It’s hard to believe Ava turns ten today.  She has seemingly done her best to meet the oft-repeated (not truly serious) request that she never grow up.  Her 20-month younger sister is now taller, and bigger overall, than Ava.  She is still quite content to curl up in an impossibly tiny little ball on a lap, and only seems mildly put-out that everyone around her is growing by leaps and bounds while she continues at her own, special, Ava pace.

A pace which, it seems, applies to everything she does.  Despite more challenging schoolwork and more responsibilities around the house, she still refuses to be rushed in her tasks.  This does often result in what seems like an overly-full plate for her, and upon occasion, has made her feel overwhelmed, but hopefully it will also help her learn more about time management and prioritizing her responsibilities well.

Though her pace may be slow, the quality of Ava’s work – in any endeavor – is usually excellent.  She is careful, pays attention to detail, and puts a lot of thought into everything she does.  She might be a bit of a perfectionist, but I think that her generally easy-going attitude balances it out fairly well.

Ava has an interesting dynamic with each of her siblings.  With Isabelle, there is a slight tendency toward sibling rivalry, but there is also a symbiotic-type relationship where Ava’s preference for being served and Isabelle’s love of being helpful results in many interactions where Ava asks, sweetly, “Isabelle, will you…?”, and Isabelle happily complies.  It’s funny and endearing, but has also required the occasional reminder to Ava to not take advantage of her sister.  With Lucas, she can be a little bossy, but also silly and patient.  With her older siblings, Ava is clearly very interested in demonstrating that she can hold her own – in games, in outdoor activities, and in her interests in general.  She particularly loves her more “grown-up” conversations with Bethany, and it has been great to see the two of them bridging the 6+ year gap in their ages.

Ava’s creativity is one of her strongest traits, I think.  She can make a realistic-looking model car out of cardboard without any sort of guidance, and come up with clever, funny gifts for her siblings.  She is a good artist and writes witty short stories.  When given a choice of activities, she will almost always gravitate toward something that allows her to be creative.

While not our most talkative child by a long shot, Ava makes her voice heard on things that are important to her.  She is straightforward and funny and grasps a lot of science and technical concepts with ease.  She loves reading and playing games and snuggling (for now).  She is beautiful and gracious and determined and kind.  She is a bright light in our world and we love her so much.

Fifteen years with Nathanael.  This year, he officially surpassed me in height…and if his appetite is any indication, he’s still got quite a bit of growing to do.  My once stocky – maybe a little soft around the middle at times – little boy is now tall, lanky and strong, but still, as always, rough and tumble and tough.  He faces the (maybe common?) homeschooled-boy longing to compete in sports and showing off his athletic abilities, but for now he focuses his energy on Tae Kwon Do, at which he demonstrates particular agility, precision and quick thinking.

This year has seemed difficult for Nathanael.  Schoolwork that he normally would have aced with little effort often demonstrated a distracted, disinterested mind.  I don’t know for sure what he was struggling with – and I honestly don’t think he knew either – but my guess is that Tim not feeling well for the entirety of last school year weighed heavily on my Bug.  He has always been, and still remains, quiet but deeply thoughtful…rarely emotional on the exterior, but quick to look out for the needs of others; still the one to trail behind with the stragglers on a family hike (though he could easily outpace us all), still the one to let others have their preference, still silently coming alongside me or others to help without being asked.  And seeing his dad’s health falter, seeing me overwhelmed, and him not being able to fix it probably hit him harder than he could even process.

But, though it wasn’t his best year, he still, objectively, did well in school…and stepped more into the role of our resident handyman.  From replacing the locking mechanism on our washer, to adding studs to a brick wall, to assembling kitchen cabinets, and many odd jobs in between, Nathanael has shown great aptitude and interest in just about any work that involves using tools or fixing things.

He is also our biggest fan of board games, crossword puzzles, and, really, puzzles of any variety.  He loves books, and reading words – literally any words, anywhere.  He asks thought-provoking questions about everything (seriously, every thought the kid has goes deep).  He still, and forever I think, loves yellow, and sugar, but he also loves vegetables and gardening.

I have been struck often throughout these fifteen years, too, about the disciple Nathanael (also Bartholomew), and how Jesus said he was a man in whom was no guile…and how much that applies to my Nathanael.  He is forthright, to the point, honest, and full of integrity.  Not that he never makes mistakes, or bad choices, but through all these fifteen years, I can’t think of a single time when he has tried to lie or deceive to avoid getting in trouble.  And he will, of his own accord, do what he needs to do to correct his wrongdoing.  I am so impressed by his character in this.

I am so impressed by a lot of things about my Bug.  I am thankful beyond words for this son of mine, and I really am truly happy to be celebrating his fifteen years.

When I was a sophomore in college, I was at a point in my Christian walk where I found myself in church one Sunday morning, having this conversation with God (no, not audibly, but very clearly in my spirit).

God asked, “Do you need me?”

I answered, “Yes.”  This most basic truth – that I had known from that first moment I accepted Jesus as savior when I was a child – that I was a sinner who needed the sacrifice of Jesus to make me whole and perfect, to rescue me from the eternal consequences of my sin – was and always has been very clear to me.

Then God asked, “Do you want Me?”

I answered, “Yes, because I know I need You.”  I am prone to being excessively rational at times.

So, then, God asked me, “Do you love Me?”

I answered, “No.”

This was the harsh reality of my soul in that moment, and there was no sense trying to make it out to be anything other than what it was.  But, I think the important thing to note in light of that fact, is that I was still searching for Him.  In truth, I wanted to run away.  But I couldn’t.  Because I knew I needed Him.  Because no matter how much I found life to be unfair, I knew that eternal life was only found in Him.  So, I stayed.

And how did God respond to me?  When I said I didn’t love Him, did He turn away?  Quite the contrary, actually.  Instead, in that church where the “extremes” of Christianity –  like mentioning hearing from God – were avoided so as to not offend anyone, the pastor stood in front of the congregation and said something to the effect of “I sense there is someone here who is telling God that you need Him, you want Him, but you don’t feel like you love Him.  If that’s you, I’d love to pray with you.”  I never knew him to do such a thing before or since.  I went forward…I was the only one who went forward…and the pastor prayed for me.  I don’t honestly remember what was prayed, but I think I mostly just needed to know that in the midst of my sincere doubts and struggles, God heard and cared enough to let me know, and not let me walk away.

The truth is, at 18 years old, most of my beliefs were formed based on what I had heard from someone else.  I hadn’t yet read all the way through the Bible and I had a fair amount of erroneous ideas about what Christianity was all about.  But I knew that true, saving gospel, my need for Jesus, and I went back to just that.  The verse “I determined to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified” (I Cor. 2:2), became my perspective on my faith.  I stripped everything away except for that and proceeded to re-build my belief structure, bit by bit, with the Word of God always informing each facet.

So, why am I writing this?  Because “deconstruction” of one’s faith has apparently become fashionable.  Upon experiencing disillusionment with the Church, or being faced with an uncomfortable truth from the Bible, or finding that life doesn’t always work the way we want, so many professing Christians are beginning to examine the entirety of their supposed faith and deciding to throw it all away, or to rebuild it into a more “progressive” Christianity.  Not all respond this way, and it is certainly not a bad thing to examine one’s faith, but I think the rash of people walking away from traditional Christian values and, in fact, condemning even solid, Biblically-based beliefs, is indicative of the serious and wide-spread problem in the Church of not preaching the true gospel.

What I have witnessed in countless ways the past several years has been preaching and evangelizing that is founded on “love”.  Churches draw people in by telling them how much God loves them and wants to be with them.  Outreach efforts have the primary goal of communicating that God loves everyone.  Which IS true.  But it isn’t the gospel. I believe churches are filling up with people being taught to seek love, rather than God.  I believe churches are filling up with people who have never really been told that they are sinners who need a savior, and because God loves them, He sacrificed His Son for the forgiveness of their sins.  God’s love is the motivation, but it doesn’t preclude the reality that there is a sin problem, and it, in and of itself, is not the solution to the problem of sin.  Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, and our acceptance of all that it means for our lives, is the answer.  Inherent in that, before we can even begin to talk about the magnitude of God’s love, is the magnitude of the depravity of man.  In fact, only in understanding the depths of our own sin can we start to scratch the surface of the incomprehensibility of God’s love for us.

A gospel of “love” cheapens what love really is (if everyone is innately lovable, then love isn’t a hard thing), it renders the cross meaningless (if everyone deserves love, then they don’t deserve punishment), and when a person is faced with defending Christian faith and values to others and to themselves, they are left with nothing but shifting sand (why does a good person even need a savior?).  Then they loudly proclaim to the world that they tried Christianity and it failed them.

The true gospel, though, helps us recognize that we are culpable for the wrongs we do.  It requires us to acknowledge that we all, at times, have a bent toward sin – selfishness, laziness, bitterness, hatred, greed, etc. – that it isn’t just a case of trying our best and falling short, but willfully choosing to not love God or man.  It establishes a rational divide between God’s holiness and our unholiness, and it establishes the need for a savior to bridge that divide.  God’s love is on full, unhindered display in this good news of Jesus Christ, but we also have to acknowledge that He is not only love, but He is also just, good, holy, powerful and altogether higher and better than us in every way.

Jesus said that many will come to Him on the day of judgment, calling Him Lord, and that He would send them away, saying He never knew them.  I wonder if this unwillingness to preach the true, full gospel is why.

Isabelle turns eight today.  She is exuberant and determined and encouraging and persistent.

She loves all things “girly”…dresses and jewelry and pretty shoes and sparkly, frilly hair things.

If she could, I think she might live in the kitchen.  With constant questions, she has figured out how to do many things cooking-wise, and is always very interested in sampling anything and everything that is being made.  Almost humorously, she has a strong dislike for anything spicy…but will still always insist that she might suddenly like spice if it is in something someone else is eating, or something she sees in use in the kitchen.

This is Isabelle’s first year playing softball, and though there’s a learning curve, along with bugs and heat and dirt, she has a smile on her face just about every moment of it.  She loves being around people, especially other girls her age, and is so excited for this opportunity.

Isabelle remains our most enthusiastic “helper” at home, too.  She is very particular about the help she gives, though, hence the qualifier.  Whenever “someone”, in general, is asked to do something, she is always the first volunteer.  Likewise, whenever anyone is doing something which Isabelle deems might need help (whether it actually does or not), she is quick to ask what she can do.  When something is specifically asked of her, though, she is often less enamored with the task…which, I admit, befuddles me sometimes, but we address any attitudes when they arise, and encourage her to not let them impede her love for helping others.

Isabelle has been learning, bit by bit, the recorder, the harmonica, the guitar, and the piano.  While my tendency would be to limit it to one, or maybe two, instruments, she is prone to being easily bored by just one, and I figured at this point, it’s just better to encourage her interest in music, rather than care too much about progress.  But she IS making progress and is always thrilled to share that progress with anyone who will listen.

Academically, Isabelle excels in math, but does well in most areas.  Her listening comprehension, which has been a struggle in the past, is improving, and for an eight year old, she is a great self-starter and takes ownership of the work she has to do.  As with most areas of life, she always wants to share what she’s learning with anyone who will listen, so many members of our family get daily updates on her daily math lessons, the new interesting science facts that she has learned, and the entire, detailed plot line of whatever book she is reading.

She is growing fast, but is still my little girl in so many ways.  Isabelle always wants to sit next to me or Tim.  Every morning, she greets us with an enormous smile, and big, almost-tackling, hugs.  I sometimes have to remind myself to not let these days slip by unnoticed, but when I take the time, I truly cherish Isabelle’s smiles and giggles, her empathetic heart, her unrestrained interest in anything I’m doing, her questions, her excitement, and her generally optimistic attitude about each new day.  She is beautiful and thoughtful and capable and creative and fun-loving and kind.  I love my Sweetpea more than words can say, and I’m forever grateful for her birthday each year when we get to take a day to celebrate her.

Twenty-two years of marriage.  This year, my married life officially became longer than my pre-marriage life.  It’s funny, though, how in those first twenty-one years I thought I had so much figured out, and it feels like each one of these past twenty-two years have made me realize more how much I don’t have figured out.

Every year brings new challenges, and this past year was no different.  Tim has spent much of it not feeling well, and though (thankfully) no major health issues have been discovered and he is mostly recovered (no thanks to any of the myriad doctors he saw, though), the stress of many long months of symptoms, of appointments, of tests, of lots of expenses that insurance doesn’t cover, of so much left undone, of the unknown and of constant anxiety have been taxing.

I learned that some of my perceptions of Tim might have been slightly erroneous…like how I thought he always just ignored pain and illness and fatigue, when most of the time he really just always felt good (a completely foreign concept to me).  I also learned that what I thought was maybe me just being a good, godly wife in the past, was more likely just me having life really easy.  I was confronted with just how much I depend on Tim, and how grumpy I can be when he doesn’t meet my “expectations”.  Beyond that, there have been so many tense discussions…which crossed the line into arguments way too often…about how to approach things, what advice to follow, when to keep trying to find answers and when to accept that an answer might never be found.

In all honesty, we still struggle to find a compromise with some of these things, but, arguments aside, I do believe it is a struggle worth having.  It’s part of the way we balance each other out.  Tim’s nature is to be relentless, to magnify a problem so that he can fix it, to never stop until he has answers.  There are many areas where this is admirable, but sometimes he “misses the trees for the leaves”, his big picture gets compromised and he needs a perspective adjustment.  Less because of any wisdom or great communication skills on my part, and probably more because of exhaustion and bluntness, I have offered that different perspective. It isn’t always the better one, but it reminds him of priorities and sometimes (I think) helps him see beyond his own needs.  On the flip side, I have needed more lessons on how to extend grace, how to not expect perfect thoughts or behaviors from Tim (even knowing full well that nobody is perfect, I still have a hard time when I see imperfection in him), and how to see circumstances from someone else’s perspective.

I’ve thought a fair amount about how we will look back on these days…hopefully reflecting on God’s faithfulness, on lessons learned, with compassionate, gracious hearts.  But it has also made me thankful for an attitude toward marriage that is rooted in commitment, where figuring out a way through hard times is the only option.  How much more difficult and complicated does a situation become when a person, in addition to whatever problem they’re facing, starts questioning whether that problem crosses the line of “too much” for a marriage?  How many solvable problems just never get solved because two people were never really committed to working things out to begin with?

And I’m reminded of God’s commitment to us when we walk with Him.  In spite of our endless flaws, He faithfully works on us.  When we fall, He is always there to help us back up and to forgive us and mend our broken places.  Even though He is never the flawed, imperfect one, still God never ceases to be the most gracious, the most patient, the most persistent in this best-of-all-relationships we get to have with Him through Christ.  Seeing my own limits in these virtues, and seeing how continually I test these virtues in my husband makes me all the more thankful for Tim, yes, but infinitely more so for my Savior.

Not that lessons about God’s character are the only way I am blessed by marriage.  These lessons are possible in large part because of all the good I know Tim brings to my life…both when I am overwhelmed by it, and when I realize, to my chagrin, that I have been taking it for granted.  My love and gratitude for him grows in depth and complexity with each passing year, and I am so thankful for these twenty-two years, and hope for many, many more.

My baby is five.  He seems to think he’s on the verge of adulthood, though.  Lucas tends to believe that there is nothing his older siblings can do that he can’t do.  He vacuums and mops, he fixes broken door handles and tapes up ripped book spines (all of his own volition).  He is pretty close to holding his own in races, and can still quite effectively tackle anyone. He has fairly successfully learned to play games not really meant for four year-olds (right now monopoly and chess are two of his favorites) so that he can interact with his older siblings (major kudos to the big brothers and sisters who have been so patient with his learning curve).  His analytical abilities astound me sometimes (like being able to figure out how to fix the broken door handle), and his comprehension of ideas that he’s presented with in books and movies is beyond his five years.

Lucas’s love for anything fast has remained constant.  When he was just a couple years old, it was cars, then the Flash, now Sonic.  He races around on his bicycle, and more than once has snuck out to the car or the tractor to “practice” being behind the wheel.

After mostly turning his nose up at the thought of being read to for the first four years of his life, Lucas has finally started to enjoy it, and will happily bring me a stack of books and snuggle up next to me.  He seems to have a particular fondness for books he finds funny, and I love getting to see and hear him laugh at his favorite parts.

Compassion, and emotions in general, run deep in this kid.  He is very aware if someone around him is sick or hurting.  He feels offenses very deeply, and takes notice of the moods of the people around him.  Big smiles and big hugs get even bigger smiles and bigger hugs from him in return.  He struggles to understand why he can’t always get his way, and in general puts more stock in how he feels about something than he really should.  We’re working on finding the balance in keeping him soft-hearted, but rational, too.

In truth, Lucas pushes so many more limits than I could have imagined possible.  But I was noting to Tim just the other day about how, more and more, those pushed limits have been manifesting instead as his self-motivation for accomplishing something, and his ability to identify what needs doing and figuring out how to get it done.  As so often happens, the areas where refining is necessary are also the areas where we see vast potential, and it makes me excited to see how God will shape him and use him in years to come.

I am so thankful for Lucas and blessed by the joy and exuberance he adds to each and every day.  What a wonderful gift these five years with him have been.

Bethany is 16 today.  As scary as the thought of her getting behind the wheel is to me (she’s been looking forward to the prospect of this for years), it is honestly not as scary as I thought it would be even a year ago.  I am actually a little stunned by how much Bethany has matured over the past year.  She has become my most diligent child in many aspects of chores and schoolwork.  I never dreamed I would be able to say that – my butterfly-chasing, dirt-throwing, day-dreaming little girl has become focused and organized and extremely capable.

She has invested more time and energy into hobbies that she loves – caring for her chickens, baking cakes and pastries, making chocolates, and learning to make jewelry out of polymer clay.  She is still a voracious reader, and will happily find a corner to curl up in any chance she gets.

Bethany isn’t often our most compassionate child, but she has demonstrated more thoughtfulness and sensitivity in the face of difficult moments lately.  Interestingly to me – in part because Bethany has struggled in the past to even manage her own chores well – the primary way she seems to show this compassion is by serving.  She will volunteer to make dinner, or start picking up around the house, or take charge of her younger siblings much more readily than she will give a hug or offer words of sympathy or encouragement.  It has truly been a such a blessing to me to see this response in her when someone (often me) is having a hard day or season.

There is so much about Bethany that is lovely and wonderful.  And seeing the young woman she is, and is becoming, is a testimony to me of God’s faithfulness.  Throughout her life, I have felt the most incapable of teaching, helping, and molding Bethany into all God wants her to be, and indeed, even now, I am still convinced of my ineptitude.  But God has worked in her life nonetheless.  She is strong and confident and smart and creative and beautiful.  I am so thankful for the gift that she is and for chance to celebrate her sixteen years today.

You took your last breath on March 2, 2022, at 2:00 in the morning.  Geesh, even writing that makes me start crying. I wish I had been there.  I know you understand that I wasn’t – you went from stable to rapidly declining over the course of just a day – but I somehow feel like I should have been there to hold your hand and pray for you one last time.

I am thankful, though, for those few days in October when I got to see you, knowing the end might be around the corner.  I made sure to tell you the things that I thought were important,  I reminded you of God’s love for you, and that Jesus made a way for you to be with Him, I played you some of your favorite songs – and some of mine, and even though you forgot I was there just days later, you told me at the time that it was the “best visit ever”.

Still, if you were here, there are more things I would want to say to you.  I told you I was thankful that you are my dad, but there a lot of reasons why I’m thankful that I wish I had told you.

I’m thankful for the bike rides to Lake George, and stopping for ice cream on the way home.

I’m thankful that you taught me to throw and catch a football, and often asked if I wanted to play catch in the yard.

I’m thankful that you encouraged me to run around in the rain and play in puddles.

I’m thankful for the many times we would race in the yard.

I’m thankful that you played with us at the beach.

I’m thankful for the shared large sodas from Cumberland Farms when we would pick Mom up from the bus stop on her way home from work.

I’m thankful for your excitement on Christmas mornings.

I’m thankful that you always came to every night of our drama club performances.

I’m thankful that you and Mom helped pay for my trip to Guyana, even though you didn’t want me so far away for a month.

I’m thankful that you loved me enough to recognize the good husband I have in Tim, not just in spite of, but BECAUSE of his willingness to stand up to you when you spoke hurtful words in anger to me.

I’m thankful for you both comforting and scolding me when I was upset about a 97 on a test.

I’m thankful for you driving 11 hours each way to bring Jill and me home from college for Thanksgiving…which was a total of 44 hours driving in 5 days.

I’m thankful for you and Mom driving 12 hours at a moment’s notice when I had my second miscarriage, to comfort me.

I’m thankful that you came to my track meets and hung around just to watch a couple minutes of me jumping, or throwing, or running.

I’m thankful for family hikes that you always initiated.

I’m thankful for the long drives through back roads and beautiful scenery.

I’m thankful for your love of music, and all the music I know now…classic rock and early contemporary christian music…just because of you.

I’m thankful for the campaign signs you made for me during my one and only attempt at running for student government in 6th grade.

I’m so thankful, strange though you may think it, for you telling me “do as I say, not as I do”.  I know you meant it.  And I know how much you wanted to be “better” than you were, and how discouraging it can be to always feel like you’re falling short.

I’m thankful for you going out of your way to get me a meat-lovers pizza when I was pregnant with Caedmon.  And for making a special trip to the store to get me medicine for my headaches.

I’m thankful for the time you brought me a whopper for lunch while I was at work, and sat waiting for me for an hour because that was the one day I couldn’t take lunch at my normal time and I couldn’t even let you know, but you stayed and weren’t at all upset that I was late.

I’m thankful that, even though you rarely said it first, every time I told you I loved you, you said it back.

I’m thankful for the “Good morning” texts you sent every day for a few months, before you forgot how to send texts.

I’m thankful for the $10 you had Mom send me for my birthday last year.  It meant so much to me, even though I’m sure you thought it was too small.  I bought myself a Martha’s ice cream cone, with toasted coconut sprinkles, in honor of our many trips there.

I’m thankful for family spelling bees, and “dog-pile on Daddy”, and the times you had us kids try to hold you down, and the times you did arm curls with us holding onto your arms.

I’m thankful for the times I was angry, and you made me stand in front of you while you tried to make me laugh (which almost always worked).

I’m thankful for the times you would randomly bring home burgers or subs or pizza for dinner.

I’m thankful for the teddy bear that you insisted on getting me for Christmas, because you were getting Jill one, and you thought I should have one, too.

I’m thankful for memories of you kicking all our butts at Jeopardy, or Trivial Pursuit, or Axis and Allies.  You were an intelligent man, and I don’t think I ever told you that I thought so.

I’m thankful for the times you prayed for me.

I’m thankful that you always taught us that Jesus was our standard.

I’m thankful for the sacrifice you made being a stay-at-home dad.  I didn’t realize all that meant as a kid, but I know now how hard that can be, and you were kind of taken for granted.

I’m thankful for Alice Cooper blaring loudly out the windows when we would get home from the last day of school.

I’m thankful for impromptu trips to the Great Escape, always your idea.

I’m thankful you taught us about baseball stats, and all the different players (in the 80’s…I have no clue about any of the players now, haha).

I’m thankful that, though you often reacted harshly to things, you also almost always thought through things afterwards and softened your stance.

I’m thankful that I always knew you loved me and I always knew you’d be there for me when I needed you.

There’s probably a lot more I could say to you, things I’ll think of over the coming days, weeks, months, and years.  I wish we’d had more time, and I’m sure I will always miss you, but I believe your faith was sincere and I will see you again in glory.  I love you, Daddy.

A little more than six years ago, a group of pastors and elders decided to kick us out of our church.  There was no biblical sin offense, and they would later tell our new pastor that they had no sin offense against us, that we just didn’t “fit” their “culture”.

It was an earth-shattering experience for us that left us with a lot of pieces of life to try to put back together, and while we have come to be grateful to not be a part of that church anymore, in my many months of searching scripture about forgiveness, I came to the conclusion that God does not ask, much less require, us to forgive an unrepentant Christian.  And believe me, I KNOW, this is not at all the popular “Christian” view on the matter, but the full counsel of scripture, to my mind, makes this clear.  Jesus himself said in Luke 17:3 “Take heed to yourselves.  If your brother sins against you, rebuke him; and if he repents, forgive him.” (emphasis mine).  Even the Lord’s prayer, that is so often referenced when someone states we have to forgive everyone, asks God to “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us”  and while we obviously don’t want to be disqualified from God’s forgiveness, since when does God forgive us without repentance?  Does He expect us to offer a more far-reaching forgiveness than He offers?  On the contrary, I John 1:9 says “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins…”.

There is also absolutely nothing in the Bible about forgiveness bringing freedom to the person doing the forgiving, nor in general about forgiving someone for our own sake, as are popular opinions on the topic.  I’ve concluded that the concept of what forgiveness even is can vary widely, and that, often, it is misunderstood as not allowing oneself to be bitter or resentful – which would be a sinful response to an offense, not unforgiveness.  Needless to say, I have felt that those church leaders six years ago sinned against me and my family in a number of ways, and as there has never been repentance, I have not forgiven them…as in, I believe they are walking in sin, and will be judged by God one day for the sin they have not confessed as sin.  As I have had basically no contact with any of those men these six years, I haven’t really had to figure out how that gets walked out; the biblical example given for an unrepentant brother says “with such a one, do not even eat”, which, while helpful for understanding that there is to be no relationship, is not helpful for how to respond to a passing interaction.

So, today, when I happened to be in the same place as one of those men, and despite me desperately trying to keep my back to him, he said “Hi, Lori.  How are you?”, I just said a tight-lipped “Fine,” and turned away.  In truth, had I been a more confrontational sort of person, I’ve imagined that if ever such a situation arose, I would like to give him a piece of my mind, telling him he had no business speaking to me, much less, asking how I was.  But as it was, he did not make any further attempt at interaction, and I tried my best to ignore it.

After the fact, I thought that maybe I would write a post about why my response was justified, why the fake pleasantries of such an interaction are distasteful and dishonest, even about how it is important to me that my kids (one of whom was with me at the time) don’t ever have the opportunity to misinterpret the intentions of such people, who had knowingly and persistently hurt our family.  But as I got on the treadmill this afternoon – honestly intending to listen to some music that would remind me of the grace God showed us in bringing us out of a bad church situation – my mp3 player had just started the song “The Walk” by Steven Curtis Chapman.  Toward the end of the song, there is a refrain based on Micah 6:8 that repeats “do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with your God” over and over again.  And as I was listening to that, the words “love mercy” pierced my conscience.  Love mercy.  Love MERCY.  See, the interesting thing about mercy is that it is all about not giving someone the punishment they deserve – acknowledging a sin, an offense, a hurt as warranting a negative consequence, but choosing to show kindness instead.

The Holy Spirit convicted me of my own lack of mercy, and I pushed back, trying to justify that choice, but the realization I came to was that God shows each of us mercy every day of our lives, regardless of our standing with Him.  Our sin doesn’t just earn us a cold shoulder or a heated rebuke from the offended, but death.  And yet here we are.  God tarries in punishing us to see if we might, in time, choose repentance, forgiveness, eternal life.  And His word makes it clear that it is His kindness that leads us to repentance.  In our unrepentance, He is kind to us.  While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.  His kindness doesn’t mean forgiveness.  One day, every sin will be accounted for.  My hurt and offense, and very strong belief that judgment awaits those walking in unrepentant sin, doesn’t give me the right to be unkind.  I am not the judge.  I am not the One who has the responsibility to mete out justice, now or ever.  My responsibility is to LOVE MERCY.  God help me to love mercy.

                 He has shown you, O man, what is      good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God? — Micah 6:8

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t beat myself up about my size.

I weigh somewhere around 205 pounds, give or a take a couple pounds depending on the day.  Go ahead…gasp, cringe, shake your head.  It’s a high number, and I know it.  And I don’t have any interest in pushing the “big is beautiful” notion that seems to lately be circulating through our society.  I definitely know that I am not at my healthiest (or most beautiful) size.

I considered only vaguely referencing my weight, but I thought it was important to not be vague, for a couple of reasons.  First, so that I can say that while 205 pounds is more than I should weigh, a healthy weight for me is still 160-170 pounds, a weight at which many people would still cringe, and at which the supposed standard of a healthy weight, the BMI, still considers me overweight.  This tall, big-boned, big-muscled frame of mine just won’t ever be the petite, size 2 ideal to which many people compare themselves.  The second reason I mention my weight is so that when I say that I can still slow-jog 2-3 miles, I can still do ten real push-ups (as opposed to modified, or “girl”, push-ups), and I can still give my 100 pound 12-year old a piggy back ride up the stairs, I can also (hopefully) assert that being capable of these tasks at 200-plus pounds demonstrates a level of fitness that, while not exemplary, is also not laughable.

So, what’s the point?  Why am I writing this at all?  I guess, for starters, it’s because there’s a lot more nuance to a person’s weight than whether they eat too much, or exercise too little.  It’s because of the frustration I’ve faced in trying to reach some ideal weight, but realizing just how much stress, and poor sleep, and who-knows-how-many unknown health factors can thwart even my best efforts.  It’s because of the feeling of failure when I know I’ve eaten more than I should, or am too tired to exercise, or can’t exercise because of old injuries that seem to resurface with too much regularity.  And it’s because in the face of all of these reasons and excuses and discouragements, more and more, God seems to be challenging me to see things differently.

There are aspects of weight issues that are also sin issues.  Overeating, laziness, even inordinate stress responses can be displeasing to God.  But there are also contributing factors to weight issues that are not sin – injuries, hormone imbalances, insomnia, and grief, to name a few.  What I’m becoming even more aware of recently, though, is that there are also aspects of maintaining a “healthy” weight that can also be sinful.  Anytime we idealize something, it can slip into idolatry if we’re not careful.  Likewise, I don’t think that eating and exercise should be topics that consume large chunks of our time.  God’s concern for our attitudes and actions is far greater than His concern for our outward appearance.  While there was a time (in college) that I exercised extensively and significantly restricted my diet, the time and effort that would take away from my family and other responsibilities now would be poor stewardship on my part.

There’s meant to be a balance, I guess.  I believe it matters to God that we are healthy and physically strong enough to fulfill whatever He has called us to do, but I don’t think that is something that a number on a scale, or a size on a pair of pants can appropriately reflect.  And if we achieve our weight or size goals, but miss the more important work of life, I think God is grieved.  Even more, if we are setting those weight and size goals because of what the world says is healthy or beautiful, then it can become so easy to miss out on the truth that God created each one of us on purpose, in His image, to reflect His glory.  Sin can mar that, certainly, but it isn’t sin that makes my calf muscles huge or my hair gray or my torso long.  Those were God’s choices in the unique design He had for me.  I may not always think they were good choices, but since I’m not God, I have to conclude that I’m wrong and He didn’t make a mistake when He made me.

And as much as I might get bothered by my failings, it is so important to also recognize that there is grace to cover my failings – not to excuse them, but to acknowledge that there’s a reason I need Jesus.  I’m not going to ever be able to get everything right.  And that puts me in the same boat as everybody else, size 2 jeans or not.