Changes for Chandler

This guy has had a rough year.

He attempted something that is considered a major challenge--he competed for a spot in medical school in France. It was a gruelling year-long fight, one that felt lost within months. He persevered to the end, and yet, he didn't make the cut. The process is so competitive that only 10-15% of the candidates actually get admitted.

When he learned his final results, he had some soul-searching to do. He no longer has the option to pursue medicine in France, but he could have chosen to go a different direction here. Or...he could return to the States, where the system gives undergraduates more time to make a decision about their ultimate career direction.

He has chosen to return to the States.

So tomorrow, Chandler will board a flight to Chicago, where my dear sister Barbarba will meet him and take him to her hometown of Bloomington, Indiana. Ultimately, Chandler plans to attend Indiana Univeristy, where my sister is a professor. But he'll spend the next year at Ivy Tech, establishing US residency and applying for admission to IU.

Please pray for Chandler as he makes this major leap. Pray for new friends--maybe even a few who speak French. Pray for direction as he tries to discern whether he wants to go pre-med or change directions. And pray that the overwhelming disappointment over the events of the past year does not steal his joy for what is possible in the years to come.

From the day he was born, Chandler has been a fighter. He's been knocked down, but never knocked out. He's got a lot more fight in him, and we're cheering him on with everything we've got!

We love you, Chan. And we couldn't be prouder.

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Selah

This weekend we actively pursued Selah. At a spa.

We did not take a vacation in 2015. Not one. Not even a weekend away. We failed in our scheduling and in our budgeting, and we have only ourselves to blame. We worked 60 hours a week, and we ended the year tired, hopeless, and a tiny bit grumpy.

And so, as I feel called to a year of Selah, to a period of slowing down and reflecting, David and I decided that rather than simply hoping vacations would happen in 2016, we would take a proactive stance where rest was concerned.

Our Christmas gift to each other was a three-day weekend at a spa in the resort city of Annecy, complete with massage treatments and some of our favorite meals. We also committed to spending the time away working on our 2016 family budget and putting vacation dates down on the calendar for the rest of year. We had deep and important spiritual conversations, and time to reconnect relationally in much needed ways.

We accomplished all that we set out to accomplish, and came home today refreshed and ready for the days and weeks ahead. We have a family vacation scheduled for this summer. And another weekend getaway planned for November. We have a tricky Spring, as all of us have different Spring Breaks; however, we are committed to finding a weekend of rest that will work for all us this Spring as well. The budget has been adapted to account for these vacations.

And I am grateful. Rest is a gift, but one I often miss. In 2016, I'm not gonna miss it.

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Ten Totally Trivial Tidbits--Family Holiday Edition

1. On Christmas Day, some dear friends arrived at our apartment in Lyon for three days of fun and festivities. This isn't the first Christmas we've celebrated together--and something tells me it won't be the last.
2. I'm reading fiction for the first time in months--oh the JOY! Truly, I love seminary, but I miss reading "n'importe quoi."
3. We visited the plateau above our neighborhood and took in a lovely view of the city.
   
4. We are hoping to spend a day skiing in the Alps--an easy day trip from Lyon. The problem is a lack of snow. So we're praying for snow and begging Chandler to do his snow dance (which always yields positive results). Maybe next week.
5. This is the first time we've all four been together as a family in 2015. I'm soaking in every minute. We're also making sure that the same thing does not happen in 2016. Which means summer plans are being set in motion.
   
6. My mother-in-law sent me some mint m&ms for Christmas. Oh, the JOY! 
7. We finally visited the beautiful (Free!) Lyon Zoo. The red panda put on quite a show, but these monkeys were my favorites:
   
8. By the way, cotton candy is called La Barbe à Papa or "daddy's beard" in French.
9. We watched all six of the Star Wars movies (one per day) before going to see the new one in the theater yesterday. Such fun! We all loved the new movie.
10. We got a new game for Christmas--new to us, anyway. It's called Carcassonne. We've played it several times already, and I think we're getting the hang of it. 

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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

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My Bench

A bench sits in the entry way

To welcome weary guests

To beckon them to stop and stay

And linger in our nest

The bench is meant to bear much weight

For once it was a pew

Where faithful men and women prayed

And worshiped Jesus, too

But my son has another aim

For the bench that I love

And so the squatter has staked his claim

I fear he will not budge

Alas! Chandler a locker lacks

And so, as you can see

His school day lands in clumsy stacks

Upon my bench indeed.

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iDropped

On Friday, the unthinkable happened.

I dropped my iPhone in the toilet.

I had put it in my back pocket, and when I went to use the facilities, well, it sort of slipped out and SPLASH!

After a moment's hesitation, I plunged my bare hand into the depths and boldly retrieved my sunken friend, somehow feeling grateful that it was, at least, my own toilet.

But the screen was black. He was already dead.

I removed the bionic casing that would have protected my phone had I dropped it from my upstairs window. And then, after some basic sanitation efforts, I placed it in a bowl of rice. All of the advice on the Internet suggested leaving the phone in the rice for at least 24 hours. I left it for 48.

When I finally pulled it from the rice, and charged it, I discovered that the sound was working, but the screen was completely blank. I could hear alerts and talk to Siri, but I could not answer calls or read emails or shuffle through music.

So I left it for another day. Still no change.

David, who knows my propensity for accidental phone destruction, had purchased the maximum possible insurance plan. "Just go down to the phone store, Jenn," he encouraged me, "They'll replace your phone."

This morning I stood in a crowded cell phone store, awaiting the assistance of the one and only clerk. When it was my turn I told him my sad story.

"I dropped my phone in the toilet."

He asked my phone number, looked up my insurace plan, and said, "All you have to do is tell me that this did not happen at home."

I stared at him blankly. "But it did happen at home," I said.

"If this happened at home, it is not covered by your insurance plan. If this happened anywhere else in the world, I can replace your phone."

"But I am not going to lie to you," I said, sort of astounded at this odd turn of events.

"Madame, just tell me this happened in a bar, and I will get you a new phone." Everyone in the store was staring at me, listening in on our conversation.

"Monsieur, it happened in my house. And I think it is ridiculous that the insurance won't cover it, but I will not lie about what happened."

So he silently handed the phone back to me.

"How much would a replacement cost?" I asked, exasperated. I had already been three days without a phone, and since we don't have a home phone it is my only means of contact.

"It would be 400€, the full price of a new phone. You used all of your points six months ago when you got this phone and so you won't be eligible for any reductions for another year and a half."

Ugh. I had gotten the phone for 1€ because of my points, and now it was going to cost me 400€ to replace it? Unbelievable.

"Is there any way it can be repaired?" I asked, defeated.

"When an iPhone falls in the water, it's over. There is nothing that can be done."

Five other customers stared at me, sympathetic.

I took my phone and walked out the door. Tears welled up in my eyes. In the past week I learned that our car needs an 800€ repair and there is no way I can afford a new phone this month, not even the most simple phone--seeing as I would be paying full price.

I sighed one of those prayers that has no words and started walking home. I inadvertantly glanced down at the dead phone in my hand, when all of a sudden, for no apparent reason, the screen lit up.

It 's fully funtioning; alive.

I'm thinking of renaming it Lazarus.

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"The 'Stache" is no more...

Chandler spent the summer months cultivating facial hair in the form of a mustache.

Facial hair is a bumper crop in our family, mostly among the men. David and the boys sprout whiskers like chia pets, and I don't even water them.

But alas, Chandler's school frowns upon fertile facial follicles, so with classes starting this week, he harvested his lip hair.

Mustachioed no more, he spent the day organizing himself for his final year of high school.

Though he mourned the reaping of his Fu Manchu, his mama was happy to have his baby face back in the house. 

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The Launch

Change.

It's a part of life. And generally I welcome change. I'm usually up for a new adventure, eager to explore the unexplored. I know God's grace stretches out into my future, and I trust that he'll meet me in every transition. So I look to the next year with hopefulness. I choose an attitude of delightful anticipation. Yet I acknowledge that my joy is mingled with grief. Because honestly, I've only been home 24 hours, and I already miss Graham.

Oh, I rejoice in who he is and I'm excited for where God is leading him. He is exactly where he should be, doing as he ought. It is holy, right, and good for the boy to grow up and leave home. I want him to go. Still, I grieve him being gone.

It's the path of parenthood. We pour our lives into theirs, love them with all we've got, only to prepare them to take flight. We nudge them out of the nest, trusting that the elation we feel from seeing them soar will eclipse the pain of their depart.

And parents--we know that this is the deal going in. Our children don't belong to us, they are simply entrusted to us for a season. Which is why we must figure out how to give ourselves to them without finding our identities in them. It's a fine balance.

For many years, older parents would look longingly at my little boys and tell me, "Cherish this time, it passes quickly." Some days I would smile grimly, thinking, "Quickly? Today alone has felt like a week!" But other times I would heed their warning. On those days I'd let the boys dawdle at mud puddles, climb over dirt piles, and gaze in wonder at grasshoppers. We'd read an extra book at bedtime, splash in the bath until their tiny hands looked like prunes, and tolerate endless questions in the car. As they got older, we'd linger over dinner conversations long after we'd finished eating, quote our favorite lines from movies (ad nauseum), and spend more time in guitar and video game stores than we thought possible.

I didn't miss their childhoods, and I look forward to sharing their adulthoods. Because all that stuff--the lingering when a hug lasts longer than needed, the listening when the words make your ears feel tired, the watching of stunts, the running of races, the kissing of boo-boos--all that stuff is building relationships that will last long after the child becomes independent. That's what we hope, anyway.

So while I mourn the absence of Graham, I celebrate his launch into adulthood. I'm cheering him on, wishing him well, and faithfully praying for the days and weeks ahead. I'm entering the next phase of parenting, which I expect to be every bit as engaging as the first phase--with fewer messes. I will be learning a new role, making new mistakes, and trying to figure out how the cherish THIS time, as well.

Meanwhile, Chandler might find his mother a bit clingy. Because he's still here. For one more blessed year....

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Tying Shoes

Thirteen years ago I was in a state of panic!

It was the summer before Graham would start his academic career, and his school had sent out a list entitled "Kindergarted Readiness" that outlined the essential developmental benchmarks for students entering kindergarten. Graham could do almost everything on the list--he could count to 100 (or more!), he could recognize all the letters in the alphabet, he could write his own name, he could remember and execute three-part instructions.

But he could not tie his shoes.

And shoe-tying was on the list. I just knew that I had somehow failed as a parent because my five-year old could not tie his shoes. I was fairly sure that it was not due to a lack of manual dexterity, he could make Lego models that were meant for 10-12 year olds. I was fairly sure that is was not due to a lack of intelligence, because at 5, Graham not only recognized the letters of the alphabet, he could read simple chapter books. And darn if it was wasn't due to lack of instruction! I had been trying to teach him to tie his own shoes for six months. The boy just wasn't interested.

Graham and Kayla, the delightful young woman that he is courting.

He was happy for me to tie his shoes. He let the eager-to-mother-anyone little girls in his preschool class tie his shoes. Actually, I think even his younger brother would tie his shoes.

But there on the official "Kindergarten Readiness" list was the dreaded and lacking criteria: Tie Shoes.

And so I worried, and redoubled my efforts. I probably bribed, and threatened, and belittled, and chided. But when the first day of school arrived, Graham still could not tie his shoes. So I did what any over-achieving mother on the verge of facing failure would do. I gave up and bought slip-ons, secretly fearing that my son would one day graduate from high school still not knowing how to tie his shoes.

Graham and Kayla sipping cider in Warsaw

Fast forward thirteen years.

Yesterday, as Graham completed the very last of his on-line High School courses,  I was in town trying to buy him some shoes. He only wears one style: Converse Laceless Slip-ons. To tell you the truth, I can't remember him ever owning a pair of shoes that he had to tie. And in that moment I realized two things:

1. It is possible that my son is graduating from High School not knowing how to tie his shoes.
2. I don't care!

You see, something that I feared when he was five may have actually come true, only for me to realize that it was a stupid fear in the first place. So many wise mentors told me not to sweat the small stuff, but the problem was, as a young mom, I had a hard time figuring out what the "small stuff" was.

So I panicked about things like whether the chosen shirt went with the chosen pants, or how many brussels sprouts each child consumed, or whether we had purchased exactly the right folders on the school supply list. I fretted when he went on a field trip to the roller rink because my son had never been on skates before. I wondered how to know if he no longer needed swiming lessons. I felt devasted when he was reprimanded for wearing BLACK-soled shoes on gym days! What kind of a delinquent mother was I? And I just KNEW that a lunch box left at school over the weekend would be mold-covered and contaminated beyond repair by Monday.

But now, as I look back over the school years, now I get it. Tying shoes--and ALL that other stuff--is small stuff. So are standardized test scores, hair length, clothing labels, clean rooms, bed times, adolescent facial hair, and food preferences.

Being sweet.

On the other hand, my scruffy long-haired boy who hates shoelaces has the big stuff just right.

He starts each day in God's Word--not because we require it, but because he chooses it. He is compassionate and kind and eager to serve anyone who has need. He can play a guitar so beautifully it brings tears to my eyes. He's the kind of guy who gets 100% on his English final, and never announces it. He honors his parents, he challenges weak thinking, and he works diligently, no matter the task.

So to all you mothers out there stressing over school supply lists, developmental benchmarks, and swimming lessons, I declare to you this happy news: They don't matter. Be free. Enjoy your summer.

And just to be on the safe side, don't buy black-soled shoes.

Note the laceless Converse.

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Plans

Sometimes things just don't go the way we plan.

We planned on taking a furlough this summer, spending two or three months in the States in order to help Graham transition back to life in Spokane. We were anticipating some time with dear friends and family, looking forward for some time away from our work here, hoping to reconnect with churches and supporters wanting to share the great things that God is doing here in France. That was our plan.

But following the double-flood situation and the on-going un-rentablity of our house in States, considering the exorbitant price of airline tickets, and realizing that other obstacles loom in our way, it seems that our plans won't go as planned.

Still, Graham must return. And we refuse to send him alone into the world. So at this point, it looks like Graham and David will travel together to the States in July, while Chandler and I hold down the fort here in Loches. It's not our first choice, but it seems to be our only choice.

Of course, God could make it work out if he wants, and we are open to seeing his mighty hand work a miracle on our behalf. Yet, we are also content to accept the situation--trusting in the One who is sovereign over all our plans. His kindness knows no end.

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A Tribute to our Moms--a whole family post!

I don't hate all Facebook Mom videos.

In fact, yesterday I saw one that I loved. I loved it so much that I share it here. It is a video where song writers interview children about their mothers in order to write a special "Mother's Day Song."

But before I share the video, we decided to respond to the interviewers' questions regarding our own mothers.

Interviewer: Does your mom do anything that's funny?
David: She has a "thing" for a G.I. Joe-type doll named Chuck. After Chuck Norris.
Jenn: She pinches bottoms and cheats at cards.
Graham: No. My mom is not funny. She just thinks she is. 
Chandler: She messes up song lyrics.

Interviewer: What's you favorite thing that your mom makes? Is there anything that rhymes with that?
David: French Dip. And...leather whip?
Jenn: Pretty dresses. Rhymes with wetty messes.
Graham: She's been drawing lately. And no, I'm not going to come up with a rhyme for that.
Chandler: Tartiflette. Hmmm. Personette? Orangette? Flowerette? Oh, I don't know!

Interviewer: What's something that we could sing about how good your mom's food is?
David: Mmmmm
Jenn: Well it's my dad that did most of the cooking. But mom's a good eater. Could we sing about that?
Graham: Stop making salmon! I'm so sick of salmon! And quiche. Never make quiche again.
Chandler: Ditto to Dad. (Hey that's kind of catchy!)

Interviewer: Is there anywhere she likes to go on trips?
David: Hawaii
Jenn: Like the mall? She could spend a week at a good mall.
Graham: Everywhere! She just likes to go!
Chandler: Paris

If your mom had a super power, what would it be?
David: Scrabble and Gift Giving
Jenn: Ironing. Definitely ironing.
Graham: Black thumb for indoor plants. She can kill any indoor plant in record time. 
Chander: Writing skills..cooking skills...preaching skills...nun-chuck skills...

Interviewer: What would happen if all the moms in the world were gone?
David: Dads would have to make their own sandwiches.
Jenn: Well Macy's would go out of business, that's for sure.
Graham: How does that even make any sense?
Chandler: It'd be a really sad place. And we'd die out pretty quickly.

Do you have any words that we could start the song with?
David: Dear Mom, I am content. My first bite was of the squash....
Jenn: My mom is kind and a super-great dresser. She loves spicy food and she always makes her bed, yeah!

Graham and Chan in a rare moment of total agreement: Why bother with lyrics? She'll just mess them up later!

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My Parenting Book

"You should write a parenting book!" Graham said. 

First, let me just say that I cannot imagine higher words of praise from a fully grown son--the same son who reminds me daily that I have failed tremendously in training my dog. He won't be suggesting that I author a canine obedience book. 

Second, let me tell you why I doubt that I will ever write a parenting book. I won't do it because I am convinced there is no one formula, no one method, no one system that works. I read every parenting book that I could get my hands on, and while many wise authors informed my approach to parenting, none of them turned out to have THE ANSWER. Each family, child, and situation is unique, with innumerable variables. Parenting books offered some helpful insights, but many seemed to suggest that if I did X then my child would do Y. So I would do X, but my child would do Z. Z wasn't in the book. The variable that emerged in my house always seemed to be uncharted territory. Which made me feel like a failure. 

And I was.

Yes, I was. And I am. 

I remember once when I was frustrated as young mom, feeling like I was trying every possible godly discipline tactic in the many parenting books that I had read, and not seeing any results in my children, I cried out in anguish to God! I wanted to be a perfect parent, and I knew I was failing because my kids were a mess. 

Gently, God whispered a question to my heart, "Who is the only perfect parent?" 

"You, Lord!" I quickly replied. Indeed, he is the only Father who has never failed.

"Well," he replied, "Look at my kids!"

Aha! SO even the perfect parent--God Himself-- has messed up kids. Which means that my kids, who have flawed parents--are doomed to be disasters. You know why? Because my kids, like me, are sinners. Even when they were babies. Especially when they were toddlers. And when Graham was between the ages of 5 and 8, I was pretty sure I was going to kill him. 

I used to look at my misbehaving boys, shake my head, and think, "You little sinners!" 

Poor little sinners with parents who fail. What hope did they possibly have?

It turns out that little sinners don't need perfect parents, they need parents who know what to do with imperfection. Sin is a genetic disease. I passed it on to my kids, and I don't have the cure. Thankfully, the One Perfect Parent is also the Great Physician. 

And so it seems that parenting is about a couple of hungry beggars teaching their kids where to go for bread. The temptation is to think we have some bread to give them--that we can meet their needs. But we can't. We can only point them to the one who can. 

Therefore, if I wrote a parenting book it would consist of 18 words:

Cling to Jesus like he's your only hope, because he is. Teach your children to do the same. 

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iPlunged

I just got an iPhone. I chose it because I needed wanted a new phone and our cellular provider was offering the iPhone 4s (an older version) for 1€. Now the boys have started calling me their iMom as I am the first person in our family to have an iPhone. All I know is that I need my iGlasses to read just about anything on said iPhone.

I did learn how to silence all my notifications during the night so that I can use my iPhone as an alarm without hearing chiming and dinging and barking all night. That's a cool feature. And I like that the agenda that I use on my iPad will now be in sync with the agenda on my phone, which wasn't possible before. For the first time in my life, I downloaded music so that I can use my iPhone as an iPod. Awesome. 

But I have this lurking fear that I've crossed over to the dark side. Because Mac enthusiasts scare me. You Mac people have a bit of a superiority complex when it comes to your computers. You really, truly believe that your Macs are in every way better than any kind of PC, that they are the answer to every computer problem, a technology messiah of sorts. Honestly, I just don't see it. 

Yet. I do LOVE my iPad and my iPhone. I love the silky softness of their touch screens. I love the amazing responsiveness. I love the way everything is so easily integrated and accessible. Dang it! Am I becoming one of you? 

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Ten Totally Trivial Tidbits

1. Last week David and Graham helped to lead worship at an ecumenical service in Loches. Every January we join together with the Catholic church in our town for a Wednesday evening service, focusing on the things we have in common, which are, honestly, the main things--salvation through Christ alone, unity in the Holy Spirit, and love for the Father. 

2. I do not understand Pinterest. I just don't get it. I don't know if I want to get it. Can someone please tell me what they like about Pinterest? Should I figure it out?

3. Google+ is also an enigma to me. Why do I see posts from people that I do not know? 

4. On the contrary, I totally dig a website called ravelry.com where I can find all sorts of knitting and crochet patterns, many of which are free! I recently crocheted a super cute pair of baby converse. See:

The pattern is free and can be found here.

5. Our summer plans are starting to come together. Looks like we'll be taking a two month furlough, spending July and August in beautiful Spokane, Washington. But I don't know how to take a furlough, so if you have any advice I'd love to hear it. I'm pretty sure furloughs include Baskin Robbins mint chocolate chip ice cream, boxes and boxes of Lucky Charms, and plenty of trips to Thai Bamboo.

6. Last time I preached one of my sons asked, "Why do people laugh at you all the time?" Hello? I'm funny. When will my kids finally accept that truth? 

7. Here's my new favorite super-flavorful/super-easy dinner-in-one-pan-but-NOT-a-casserole recipe. I modify it by using boneless, skinless chicken breasts. I bake the green beans and potatoes for 30 minutes while marinating the chicken. Then I add the chicken to the pan for just the last 30 minutes of cooking time. Comes out perfect every time, and it's pretty too!

You can find the recipe here.

8. I really wish you people would pass along some good fiction titles. I love non-fiction as much as anybody, but a girl needs some book candy every now and then. Throw me a bone! I'll give an amazon gift card to the person who recommends a fiction book that WOWs me! Yes, I will BUY you a book if you can just suggest a good one that I haven't read.

9. Anytime someone in our house speaks a three syllable phrase, Chandler sings the phrase to the tune of the Tranformers! theme song. "Where's Gemma?" "Pass the salt." "Don't do that." Are you humming along? The rest of us are avoiding three syllable phrases these days. 

10. David is in the final week of P90X--an intensive exercise regime. He's lost 14 pounds and he is looking GOOOOOOOOOD!

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English Carol Service

Last night our church had its 4th Annual Traditional English Carol Service. We were packed to standing room only for this event, which features not only Christmas carols but also scripture reading, candle-lighting, minced pies, and mulled wine. The majority of those who come are not members of our church, so it is a great way to reach out into the community.

As resident English speakers, our family usually has the privilege of participating in the production of this service. Last night David played guitar, Graham played bass, Chandler sang in the choir, I delivered the Gospel. Below you will find the story that I told as means of an introduction to my message. 

In the United States, where I grew up, school children always eat lunch at school. Some bring a sack lunch from home and others buy a hot lunch from the cafeteria, but all the students eat together in a giant lunch room. The only adults present during lunch are angry aids and administrators who had the misfortune of being assigned “lunch duty” and seemed to take their resentment out on the students. Needless to say, school lunches were not much fun for me.

One day, as I was walking with my classmates in a squirming line towards the lunch room, I noticed a stir. Looking up, I saw the source of the commotion.  It was my Dad. My Dad was an important business man who worked in a big office downtown. He wore tailored suits and wing-tipped shoes and he always carried a briefcase. He traveled all over the world and made mind-blowing presentations before brilliant scientists. I had known him to be in three countries in the course of a single week, but I had never seen him in the halls of my elementary school. I was so confused. What was my Dad doing at my school in the middle of the week? Why was he suddenly in my little world?

I broke all protocol, got out of line, and ran to him. He swooped me up in his strong arms, gave me a big kiss, and simply said, “I came to have lunch with you.” 

My Dad stood in the food line right by my side, he pushed his tray right behind mine, and then paid for both of our meals. He followed me to the table, and then somehow folded his enormous body into the tiny chair next to me. His knees were practically touching his ears, but he didn’t seem to care. And then all my friends and classmates gathered around, each one wanting a piece of Mr. Dennis. We regaled him with our tales, showed him all of our tricks, and told him all of secrets. My dad told us stories of his school days, asked us all sorts of questions, and smiled broadly. On the one hand, it was a bit bizarre to have him sitting at my grubby little lunch table, there in my childhood context. In his presence my world suddenly seemed smaller and dirtier. On the other hand, it was comforting to see that he was exactly the same person here as he was at home—gentle, funny, kind, charismatic, upright, respectable, and even in-charge.

That event was a long time ago. But it still moves me. My Dad could have dined at any restaurant in town. But he chose, that day, to come to my world. He chose substandard food, a sticky table, and a bunch of noisy kids. And he delighted to do it.

In a way, my Dad’s trip to my Elementary school is a picture of what God did for us at Christmas. We can easily overlook, as we imagine that helpless baby on the hay, that he, the swaddled one, was the Creator of the Universe. He was the great I Am, the one who parted the Red Sea, the Holy One of Israel. He left his heavenly downtown office for this messy lunchroom that we call earth. Imagine the Eternal God folding himself into the confines of human flesh so that he could dine at our lowly table. So that he could listen to our hearts, look us in the eyes, tell us of his love, and demonstrate his goodness.

That, in a nutshell, is what separates Christianity from every other religion known to man. Every other religion tells us what we need to do to reach God. But Christianity teaches that God reached down to us. The God of the Christian faith is simply the God who showed up.

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A Song for my Mom

Note: I am currently in the States, celebrating my mom's 80th Birthday> The following are the remarks I shared at her party:

Some of you know that I like to write. The first piece I ever published was a poem that I wrote about my mom when I was about 8 years old. It was published in the San Antonio Express News on Mother’s Day. They had a poetry contest and my poem won an honorable mention. But in retrospect, I’m guessing it wasn’t the elegance of my prose that merited an award. I’ll bet that somehow, despite the clumsiness of my words, the judges were able to see the complex beauty that is my mom.

I say complex because my mom is one of those people whose beauty is rich and varied; yet, it never clamors for attention. Much of her greatness has gone unsung through the years, and she’s never once asked for recognition. But today, mama, we want to sing your song.

We sing of your creativity—how through decades of changing styles you clothed your girls with glory. Because of your brilliant imagination, your diligent stitching, and your flair for fashion, we were always well-dressed. And each carefully constructed garment was a masterpiece. You dressed us in your love. But your creativity went far beyond your sewing skills. Sisters, who of remembers being about 10 years old, when mom decided to do one of her “spot-checks” on our clothes dressers? What happens to messy drawers? And unmade beds? My mom even made discipline fun. Effective, but fun.

We sing of your industriousness—how you worked harder and longer than any woman I know. As the Head Nurse of the orthopedic ward of a County Hospital, you were honored and respected by all who had the joy of working with you. Anytime we visited you at work, we got a tiny glimpse of how much your nurses loved you, and we know they loved you because you worked tirelessly beside them, never lording your authority over them. You were the first one in, the last one out. And when you came home from work to 5 girls you kept moving. Often Dad was traveling and you flew solo through music lessons, band concerts, hospital trips, homework challenges, meal preparations, and piles of laundry and ironing. I have never seen her bed left unmade, her sink left unclean, nor her kitchen floor unswept.

We sing of your wisdom—how you seemed to speak just the right insights into each of your children at just the right time. You never imagined that a one-size fits all approach to parenting would work with five girls as diverse as we were. You taught us that fair is too low of a goal, and you strove to always do the best thing for each of us, even if it was different than what you did for others. Of course there were some non-negotiables, mostly having to with neat drawers and made beds.

We sing of your passion—how we knew, we always knew, that no matter what, you were FOR your family. You love our father fiercely. You loved him even when others criticized him. You loved him when he lost his job for standing up to a tyrant. You loved him when he was promoted. You loved him when he was down-sized. You loved him when he traveled. You loved him when he made mistakes. You love him out loud, and if anyone knows just one thing about you, it would be this: You loves Burris. And we girls know how to love our husbands because you love our Dad so well.

And right after Dad, you loved your girls. You loved us individually and you loved us collectively. You loved us extravagantly and you loved us strictly. When needed, you loved us like a mother bear loves her cubs. I’ll never forget the time when we were shopping and a woman accused me of shoplifting. You grew 10 inches and growled, defending my honor without hesitation. I stood in awe, realizing under those florescent mall lights that my mother (who always seemed so meek and mild) would walk through fire protect her girls. You love right to the end. You loved our Sharon when she was her silliest, her sickest, and her stubborn-est. And you taught us how to love when it hurts; how to laugh while we cried, and how to sing during the storms of life. Maybe especially during the storms.

We sing of your faith—a faith hard wrought, tested, and refined. You are not one who holds blindly to comfortable platitudes. You have struggled with God, and you taught us that God is big enough to handle all of our fears and failures. You have never stopped growing, never stopped surrendering, never stopped seeking, never stopped believing. You let Him speak His love both to you and through you.

We sing of your kindness—You may well be the kindest person on the face of the earth. You care deeply for just about everyone you meet. You treat people with sincere dignity. How many—how many of our friends have benefitted from her goodness and grace? How many neighbors? How many strangers? My mom is the type of person that takes the smallest cookie, the hardest chair, the last place in line because she really wants others to have the best. Our joy makes her smile. Our success makes her cheer. Our comfort puts her at ease.

But perhaps the most amazing thing about my mom is her genuineness. If she is happy, she’ll tell you. If she is sad, she’ll tell you. If she is mad, well, she won’t have to tell you because trust me, you’ll just know. But you see, there’s so much grace in that. So much grace in both love and anger expressed, not buried. She will never become bitter because she harbors no resentments. She feels things deeply, freely, fully, AND openly. And I’ve come to realize that the root of her genuineness, the heart of that kind of transparency is a rare and precious humility. A humility that considers others better than herself, not in a self- deprecating way, but in an other-honoring sort of way. She bears her soul not for her benefit, but for ours. For my mama, my dear, sweet mama is a peacemaker, and her transparency is her way of continually surrendering herself to others. In this way, she reminds me of another peacemaker: Jesus. He was stripped bare on the cross, made naked so that he could provide a covering for us.

My mama, today, as we celebrate 80 years of your life, I marvel at what we see in your wake. Five daughters, one in heaven. 4 GENTLE sons-in-law, the very thing you prayed for us. 16 grandchildren who all bubble with affection for you. You’re coming up on 58 years of marriage—a marriage that is still abounding in love. You have friends around the globe, women like Sabine, Patti, and Maren, who would love to claim you as their own. And your godly influence still impacts me every single day, especially first thing in the morning, when that still small voice in the back of my head whispers, “Jenn, make your bed.”

 

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GEM France Retreat

Ahhh, the joy of being in the Alps! And not just because my hair behaves perfectly in the dry mountain air. No, our time away was fun-filled and inspirational to boot. We are blessed to be a part of an amazing group of GEM missionaries and the few times a year that we all get to together are always rich.

 

At the camp, we are spoiled by good food--that we don't have to plan or make or clean up! We are also spoiled by field leaders who raise special funds for the retreat so that it barely costs anything for our entire family to go! But best of all, the GEM France retreat is always a safe place. Some of our colleagues are going through rough times with ministry or family. When we get together, they can share from their hearts, be refreshed, and find encouragement. Others come with great joy and enthusiasm for how God is working among and through them. These people bring energy and hope into the mix. Some come weary; they find rest. Some come thirsty; they are quenched. Some come  reluctantly; even they leave with unexpected blessings.

This  time I was especially blessed by my GEM family because they gave Graham the opportunity to lead worship for the first time in his life. He's helped us lead in the past, but this time he was the boss. He selected the music, called the rehearsals, and did all the praying and talking. Graham is a gifted musician and a natural leader, but he still felt nervous and really wanted to do well. I am so thankful for how our teammates welcomed and blessed his efforts. Some are, you know, not exactly Spring Chickens. Yet, they sang Skillet and Jesus Culture and Flyleaf music as if they loved it. They worshiped, whether or not they liked the genre. And yes, I was very proud. Graham trusted in the Lord's leading, stepped out in faith, and saw God work through him. 

Here's a sign that we've been in France for a while: we went to the Alps and didn't bother to take a single photo! All photos used here were taken by a new teammate, Jordan Egli. He's an awesome photographer. Thanks, Jordan!

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Two Unconventional Conversations

While walking on the beach in Ireland last month, Graham informed me that I needed to take special care of the sweater that he was wearing because he wanted to include it in his post-apocalyptic wardrobe. I didn't know my son was planning for the apocalypse, but I'm glad he's considering his clothing options. I mean, who doesn't want to look good for the end of the world?

Our family has this conversation about once a week:

me: "Last night while I was sleeping I was thinking..."
boys: "Wait a minute, which was it, sleeping or thinking? You can't do both at the same time!"
me: "But I did. I was sleeping, and while I was sleeping I was thinking."
boys: "Then you weren't really sleeping. You were just thinking with your eyes closed."
me: "No, I know what 'not sleeping' is like. I do it all the time. Last night I was definitely sleeping while I was thinking."

In the end, I never get to tell them what I was thinking about because they can't believe that their mom can sleep and think at the same time. But I can.

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It was such a lovely trip!

We're on the ferry eating breakfast, about an hour out from our port in France. As we chug back towards the continent, emotions mingle. I feel deep gratitude for this time away as a family and for memories that we all will cherish for the rest of our lives. And while I love my life in France, while I am eager to see friends and get back to work, I am not quite ready for this vacation to be over. Not yet.

Our week in County Sligo was a perfect balance between rest and adventure. The warmth and hospitality of Karen and Eddie (owners of Ballaghboy Lodge) made our time there extra special.

I sipped a Guinness in a thatch roof pub, while locals played traditional Irish music on communal instruments.

We drove through charming villages...

...and frequented cute local cafés.

This is a "drive by shooting" of the oldest pub in Dublin (Est.1193). 

After leaving Sligo, we spent three nights with some friends who live just outside of Dublin. It was great to get to know this fun family better! From their house, we visited Newgrange, a 5000 year-old tomb. Just for a point of reference--that's older than the pyramids.

This rock is found at the entrance to the tomb, and its Neolithic carvings make it the most photographed rock in all of Ireland.

Ireland is as beautiful as I'd always imagined it would be, but the highlight of the trip was time together as a family.

This is a medieval Norman castle located in the town of Trim, which is also close to Dublin. Scenes from Braveheart were filmed here. Since we live in a medieval village with a Keep, it was interesting to compare the two structures.

Trim Castle is being preserved in its ruinous state rather than attempts at restoration. Its an approach to history that I greatly appreciate.

This is the countryside surrounding Trim Castle:

  

This is how Trim Castle looks from the inside:

We had lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe in Dublin.

And we toured the famous Guinness Brewery.

In the evenings we listened to a teaching on Spiritual Warfare that David wanted to share with us. We ate great food. We watched some movies. We laughed and played together. We blessed each other and we drove each other crazy--what family vacation would be complete without some backseat bickering? It was pure delight, and I'm not quite ready for it to end.

Not yet.

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The First of the Lasts

So this morning I shed some tears. As I savor this summer with my boys, I have a keen awareness that we are living the first of many lasts. For example, we probably just attended the last GEM conference we will attend as a family. Graham will begin his senior year next month, and Chandler will be a junior. They are running hard toward life, and soon (too soon for me) two amazing boys will fly the coop. Let the grieving begin.

As Graham played his guitar this morning, I wept with the realization that the music that constantly fills my home will not always echo in these walls. Oh how I will miss those sounds!

I am a mom who LOVES being a mom. I don't think I'm over-invested, but I have delighted in every moment. And having struggled with a few years of infertility, I do not take the privilege of motherhood for granted.

The tears are not necessarily sad tears, and the grief isn't depressing. I rejoice in who Graham and Chandler are and in who they are becoming. I want them to mature. I want them to follow wherever God leads. I hope their lives are full of adventure. And I will cheer them on!

Still, things must change in the coming years. While I am deeply, deeply grateful for the honor of being their mom, it soon will be time to let go. And let go, I will, weeping all the way. Until then, I am going to appreciate every dinner conversation, each evening when we pray together as a family, games, travels, and even trials. I will linger over laundry, laugh over inside jokes, and marinate in holy moments.

And I'm thinking of secretly recording some of the guitar-playing--just in case I miss him too much. 

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