I think I have always subconsciously thought that a false prophet knows he is a false prophet.  I’ve figured that they must just find some benefit in the lie.  In some stories in the Bible it can seem like its obvious to everyone that the false prophets are purposely leading people astray…or at least purposely tickling their ears.  I don’t know that I had honestly ever considered the possibility that false prophets might believe what they’re peddling…until reading the story of Elijah on Mt. Carmel for what seems like the thousandth time.

I guess I’ve always, somehow, seen it as lighthearted.  I know it’s not really, but something about Elijah’s almost cocksure attitude, and the awesome way God shows up have served to make the story inspirational and not too scary to me.  But lately, I’ve thought a lot more about those 450 prophets of baal.  I’d always kind of viewed them as a joke – powerless, pathetic, charlatans.  I thought they couldn’t possibly have actually thought they served the real God.  Their actions seem to tell a different story, though.

While Elijah looked on mockingly, these false prophets were dead serious, even going so far as to cut themselves to try to make their “god” hear them.  What kind of delusion must they have been under to believe in a non-existent deity so much that they would take such extreme action?  And if they would do that to themselves, in the name of serving baal, what would they do to others?

Although the Bible stories about Elijah always seem to me to have a not-so-serious undertone, his circumstances were often dire.  Speaking the truth cost him dearly and caused him to rely solely on God’s miraculous provision more than once, just to survive.

I realize it can seem like a stretch to draw parallels between Elijah’s experience and that of Christians in the world today, but I’m at least learning the importance of recognizing the seriousness of our circumstances – the reality that the father of lies has completely captivated the hearts and minds of so many people, and they are dead-set against any acknowledgement of Who the true God is.

It honestly scares me.  For as much as I can bemoan past circumstances of life, I can’t deny that life is still pretty comfortable, pretty easy.  And I’d be lying if I said that I’m really okay with that changing.  But I think that’s a big part of the problem.  While we have an enemy ready to do whatever it takes to gain the upper hand, we have many Christians who just want to do whatever it takes to stay comfortable, to avoid change, to live in “peace”.

I’ve thought a lot about Jesus’ statement that He did not come to bring peace, but a sword (Matthew 10:34), as so many people in the Church are shouting from the proverbial rooftops about love and unity and compassion.  Not that those are bad things, or wrong things, but they are being pursued at the expense of truth, and, I think, with an underlying motivation of personal comfort.

I’m feeling challenged, I guess.  Will I stand for truth no matter the cost?  Is there anything hindering me from living in full submission to the Lord?  I won’t pretend to know what the future holds, but I don’t want to be surprised if, or when, serving the Lord means making truly hard choices and learning what it means to know the fellowship of His suffering.

There has rarely been an issue that has caused me so much anxiety.  And I have struggled to understand why.  It honestly is not the issue of having my rights stripped away (though that does concern me, I recognize that, Constitution aside, we are not biblically guaranteed “rights”), nor even my own personal discomfort when donning a mask.  This issue of mask wearing is so stressful to me because of the false narrative that has accompanied it.

People are being told – and are believing hook, line and sinker – that masks are doing something there is simply no proof they can do [as long as people follow standard social practices of not coughing and sneezing on others…which we all should have learned early on in life].  Factual studies are being ignored in favor of anecdotal “evidence”…or, worse, are being cited as saying one thing when they, in fact, say the opposite.  I’m bothered that large swaths of our society, and world, are grabbing hold of a philosophy, and then trying to forcefully impose that philosophy on others, without ever studying the so-called evidence of what they are claiming is “science”.  Then, arguing with, criticizing, and condemning those that have done their due diligence and come to a very different conclusion.

I’m bothered that Christians are trying to make this an issue of compassion, when I can’t wrap my head around this idea that perpetuating a lie instead of exposing it, is what is considered to be compassionate.  I fully understand being compassionate about the very real fear that this virus has evoked in people.  But as I watch pretty much our entire society walking around with masks on, ignoring scientifically proven methods of preventing viral spread (namely, keeping physical distance and practicing good hygiene)…and as the overwhelming statistical evidence shows no benefits from masking…I can’t help but feeling frustrated and helpless that so many people have misplaced their trust in something that won’t protect them in the vast majority of situations in which they might find themselves.

And then to have it asserted that I am the person who isn’t compassionate?  I doggedly maintain my distance in public, and am careful to breathe through my nose (which does not result in asymptomatic spread) and I don’t cough or sneeze in public, but none of that seems to matter to anyone, because masks have been touted as the gold-standard preventative.  Maybe Christians need to revisit what it truly means to love people.  Because last I checked, doing that which is actually proven to protect someone, instead of just doing the thing that someone erroneously thinks will protect them, is in reality more loving and compassionate.

Incidentally, I think the argument for compassion becomes even more problematic when faced with the realization that there are many people (including many Christians) who have fears associated with the thought of wearing masks.  Fears of freedom being stripped away and a bleak future for their children and yes, even health concerns (though the media has gone to great lengths to downplay these concerns).  If we make someone else’s perception of a situation our only gauge of what’s right and compassionate, then we have an impossible choice.  Compassion has to be combined with truth.  It’s a foundation of Christianity.  It’s a foundation of the gospel.  Without truth, there is nothing separating Christian love and compassion from the world’s.

Today, Ava turns 8 years old.  Cue the deep breath and misty eyes.  How can it have been 8 years already?  Maybe it’s the way she persistently refuses to outgrow her precious little-girl ways of snuggling perfectly up next to me, and offers the sweetest “good morning” greetings, and lifts an innocent, heart-brimming-over gaze to mine whenever she’s being complimented, but she is often still only four years old in my mind’s eye.

Nonetheless, there is much evidence of this inconspicuous passage of time.  Still my classically beautiful girl, her features have lost some of their softness and gained more definition.  Still sweet and vulnerable, her personality has developed a core of strength and determination.  Still silly and spunky, she has grown in responsibility and wisdom.

Some of her favorite things these days are anything science-y, but also playing with dolls; helping in the kitchen and learning to make some things on her own; playing frisbee; fishing; snuggling under a blanket at any time of day, no matter the temperature; and most artistic endeavors.  She is not a great lover of reading at this point, but it does seem to be slowly growing on her.

Ava is incredibly smart, fairly organized, and very compassionate.  She struggles with motivation for chores, and prefers to take her time with everything, though.  She fills a niche in our family in her ability to evoke compassion and grace from others.  She has a unique capacity to (generally) bring out the best in her siblings.  I think often about praying for her as a baby, and getting the impression so strongly that she would be a peacemaker, and now, in many ways, she is beginning to step into that role.  Her calm, loving nature is a blessing to each of us individually, and to our home as a whole.

I’m so thankful for Ava.  I’m so thankful for these 8 years that she has graced our lives with her sweetness and beauty.  I’m so thankful to be able to celebrate her today.

We like to start our school year a little early.  And by “we” I mean me.  And by “like” I mean feel obligated to.  We will take a vacation in October, and we like (all of us, not just me) to take extra time off for Christmas, and since I don’t want to end school in July, early has to happen.  So today is it – the first day of our 2020-2021 school year.

As with almost every other first day of school for the past 11 years, it has been a mild train-wreck…well, at least for me.  Somehow, good sleep is hard to come by before the first day of school.  There’s always something.  Last night (in addition to my naturally poor sleep), there were thunderstorms seemingly all night long, and an early morning awakening to find that my three year old had wet the bed, soaking pjs, pillow, bedding and (because mattress pads had slid to one side somehow) mattress.  So I woke up fighting exhaustion and trying to curb an encroaching rotten attitude.

Right away, we got behind schedule…only slightly, but enough to frazzle my nerves even more.  Truth be told, the older four have had mostly smooth sailing today; just a bit of searching for experiment materials, and some clarifications about schedules.  The younger two, not as smooth.  Lessons took longer than I felt like they should.  One child vacillated between plowing ahead without instruction, and asking questions about the most obvious (to me) things.  I realized that I never found one of the books I needed for science.  I still can’t find it, after searching the house top to bottom twice now, so I ordered another copy that we will be waiting on for 2 weeks or more.  Which means I’ll need to improvise.  Improvisation is not my forte.

Now I sit here, writing.  Because my brain can’t switch from school to other life at all easily, especially when I’m tired.  I know the kinks will get hammered out and we’ll get into a good rhythm with our days.  It doesn’t come naturally, though, and it doesn’t come without a cost to other areas of life.  Sometimes I feel like I should have more to do for homeschooling…that I slack off and don’t do enough.  More and more, though, I’m realizing how much I end up doing when I don’t realize it – when the day passes and I feel like I didn’t get anything done, only to recall the dozens of questions, problems, conversations about schoolwork that happened in the midst of the day-to-day, non-school tasks.  It overwhelms me sometimes, when I get to the end of the day and think I worked really hard today, and I still feel so far behind, but it also makes me think that maybe this education my kids are getting isn’t as shabby as I’ve often thought.

Nathanael is thirteen today.  He’s seemed a bit more excited about this birthday than some others, probably because becoming a teenager is kind of a big thing to a kid.  I kind of wish there was more excitement in life to accompany the anticipation.  As it is, though, Nathanael is someone who generally appreciates routine and familiarity and stability.  Though willing to test limits, he’s also perfectly okay not doing something that disrupts his sense of well-being.  He’s just fine being the lone dissenter on suggestions for any family fun ideas that also involve a long car ride (“long” usually means anything more than 20 minutes, haha).  He’s happy to while away the afternoon hours with a book, but he is also an avid lover of games (board games, card games, outdoor games, computer games…really anything) and will happily take advantage of any opportunity to learn a new one.  He is a proficient baker, mostly because he loves sweets, but he can hold his own in most other cooking endeavors, too.

He is super smart (though grammar might be his achilles heel), funny, sarcastic, and deeply compassionate.  I know I’ve mentioned it often, but he still slows down to walk with whomever is at the back of the pack.  He’ll quietly take on extra tasks to help me if I’m having a rough day.  He’ll snuggle his littlest brother during movie time.  He will also come out with a smart-aleck response at inappropriate times, or sometimes laugh when being scolded (though, minorly in defense of this, he DID laugh in response to pain for the first five years of life), but is generally a good-natured kid in most situations.  He is a good conversationalist and a deep thinker.

I’m a big fan of this kid and I’m so thankful for these thirteen years we are celebrating today.

When I was a kid, I remember rides on these country roads, past rolling farm lands, feeling like the mountain-hedged horizon and too-close sky were trapping me in a life I often-enough wished was different than it was.  It’s the first I can remember feeling really claustrophobic.

As a college student, still a kid, experiencing my first tastes of independence and unwritten future days, in these same rural towns and mountain backdrops, I began to see this landscape as beautiful and brimming with promise of adventure and escape.

In the years after college, as we settled in a decidedly non-rural, non-mountainous area, I often longed for the opportunity to be back here, free from the chaos and congested roads and city skylines.

Then, ten years ago, we came back, and slowly the perceptions from my childhood and college years merged, though not due to the outward appearance of the place, but due to a more intimate knowledge of the place itself.  I can ride along the roller-coaster roads and find peace and rest.  When I see the mountain vistas, I can breathe deeper than in just about any other place.  But I also feel more trapped by this place than I ever have before.  I look around me and see lost hopes and buried dreams.  As out of place as I have felt my whole life, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as out of place as I do here and now.  While our culture and our churches preach belonging and acceptance (for different reasons), I have never felt less welcome when I step out my proverbial, and at times literal, door.

I have spent my life searching for a place I could call home, with all of the warm fuzzies and unconditionals that should come with it.  I have looked at the greener grass on the other side of the fence and thought, if only.  But I’m being reminded lately that though this longing for a perfect home is right and good, the answer for it isn’t to be found in this life. With every disappointment and dashed hope, I am forced to remind myself that His love is better than everything this life is or could be, and that His love should evoke praise even when this life makes it clear that there are many good things that it can never be.

I would have a hard time wearing a mask even if I wanted to.  I’m pretty significantly claustrophobic, almost exclusively due to being paranoid of suffocating.  I am a naturally shallow breather, and never breathe through my mouth without conscious effort, despite having difficulty taking deep enough breaths otherwise.  I can’t wear a scarf over my face in winter.  I can’t cover my head with a blanket.  I can’t even sleep with my face at all sunk into a pillow.  I had to don a mask for maybe two minutes at the dentist’s office today and I couldn’t have handled any longer.  But, I don’t have asthma, nor any other medical condition that I’m aware of that others would consider a “legitimate” reason for not wearing a mask.  As though wearing a mask is only unreasonable when a medical condition deems it so.

But, as I said, I wouldn’t be able to wear one even if I thought it was pointful.  I don’t.  I have read the details of several masking studies out there, and even when one ignores the many factors that are never taken into consideration (accumulation of virus on inside of mask, thus increasing viral load of the wearer; transfer from mask to hand to other objects to other people… a damp mask would be akin to licking your fIngers…;amount a person has to inhale of virus-infected droplets to become infected themselves…every study that addresses this concludes close proximity for a half hour or more is necessary…) the efficacy of masks In preventing viral spread is not shown to be anything  incredibly significant.  And then, even if it were, by and large, our bodies are made to be able to combat viruses.  In fact, one reason elderly people are having more difficulties with this is because they weren’t exposed to it when they were young when their bodies would have had a better chance of forming a defense (there is actually a specific biological function that this type of virus is combatted by, I just don’t recall the nitty gritty details)…so we are preventing the young and healthy from getting the virus when their (our?) bodies have a good fighting chance, in favor of resting all our eggs in the theoretical, some-day, untested vaccination possibility.

I get it, there are elderly and immunocompromised individuals we want to keep safe.  But the answer can not be to force an entire nation (world?) to “mask-up” every time they want to venture outside their home.  How about letting people choose for themselves?  A person who is concerned about getting sick can stay home and pretty easily mitigate what they come in contact with.  Even with a mask on, one can’t presume a risk-less experience when venturing into crowded spaces anyway, so why not let this thing run its course in less time (since almost no healthcare systems apart from NYC have been overrun at any point during this pandemic).
The “flatten the curve” mantra has been replaced by a notion of eradication.  It’s a dangerous notion, both in the costs it will incur now (which do include some severe health costs, too, by the way) and in what it means for our future when anything other than a virus-free existence warrants extreme prevention measures and justifies unchecked governmental dictates.
That is not a future I want.

I’m writing because I need to have some way to express my frustrations with this world.  I might not post this.  I don’t know.  If you read this, you might be bothered by what I have to say.  I guess, at this point, I don’t care.  But I don’t want to just spew my thoughts here, so I am going to avoid virus talk right now and just write about the race issues that are flooding our nation, the media, and I assume, many homes and thoughts.

First and foremost?  The horrific police brutality that resulted in the senseless murder of George Floyd, and many others over the years, is obviously and sickeningly wrong.  It is mind-boggling to me that such attitudes and actions have any place in our society and world.  Beyond that, though, are other realities that suggest that this behavior is not really a race issue, at least not solely and not even necessarily primarily.  Looking at the statistics for police shootings, there are many more unarmed white men (as well as armed white men) being killed by cops than there are unarmed black men (or armed black men).  And though the argument is that this isn’t significant because a much smaller percentage of the population is black, I’ve never heard anyone decrying the atrocity that well over half of all violent crime in our country is committed by blacks…which means police officers are much more often responding to crimes where the offender is black than those where the offender is white.  Additionally, the majority of police homicide against blacks is actually at the hands of black officers, not white.  What’s more, police officers are more likely to be killed by a black man than a black man is likely to be killed by a police officer.  While not justification for unlawful actions, this does give rationale for why police officers might have a heightened sense of fear when dealing with a black person, and might be prone to racial profiling.  An unfortunate, but truly necessary aspect of human nature is that we form heuristics – shortcuts, or generalizations – to save brain power and allow for quicker thought patterns in our everyday life.  In this case, a generalization might be seen as racist, but might also be based in the reality that an officer who faces a larger percentage of black criminals has to have shortcuts of thought to make what can be split-second decisions.  Obviously, this is not always the case, but my point is simply that it makes sense that the demographic with the highest crime rates might have a higher rate of police shootings.  No, this doesn’t justify outright heinous behavior from police officers, but it does suggest that it is likely that the large majority of police shootings are not the product of racist actions.  And as a side note, despite the much larger number of whites being shot by police, they have rarely (if ever?) made national news, have never fueled riots, and have never erupted in demands that the nation, if not the world, make the injustice a top priority in every individual’s thoughts and political position.

On a broader scale, though, there are a lot of voices raising issues of white privilege, exclaiming that a white person can’t ever understand a black person’s experience, and therefore has no right to any position other than to completely and blindly support whatever a black person says.  Do I believe racism still exists in our country?  Yes, without a doubt.  Do I think that racism is the only form of discrimination that results in fear, closed opportunity, financial hardship, and divided societies? Emphatically, NO.  Human nature, it seems, gravitates to similarities and belittles differences.  Ask  a conservative Christian walking around a liberal college campus how welcomed and embraced they feel by their liberal peers.  Ask the kid in high school wearing dirty second-hand clothes how people respond to him (or her) when they walk down the hall.  Ask the nerdy, socially awkward pre-teen who is getting beaten up and bullied why the school and parents stay silent and let it keep happening.  Ask the person who finally recognizes a cult for what it is why their “friends” won’t talk to them anymore.  Yes, ask the minority, but also the woman, and the elderly man, and the less attractive girl, and yes, even that privileged white man, why they got passed over for a job they were most qualified for.  Ask the introvert why their well-thought out input was overlooked in favor of the zealous input of the extrovert.  Ask the extrovert why they’ve been labeled as too shallow or too shoot-from-the-hip.  Ask the rich white boy about his father’s reaction when he doesn’t want to be a doctor or lawyer.  Ask the kid from the boonies growing up on welfare with an alcoholic father and depressed mother how much opportunity he thinks life holds for him.

We live in a world that’s full of broken relationships, broken ideals, broken dreams.  There are large groups of people that have animosity for other large groups of people (I can’t be the only person who has seen how painfully obvious this has been in our world lately?).  Sometimes it has to do with race, but I think much more often it has nothing to do with race.  So for a person who says “all lives matter” to be the subject of ridicule is absurd.  There ARE deep and troubling issues that many, if not most, people face…issues that are as much deserving of concern and action as the race issue…that will never get even a fraction of the attention that the race issue has.  Issues that hinder and scar and frighten people from all walks of life.  Just because these issues don’t necessarily manifest the same way that race issues manifest doesn’t mean they are any less harmful…or prevalent.

I am fully supportive of efforts to prosecute criminal racist acts.  I would love for people of all races and nationalities to feel comfortable walking in any neighborhood they might find themselves in (incidentally, I have had an experience or two being the only white person in a large group, and racism is definitely not just white to black…there is a cultural and social divide that is perpetuated both ways).   It would also be nice, however, if the narrative taught to every upcoming generation of black children wasn’t one of racism overarching everything, or at least not without the recognition that there are all kinds of discrimination in our world today and focusing on the marginalization that comes from racism without acknowledging that there are other people experiencing similar hardship in life for countless other reasons.  In short, demanding compassion from others who you think can never understand without purposing to extend compassion to others whose situations you don’t understand is hypocritical and narrow-minded.  I know that’s not everyone who is voicing concern over the racism that exists in our world, but it is still happening, and I find the one-sided nature of so many perspectives more harmful than helpful.

That’s all.

Isabelle comes racing into this birthday with so many milestones recently tucked under her belt.  She is a few math pages away from being done with her very first year of school.  She is using her newly acquired reading skills to read piles of books with great gusto.  And she just last week went from grumpily not even wanting to try her bike without training wheels to suddenly zipping all around as if she’s been riding training-wheel-free for months.

There are so many things I love about Isabelle.  She has the world’s best giggle, and paired with her half-moon laughing eyes and sweetest-ever grin, it’s impossible to not smile along with her.  She gives the biggest, tightest, never-gonna-let-go hugs, and though she is tall and strong for her age, she tries her best to curl up onto a lap as often as possible.  She is a helper and a do-er, and just can’t ever seem to sit still for long.  She will offer to do any and every task in the kitchen, clear dishes from the table, and carry heavy baskets of laundry to me for sorting…though she doesn’t love picking up after herself, which baffles me a little bit, but I think underlying it all is a real desire to serve and bless others and she hasn’t quite figured out how cleaning up her own messes accomplishes that.

Isabelle is an endless fount of questions.  She’s observant and curious and really wants to know so much.  And she is so articulate in her speech.  Some of my children have been less than eloquent in how they speak, but Isabelle has a natural ability to put words together clearly and creatively.  I truly look forward to reading her writing as she gets older.

She loves to dance, and will break into dancing whenever she hears music.  She is graceful and original, and as with so many things with our Sweetpea, my heart is so full watching her.

Some of Isabelle’s favorite things right now are playing dress-up, watching Pinkalicious, headbands, desserts, bike riding (!), playing Guess-Who (she has an uncanny ability to win at this), going for walks, and snuggling.  Her least favorite thing is cooked broccoli.

I am so thankful for Isabelle.  She lives life with abandon and loves fiercely.  She is encouraging and kind and so much fun.  I love this little girl utterly and completely.  She has been an indescribable gift these six years and I only hope that time will perhaps seem to slow down just a little so I can fully wrap my heart and mind around all the wonderful moments she will bring in coming years.

Time is a funny thing.  Sometimes, twenty years ago seems more like last year; other times, it feels like it was a lifetime ago.  All the time, though, I am indescribably grateful for the man who has been by my side for these twenty years.

It’s probably cliché to say so, but in many ways we are not the same guy and girl who walked down the aisle on that rainy Saturday, the day before graduating from college.  Growing up does that to people.  Life does that to people.  I mean, how is anyone to know how they would handle full-time jobs, endless bills, babies, sleepless nights, house projects, and so many obstacles and heartaches…much less how someone else will handle them?  And all of those things shape the person we are over the course of time.  But the person Tim is today is someone I am even more thankful for, more proud of, more in love with than I was on the day I married him.

I couldn’t have known, then, the extent to which Tim would go to provide for our family.  I couldn’t have known the depths of forgiveness he would show me, time and time again.  I couldn’t have known the scope of his intelligence, his capability, his ingenuity.  I couldn’t have known how he would be able to make me feel beautiful when nine months pregnant, or with stretch marks etched permanently into my abdomen, or with shoulders slouched with weariness, or eyes red and puffy from crying.  I couldn’t have know how unrelentingly he would put me first and lay his life down for me, in more ways than I would have thought possible.

There have been hard moments, hard seasons even.  For all of the things I love about Tim, there are still a few things that I just take because they’re part of the package…though at least some of them are more problems with me than with him.  So, I yell sometimes, and I criticize sometimes, and am generally unloving sometimes.  Sometimes, he tries to adjust and address whatever I’ve said.  Sometimes, he defends himself.  Sometimes, he walks away.  But he never yells at me in anger (occasionally, frustration, but there is a difference).  He never criticizes me.  He has never been unloving (occasionally, inconsiderate, but again – there’s a difference).  He is more patient than I deserve.  He is more gracious than I deserve.  He loves me more and better than I deserve.

I could write more about the amazing father he is…not just in his actions toward our children, but in his heart for them.  I could write about his integrity in his work, and his respect and humility shown toward his coworkers and bosses.  I could write about his unwavering principles and his willingness to stand up for right, even when it’s obvious that right won’t win the day.  I could write about the incredible strength he showed in the face of his incredible grief at the loss of his mom.

And there’s so much more, but I won’t focus on those things simply because today I am celebrating God’s wonderful gift of Tim to me.  I am taking time to treasure the very personal, unique ways that God has blessed me, and taught me, and loved me through Tim.  I don’t have words for how very thankful I am, or for how in awe I continue to be at God’s provision for my life in giving me Tim as my husband…at how He knew what I would need before I had any idea, at how He knew who Tim would be to me before Tim could even have known.  I married my best friend, but he has become so much more than that.  So, to say that these twenty years have been wonderful seems incomplete and insufficient.  They have been life changing, and I wouldn’t have wanted them any other way.