Luke who?

When I'm in a good Bible-reading phase I make a habit of reading daily from both Old and New Testament.  The Psalms and Isaiah are my go-to OT stops, and I lean heavily on John in the NT.  I kind of can't get enough of John. 

Last week I started feeling guilty for my neglect of the other OT authors.  Specifically, I felt guilty about Luke.  Poor Luke, I thought.  I can't even remember the last sermon I heard preached out of Luke.  Maybe it's because he was a doctor, and with his doctor's brain wrote just the facts, facts, facts.  He's kind of dry, poor neglected Luke.

I'm sure he would be relieved to know that right then and there, I made a commitment to read his book straight through.

This week, I'll be telling you (lucky you!) all about it.

Cross-cultural torture and witnessing

A Peruvian girlfriend introduced me to a form of middle eastern torture called threading.  While the pain is significant, the results are pretty amazing and I am hereby resigned to subjecting myself to this ritual once a month.

A few years back, on or around my 30th birthday, I decided that I wanted people to know that I am a Christian.  Even if I met them just once.  Ideally, this would be accomplished through my actions and my great love for them.  Usually, though, I found a simple phrase or word that kind of set the bar, so to speak.

In the case of the Pakistani woman who performs my threading (whom I have come to love), and also in the case of the woman who runs the shop (whom I have come to love), I just can't seem to spit it out.  Even when they talk about Allah, even when they promise to pray for me.  I usually think "Ack!" and then nothing comes out of my mouth.  For once in my ever-loving life, I am rendered speechless.

I honestly don't know why.  It could be that it takes all my energy to understand what they are saying.  It could be that I am in their place of business and have no desire to offend.  It could be that I'm a wimp.  It's quite possibly all of the above.

Today, before I got out of the car, I did two things.  I braced myself for the pain to come, and I asked Jesus to help me.

And the oddest thing happened.  After my threading, I went up to the front to pay.  Instead of the usual howareyourkidhowisyourhusbandcanyoubelievethisweather small talk which has become the norm for us, the dear sweet woman (whose name sounds kind of like Ezekiel to me), began telling me some very sad and very personal details about her life.  I'm sure my eyes were bugging, what with trying my darnedest to understand her and wondering what exactly on earth was going on, it was all I could do to nod and murmur and take her henna-ed hand in mine as the tears coursed down her face.

I was really at a loss.  I had no idea why she chose to share this with me.  I had no earthly idea how to help.

But of course I had no earthly idea how to help, but I could offer to pray for her.  She smiled sadly and nodded vigorously as she squeezed my hand and said, "Yes. Please pray for me."

And so I will. 

The funny thing is that all along I had imagined myself taking some grand, monumental stand for my faith there in that little shop.  I imagined proclaiming Jesus' name with my head held high and my shoulders back, come what may.  In this case, the deal wasn't to proclaim my faith.  It was to live it.

Return to blogging

I haven't been over here for so long that I was shocked to see a blue background on the page.  When did I do that? 

This is a difficult medium for me; for some reason the idea, the weight and responsibility of 'blogging for Jesus' just shuts me right up.  If you know me, you know that's no easy feat.  I haven't figured out how to resolve this little issue, but I do want to write here, so I'm going to make an attempt at diligence.  For the record: also no easy feat.

So.  I got up early and went to my favorite Spinning class, which effectively burns off all the guilt of yesterday's dining choices and comes with the added bonus of an endorphin overload.  In trying to make the most of that burst of motivation, I came home, started a pot of coffee, walked the dog, showered and sat right down to read my Bible.  I've been reading in Matthew, but today I opened to Isaiah (from my Top 10 People I Want to Hang Out with in Heaven list) and read Chapter 44.

I was cruising along, pencil in hand, underlining things that caught my eye.  This is what I marked:

(from verse 6) I am the First and I am the Last; Besides Me there is no God.
(from verse 8) Is there a God besides Me?  Indeed there is no other Rock; I know not one.

And then I read all the way down to the second half of verse 22, where God knocked my socks off.

Return to Me, for I have redeemed you.

Sometimes it happens this way, where some little thing in God's Word just grabs me, shakes me, and moves me from my fuzzy slippered, comfortable place of apathy and into the very throne room.  I heard my God  beseeching me to come back to Him.  I felt the urgency of His love for me.  I felt His desire to have me walk with Him, to set aside all the fleeting things that consume my time and return to Him.

It moved me straight to tears, I'm telling you.  Who am I?  Who am I that the King of kings would desire my attention?  It blows the mind, doesn't it?

One other thing struck me.  The verse does not say, "Return to me, and I will redeem you."

Return to Me, for I have redeemed you.

So here's your take-away people:  If God redeemed me, He most certainly has done the same for you.  Please accept that gift now if you never have before.  If He is beseeching me, then He most certainly is beseeching you.  If He loves me, without a doubt He loves you, too.  Don't wait.  Return to Him.

Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference

I'm here this week, learning about the dream God has placed in my heart.  There is so much to take in, so much to process, so much to change about my writing worldview that at times I am absolutely overwhelmed.

More than overwhelmed, though, I am packed chock-full of JOY.  I understand in a new way why God created community.  Every day I am amazed to find myself surrounded by people who share my faith in God, my hopes and dreams, my insecurities and frustrations.  I am not alone!  I have been encouraged by people whose words seem divinely timed.  I have been taught by people who want to see me succeed.  I have opened my heart to people who are at different places on the path I hope to follow, and I am able to draw from the experiences and wisdom of those ahead of me as well as cheer on those coming up behind.

What a great picture of the Church!  This is why we are to gather together.  This is why we are called to both teach and learn.  This is how we provide each other with all the fuel necessary to run the race.

Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching. Heb. 10:25

Look, Charlotte!

We're famous!

Ten reasons I love Ree Drummond

10. She talks openly about her sweaty armpits.

9. Even though she has sweaty armpits, she still looks cool as a cucumber in photos taken with (slightly) deranged fans.

8. Crash Hot Potatoes.  I just might be the ambassador for Crash Hot Potatoes.  If I haven't yet spread the good news in your direction, take this hint and make them tonight.  If (by divine intervention--trust me, this is what it will take), you manage to have some leftovers, use them for the crust in a quiche like my brilliant friend Charlotte.

7. Not only does she talk openly about sweaty armpits, but she actually wore two different earrings to the book signing last night.  I would so totally do that, but no way could I rock them like she did.

6. Caramelized Onion and Prosciutto Pizza.  I make Ree's Basic Pizza Crust on Sundays (and sometimes on Wednesdays, too) and use it for whichever night(s) of the week becomes Pizza Night.  For the longest time I would make the kids a pepperoni or sausage or some other kid-friendly pie and save the good stuff for the grownups, but last week one of them tried a piece when I wasn't looking and that ruse has officially come to an end.  I keep meaning to try the bbq chicken pizza, but alas, I cannot tear myself away from that sweet-and-salty wonder.  The Potato-Leek Pizza in the cookbook might just be able to do it, though.  Seriously, potato and leek pizza?  Seriously.

5. She is gracious.  This is one of my most longed-for character traits.  Because it is so far out of my reach, I recognize it immediately in others.  She was gracious to both Charlotte and to me, which, even though we were giddy and nervous and a little bit star-struck, might not have been too difficult seeing how we were the 10th and 11th people in line.  However, when Charlotte and I went back to Borders (after enjoying hot-and-sour soup and lettuce wraps at PF Changs), there was the Pioneer Woman, being just as gracious to numbers 758 and 759, and with the line of autograph-seekers still winding throughout the store.  We immediately felt terrible that we hadn't brought her lettuce wraps.  Her new BFF really should have.  Thankfully, she is gracious enough to forgive me.


4. Mac and Cheese.  She graciously put this recipe in her cookbook just so I could, 1. Buy it (the cookbook) yesterday morning, 2. Make it (the mac and cheese) yesterday afternoon, and 3. Guiltlessly leave my family for the evening to go hang out with her.  I specifically asked them to leave me some.  They did not, but all said it was a Do Over, which is code for Make it Again!

3. She wants to take me to the Lodge and fatten me up.  She didn't say it in so many words, but there it was, written all over her face.  Soon I'll be posting from Oklahoma and packing on the pounds.  Maybe I'll actually get to prepare food with something other than a dullish steak knife while I'm there.


2. Chicken Tikka Masala, by Pastor Ryan.  Dude.  There are no words.  Except maybe these:  I want to go to your church and eat at your house afterward.  I'll even do the dishes.

1. I love the way she protects her family.  I love that while we know there are four gorgeous children who live and learn and work and play and EAT on a working ranch somewhere in the state of Oklahoma, we do not know their names.  This, more than sweaty armpits and mismatched earrings, more than photos of calves' nuts and her husband's derriere, informs me of the content of her character.  I wouldn't accept anything less in my new BFF.

Sometimes, something happens during the course of my day the bears the marks of worthy blog fodder. Sometimes I sit down and tell you about these things, sometimes I get caught up in life and let them slip by, unrecorded.

Sometimes, though, I sit here and stare at a blank publishing tool, wondering what on earth I might tell you that would encourage, enlighten, entertain or otherwise make a mark on your life. Many times I have no idea what that is.

Like now.

I guess this is life. Sometimes it is altogether uninspiring. Sometimes it is so bad that altogether uninspiring would be an improvement. Those are the days I find it impossible to write. Today, though, is just a dreary, rainy day, one with too long a (procrastinated) task list and too little opportunity for fun.

So maybe that's the point. We are meant to "run the race," even on days when the race course is uphill. On days when it's muddy, or the terrain is rocky. On days when the view is boring or bleak or just a repetition of yesterday's boring or bleak view. On days where the run is really nothing more than placing one foot in front of the other and making forward progress of some sort.

Consider Jesus, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

JOY was set before Jesus. If there was JOY at the end of His race (and you know ours will never, ever compare to His), surely there is JOY at the end of ours.

Surely there is joy during the race, but sometimes I need to focus on the end, on tearing through that ribbon, on claiming my prize. Some days I have to look past the current, earthly landscape and focus on the coming glory.