off a mortgage so that when we finally retired we would have a paid-for house. 

But the house flooded again in 2012. By this time we were in France. Renters were left homeless and we were left without renters for another 4 months of renovations, which we managed to negotiate from France because we had enormous help from dear friends in Spokane. 

Once again restored, the house was happily occupied by a young widow and her four children. She loved the house! And we were thrilled to have such a great renter. The only problem was that house needed a new roof. We had saved some towards a new roof, but we were far from having the full sum. Then David's beloved Granny died and left us an inheritance. While it wasn't millions, it was probably the most money we had ever had at our disposal in one lump sum. We thanked God for his provision, and we spent every penny of it on a new roof for our house. That was in October of 2013.

Then, in 2014, the house flooded again. Severely. Twice.

 That made four floods in eight years. Clearly, the "100-year flood plain" designation was no longer accurate. We looked at having the house raised and numerous other options, but in the end, we couldn't find anything that would work.

So we found ourselves with the grave realization that we could not continue to rent out a house that flooded every other year. We could not sell a house that flooded every other year. Nor could we afford the mortgage on a house that flooded every other year when God had called us to be missionaries in France.

We didn't regret buying the house, because there wasn't a single day that I lived in that house that I did not sense God's hand of grace on our lives there. We had many, many happy days in Spangle. But we did regret the fact that we were helpless to repay a loan on a house that was no longer habitable. And we did regret that fact that we had just put a beautiful new roof on an uninhabitable house. And we scratched our heads and wondered how that inheritance--which had seemed like such a blessing at the time, had slipped through our hands into oblivion. 

We did our best to keep up on the mortgage while we explored options, but in the end, the only option that made sense was what the bank called a "Deed in Lieu of Foreclosure." The bank got the house and all of the insurance money for the last two floods, and we walked away without any further mortgage obligations. We couldn't even take the new roof with us. The fig trees failed to blossom....

Yet, I will praise him. 

There is no amazing twist to the end of this story. Sometimes God works a miracle and turns a lousy situation into something great. But sometimes lousy is the end of the story. The story of our house, our retirement plan, our new 30-year roof, ends in loss. 

Yet, I will praise him.

Because his love for me is not revealed through my circumstances. His love for me is revealed despite my circumstances. His care for me is sure. He knows the plan in full, I only see parts. My house is gone. But my feet are sure. Like the feet of a deer. He makes me able to walk on the rocky cliffs.

In fact, I think I finally understand what Paul meant when he wrote, "Whatever were gains to me, I now consider loss for the sake of Christ." 

The cost of true discipleship is not cheap. Following Jesus costs me everything. I know this. But do I hold my blessings in an open hand? Am I in love with the blessings or the bless-er? And if all the blessings were suddenly gone, would I still praise him? His love for me is unconditional...but is my love for him unconditional? 

Yet, I will praise him.

I will praise him because he saved me. He fills me with joy and he grants me his peace. His love is inexhaustible and his grace is greater than all my sin. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer, which means that wherever he leads, I will follow. But if I want to go to the heights with the Lord, I need sure feet and empty hands. And so when the Lord takes something dear from my hands, I can be sure he is taking me to the heights. And I can praise him.

Can you count your blessings by subtraction? When he takes something from your hands can you count the loss among your blessings? What have you lost this year? Yet, will you praise him?

Tweet

An Unlikely Christmas Letter

Advent. The season of anticipation, where we look forward to the coming Christ. It's also a time when many of us look back over the year, reflect and evaluate. As we prepare to write those Christmas letters, we look for highlights and focus on the positive. No one wants to read about hardship and suffering, so we all become spin doctors, putting a shine on the stories we choose to share.

And while I understand the heart behind these glad tidings, while I rejoice that your child is on the honor roll and I'm thrilled that you finally took that long-anticipated vacation, and I'm excited that your remodeling project turned out even better than expected (if not a wee bit over budget), I find myself asking if maybe we are missing something.

Don't get me wrong, I hear (and I share!) your genuine gratitude for the many ways that God has blessed you this year. And there is nothing wrong--in fact there are many things right--with taking time to recognize the hand of God in our lives. We bless God for the good things. As well we should. But have we learned to bless God for the bad things?

Can we appreciate the sovereignty and grace of God in the messy parts of life, and bless him? I wonder what would happen if, in all sincerity, my Christmas Letter read like Habakkuk 3, where the prophet speculates about a season of total and utter disaster. The fig trees don't blossom, there are no grapes on the vine, the olives fail, and the fields produce no crops. To top it all off, there are no sheep in the pens and no cattle in the stalls. Remembering that Habakkuk was speaking to a group of people whose total livelihood was dependent on agriculture, this is a pretty grim picture.

Can you go there? Maybe, in fact, you have been there this year. Maybe everything that you attempted failed. Maybe your child is not on the honor roll, but is struggling to earn passing grades. Maybe you didn't take a vacation--and you can't imagine that you will ever be able to afford one. Maybe remodeling isn't in the picture because you can barely keep up with the mortgage. Add to that the death of a beloved pet, a scary health diagnosis, and a fractured friendship, and we'd be getting close to the what Habakkuk was talking about. In essence, the Christmas Letter in Habakkuk 3 reads like a tragedy in verses 16 and 17. Which is why the following verses are so profound. Habakkuk basically describes a worst-case scenario, and then he says this:

yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

    I will be joyful in God my Savior.

Why is Habakkuk joyful? Is this that fake Christian "paste a smile on your face and don't let anyone see your pain" sort of rejoicing? Is this some platitude of what "should" be, but something that no one actually experiences? Or does Habakkuk live in the State of Washington, where pot is now legal? The following verse gives even greater depth to what Habakkuk is describing:

The Sovereign Lord is my strength;

    he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,

    he enables me to tread on the heights.

No, this is not a shallow joy. This is the hard-won joy of a weay traveler. The sovereign Lord--that is to say, the one who allowed all of the crops to fail, the one who had the power to stop my suffering and didn't, the one who may have even ordained such pain for my life--the sovereign Lord is my strength. Have I learned to let the sovereign Lord be my strength? Do I trust the one who brought me TO the hard places to take me THROUGH the hard places?

Here's how I'll know. My feet will be agile, able to tread on the heights. Agile feet don't get bogged down by rough terrain. Agile feet keep moving. Agile feet love to run broad meadows, but they are not detered by steep cliffs. Many of us want to tread on the heights, but we are not willing to scale the mountains. The heights are often discoved through the depths. 

When I finally grasp that, then suffering becomes a welcome friend--an invitation to climb a mountain with the one who will make me sure-footed. 

To be continued...

Later this week, I'll share our Habakkuk 3 experience from 2014.

Tweet

The Beginning of the Bac

Remember the SAT?

Now imagine if it didn't only have English and Math sections, but chemistry, biology, history, and TWO foreign languages. Then imagine taking that test in a language other than English.

Ouf.

THAT is what Chandler began today. He is the French equivalent of a Junior in High School, and he was required to take the French Written section of his Baccalaureate Exam today. On July 1 he will take his French Oral exam. Next year he will test in all of the other subjects. Grades do not matter when it comes to earning a High School diploma (Baccalaureate) in France, one MUST achieve a certain combined score on his final exams. 

This morning, as I got ready to drive Chandler to his exam, I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him. So I looked him in the eye, and started to speak, but I got totally choked up. What that boy has accomplished in these four years in France is impressive. He's virtually mastered a second language! But even more impressive is the spirit with which he's achieved this lofty goal. Chandler has been a picture of perseverance, faithfulness, and optimism. He has been tenacious but kind, dogged but hopeful. 

The results matter. This test will affect his future. But the most important results have already been determined. Chandler is an over-comer. 

Tweet

Happy New Year from the French Alps!

The boys are here for their GEM Youth Conference, and David and I tagged along to help with cooking for the group. Graham is leading worship and enjoying time with his best friend, Kayla.

Chandler broke his toe, but it didn't stop him from tearing up the slopes. He skied like a maniac on that foot, swearing all along that he felt no pain. 

Between meal preparation I find a fire and put up my feet, read a bit, or knit a few rows.

Even the cooks were blessed with a free afternoon to hop up the mountain and ski. It was a wonderful sunny day.

Seriously, I know 40-somethings shouldn't take selfies, but David and I wanted to catch our moment together on the slopes.

What a wonderful way to start a new year!

Tweet

Love Notes from Dad

My Dad, who always made my school lunches, would often tuck little notes of encouragement into my brown bag. I remember feeling such a boost when, in the midst of a hectic school day, I would sit down in a noisy lunchroom, open my sack, and find his tender words among my sandwich and carrot sticks.

This week, it seemed like my heavenly Father sent me a few such love notes. As I traveled to the town of Mâcon to help train mentors for emerging French leaders, as I was far from family and immersed in many unknowns, as I timidly stepped out into a new ministry opportunity, God whispered words of blessing through unexpected messengers.

The first whisper came on the train. I had already traveled from Tours to Paris and traversed Paris via the metro from Gare Montparnasse to Gare de Lyon. Then I boarded another train in order to get from Paris to Mâcon. I found my seat at the back of the car and settled in with my computer to work on a monthly report. I tapped away on the keyboard for about half an hour, and then paused to eat a sandwich. In that moment, my seatmate--a thirty-something French man--asked, "Are you Jennifer Williamson?" It turns out that my seatmate was a pastor who was headed to Mâcon to be trained and encouraged as a mentor, and he recognized me from a photo in an email where I had been introduced as one of the facilitators for the group. We had a lovely conversation the rest of the journey. In that moment it was as if God said to me, "I see you."

The second whisper came at the retreat center the next day. The man who was in charge of all the logistics for the event approached me just before a lunch break seeking a minute of my time. I thought he was going to tell me something about a reimbursement for my travel expenses, but he hesitated and said instead, "I had a dream or a vision or something last night, and I think I am supposed to tell you about it." He was almost apologetic, not wanting to freak me out, and insisting that it could have just been a strange dream, but he wanted to tell me about it nonetheless. In the dream, he saw me before the throne of God, praying for something that had been heavy on my heart for a long time--though he didn't know exactly what that "something" was. He then heard the Lord say, "Be patient." And that was it. I thanked him sincerely. In that moment it was as if God said to me, "I hear you."

The third whisper came on the last day of the conference. There was a man at the mentoring community in Mâcon who had also been at the church planting conference in Lyon two weeks prior, where I had been responsible for the times of meditation. He sought me out intentionally to tell me how the Lord had used the meditations that I had shared in Lyon to speak specifically to him. God touched him in an amazing and unexpected way--in a way that I could never have anticipated or orchestrated. I was blown away by his story, and I thanked him for telling it to me. In that moment it was as if God said to me, "I'm using you."

I could have opened my Bible to Genesis and the story of Hagar and realized through her experience that God sees me. I could have read Hannah's story in the book of 1 Samuel and deduced that God hears me. I could have scanned through Paul's many letters and come to the conclusion that God uses his children for his purposes. And yet....

And yet God, in his tender mercy, chose to speak these things directly to me, he chose to write them into the very pages of my life. He sends loving, personal expressions of his grace if I just open my heart to receive them. He's such a great Dad.

Tweet

Inconceivable

Today I was thinking about Aimée, my precious god-daughter. Don't let that sweet face fool you, she's only smiling because I had raisins. Mostly she screams when I hold her. Which is fine, because I love her just the same.

She doesn't like me yet, and while I hope that she one day grows to like me, my feelings for her will never change. I love her.

She doesn't know that I've bought her a special bracelet. It's too big for her now, but it will be waiting for her once she grows into it. I hope she likes it. But if she doesn't, that's okay. She can reject all the gifts I give to her, and it won't change my love for her one bit.

I don't know if Aimée will prefer ballet or football, but whichever she likes, I'll like it too. I'll cheer her on even if she's lousy, because my love for her isn't based on her abilities.

I don't know if Aimée will like dolls or legos, but whichever she likes, I'll like too. I'll play with her as much as she'll let me, because I just look forward to spending time with her.

Aimée doesn't have to do anything great or be anything important for me to love her. I just love her.

I delight in watching her. I long for her smile. I weep for her tears. I love to caress her soft head, to squeeze her fat feet, and to hear her say "uh-oh!" I don't even mind changing her dirty diapers.

And as I was thinking about this little girl who really does not have a clue who I am, this sweet baby girl that wants nothing to do with me just yet, God spoke to my heart.

I love you like that, only better.

You don't have to do anything great or be anything important for me to love you.

You have no idea of the gifts I am storing up for you.

I delight in watching you.

I long for your smile.

I weep for your tears.

I don't even mind cleaning up your messes. I died for those messes.

I just love you.

Inconceivable! How can God love me so completely, so deeply, so perfectly? I'm a mess, yet He loves me. And just like Aimée can't begin to understand my love for her, I can't begin to understand God's love for me. I look for raisins from His almighty hand and contend myself with passing fancies rather than rest secure in the love of the one who holds me. 

Today I want to stop squirming in His arms and choose to trust in His goodness. He loves me!

Tweet

A Constant Stream of Company

For the first time in about 87 months, we have a week with no guests scheduled to eat or sleep at our house. Now I'm not saying that I don't like visitors. Au contraire. Je les adore ! (I love them!)

Nevertheless, I'm taking full advantage of the break:

I actually left the guest bed UNmade for three whole nights. Just because I could.

I haven't cooked a square meal or set the table all week. (David and Graham are in the States, and Chandler and I are subsisting on three main food groups: Magnum Bars, popcorn and cheese.)

I showered for a full 30 minutes this morning because I wasn't at all worried about saving hot water for anyone else.

I left dishes in the sink over night because I wasn't even close to running out of clean glasses.

During the day I actually stop and listen to the silence in my house. I thank God that I don't have to make conversation with anyone. Even my prayers are wordless.

 On Saturday, I swear, I did not get out of my jammies.

I am SO SO SO blessed by all the wonderful people who have come to visit us.

But I am also blessed by a few quiet days chez Williamson. Thank you, Jesus!

Tweet

For the first time in four years...

...David flew.

It was just a recreational flight in an Ultra-Light Aircraft.

But it was flying just the same.

And yes, he's still got it!

Tweet

New Creation

It seems to happen every September.

A little dark cloud moves into my world and settles itself over my heart. My mood dips. My attitude falters. My hope diminishes. My joy evaporates. My perspective changes.

I am lost.

And then the accuser comes:

"You wretched thing! How can you be so ungrateful? Didn't you just have a lovely vacation? You should be rested and happy!"

"You lousy missionary! You should be full of the Lord, daily proclaiming his glory! How dare you choose to hide!"

"You pathetic Christian! You claim that Jesus has transformed your life, but you look no different than the rest of the world. Worn. Desperate. Hungry."

I woke up Monday morning to these voices, which seemed to crash down like an anvil on my chest. I couldn't move. I couldn't breath. I couldn't pray.

Then he spoke. Words so gentle, their soft truth relieving the crushing pressure. "You don't have to go there."

He lifted me from my bed, carried me to the church where our tiny community gathers for prayer. After worship and reading the word, I knew, I knew that God was showing me the exit ramp--and it was fast approaching. Would I get off of this highway to depression? Could I really choose NOT to go there? Or would I just fake it?

Freedom from captivity always involves bringing our darkness into the light. There is no other way.

Reluctantly, courageously, I opened my mouth. In a whisper, in French, I confessed my condition. "I'm battling depression. It happens every year, and I want to break the cycle. I believe that God can keep me from falling into the pit, but I need help."

That was my attempt to steer my life toward the exit. It was all I could do.

And they prayed.

Monday the sun broke through the clouds. Tuesday I awoke in my panicked estate once again, but this time I could pray, I could hope, I could believe. The clouds parted. Today I woke rested, calm, trusting. The cloud is no longer there. Glory to God.

I don't have to go there. I am a new creation. Saved. Changed. Liberated.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! 2 Corinthians 5:17

Tweet

Memory Lane

This is an oldie but a goodie--something I wrote long before I started blogging, but a piece that may end up in the book. Hope you enjoy it.

In 2001, when my husband and I were in our early thirties and had two young sons, we took a major risk, fully believing that we were following God’s lead. When I say “a major risk,” I don’t mean we changed laundry detergents or got a dog.  No, we quit our stable jobs, sold our house, and cashed in all of our savings, including our retirement account, so that my husband could follow his dream and go to flight school to become a pilot.

At the completion of his flight training, David took a job as a flight instructor in Spokane. He did not want to be a flight instructor forever—this was just a way to build the 1,500 hours of flight time that were required in order to be hired by an airline. Flight instructors don’t make enough to feed and house a family, so I took on some part-time grant-writing work. As we gritted our teeth to endure the financial stress, we told ourselves it was just a season. We figured we would be in Spokane for a-year-and-a-half and then back to Portland with a job with Alaska Airlines, living on easy street. That’s what we figured. 

But September 11, 2001 changed the path of our lives. Following that day of terror, airline companies suffered major organizational setbacks, massive pilot lay-offs, and even bankruptcy. Still today, few have recovered. David realized that his prospects for a career as an airline pilot diminished significantly in the wake of 9-11. We felt like the Israelites who thought that God had forgotten them after they followed Him into the desert on their way to the Promised Land. We had been willing to take a big risk to go where we felt like God was leading, but when we saw where He had taken us, we wondered if He even cared at all. 

David heroically hid his frustration and confusion as he watched his big dream turn into a nightmare. He never spoke a discouraging word, but sometimes, when he thought I wasn’t looking, I saw the shadow of discouragement darken his brave demeanor. Though he was praised as a great flight instructor and worked every chance he got, his income went from bad to worse as winter weather set in and limited his ability to fly with students. By December we were drowning in bills. 

“David” I said, knowing we had to have the conversation we were both avoiding, “between rent, the car payment, and the electric bill, we need about $1,200 to get through this month. And that doesn’t count groceries. Did you get paid today?”

Slowly he took his paycheck from his pocket, unfolded it, and slid it across the table to me: $187. There were no more words, only silent prayers. I was disheartened. David was defeated. God was silent. 

Finances were strained through the rest of the winter and into the spring.  I took more grant-writing work, and David moonlighted on the nightshift for UPS. Each month we barely made it. I, who had been raised to shop at Nordstrom, learned to shop at Goodwill. David learned to cut the kids’ hair himself. We ate whatever was on sale that week at the grocery store and discovered that a fun family outing could be had for free: a trip to the library followed by an afternoon at the park. And still, God was silent. 

Spring turned to summer, the weather cleared, and David was able to fly more hours as a flight instructor. We were finally getting close to breaking even financially, but our hearts were so weary that we hardly felt like celebrating. I longed for a day when money was plentiful and fantasized often about what it would be like to have a million dollars. Then, I told myself, I would finally be happy.  Then I could take life easy and do whatever I wanted. Then my husband would not be stressed. Then I could give my children their heart’s delight.  Then I could believe once again in the goodness of God.

There was no way we could afford a real vacation that summer, but we did find a few days to visit David’s parents, who live on a lake nestled in the Swan Range of the Rocky Mountains in northwestern Montana. One sunny afternoon, after I had been water-skiing (which is one of my favorite things to do in the whole wide world), I lay on the beach reading a book. David was out on his windsurfer, letting the physical activity wash away the tension that had been soiling his soul. My children were playing happily in the sparkling lake water. For an instant, I forgot the distress of the past few months, and I let myself take pleasure in the perfection of the day.

I realized, in that instant, that I had everything I could ever want.  I knew then that even if I had a million dollars sitting in a bank account, this moment could not be any more precious. I was keenly aware on that summer afternoon, with hardly a dime to my name, that there was nowhere in the world I would rather be and nothing I would rather be doing. My husband was relaxed. My children were delighted. And my God, though still silent, was as He had always been—good. It was then that I stopped focusing on what we didn’t have and started appreciating all that God had given us free of charge.

From a financial perspective, the next year wasn't much different—but I had changed.  I started to see “million dollar moments” in each day. You see, I don’t think teaching your son to ride a bike without training wheels is more rewarding if you have a million dollars. I bet reading The Chronicles of Narnia as a family is not more thrilling if you have a million dollars. Snuggling with your husband is not more satisfying if you have a million dollars. God’s voice is not louder, His love is not surer, and His grace is not bigger if you have a million dollars. The funny thing is, if God had given me a million dollars, I might never have known how unnecessary it really was.

Tweet

Click on over...

Today I am the guest blogger at The Lord's Lass, where my niece, Sarah (the author) is celebrating the second anniversary of her blog. Won't you click on over and join the fun? The theme for the week is "Blessing" and I'm sure you'll be blessed to discover the blog of this delightful young woman who is the oldest of 10 children, an accomplished violinist and pianist, an avid reader, and best of all, a devoted disciple.

Hope to see you there!

Tweet