Post 39 | The Best Vacation of Our Lives

“I should like to bury something precious in every place where I've been happy and then, when I'm old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.” [Evelyn Waugh]

Post 38 | Thank You

"your love is too way too much 
to give us lesser things."
laura story

almost two years ago when mom was first admitted to the hospital for returned breast cancer and collapsed lungs -- i'm very grateful.  two whole years!  two more please? actually, at least ten? 

When it comes to "actually loving and good and supportive support" I'm finding myself grateful for three kinds: those who are understanding, those who understand and those who know. 

Thank you, understanding ones.  Thank you for you patience, gracious spirits and lack of demand.  Thank you for understanding the unanswered note, email, text and phone call, and for sending them anyway.  Thank you for holding us to different standards and not expecting more than we can do.  We probably aren't particularly close.  You know of us, or know one of the children, or maybe used to be friends with mom or dad at some point and you care.  We aren't intimate, but you do what you can.  Your heart sinks a bit at sad news, and is genuinely warmed at good news.  You bring meals, or pray, or wrap presents, or fold laundry, or think of us and it means so much.  Thank you for being the fuzzy sea out in the distance -- we see you, we know you're there, you make life better.  The sun reflects off of you and its dazzling.  Thank you, understanding ones.

Thank you, those who understand.  Those who under us stand.  You're like a bridge, holding us up and being rather strong.  Maybe you have not quite walked our shoes, but you're throwing yourself into being as available, helpful and sensitive as you can.  You understand what life looks like for us, and you know what to ask, and you "take the hints."  We're close and you're the sort of friend who drops anything. "I'm on my way.  Give me 15 minutes."  You can joke with us about baldness, and pray with us without making us uncomfortable, and when you come in our house there is increased joy.  Thank you for defending us and having our back.  Some might wonder why we do so much if we can't keep up with it all -- you understand the deep desire to try to keep normalcy, tradition.  You know how much mama bear wants to watch her husband coach her boy.  So we add it to our lives, even if there is no more room -- even if other people are washing their jerseys.  Thank you for, in so many ways, holding us up.  Thank you for not making us feel bad when we call or ask for things -- it's not fun to do, but you don't make us feel stupid.  Thank you, you really do understand.

Thank you, those who know. Also, I'm sorry too.  I'm sorry you know.  I'm sorry you've been on this side.  I hate this for all of us.  Thanks for not freaking out when I start crying, thanks for crying too.  Thanks for affirming that it's normal to eat salted caramel pretzel ice cream with your fingers in a parking lot (even though you're supposed to be losing weight).  Thank you for knowing how you can be exhausted on every level and yet not be able to sleep.  Thank you for knowing that sometimes there is more to a person than being professional at work; that sometimes people have long, hard days and gosh it makes a world of difference when someone is human with you and not "business business!" with you.  We can feel like we're the rocks.  Not because we're solid and dependable and sturdy.  But because we're dark, laying in the dirt, and cold.  We can sometimes feel like there is a world of balloons.  Not because they are air-heads or childish.  But because they are colorful, and flying high!, and having a great view.  Why can't we be the balloons?  I love parties.  You know how badly scripture can sting, or how completely empty it can feel.  And oftentimes just having someone who nods their head, says nothing, and lets tears slide down their face can speak more to God's presence, kindness and heart than anything else.

We've had our "trials that no one brings dinner for."  The depression, rebellion, isolation, betrayal, silent and alone hardships.  The ones where your character is skewed, your motives are harshly judged, your mistakes are aired and your trust is broken.  We're grateful that today is not one of those kinds of burdens.  We're grateful that we have love coming out of our ears and literally filling our bellies.  Thank you for your empathy and for "giving us your very selves."

God is in our midst; He's here through you. 

Ps.  ^ This is so concise, poignant and true.  If you want a little tid-bit on loving people in in sad places, this is excellent.  "Empathy fuels connection... empathy is feeling with people."

Post 37 | What I Want

"oh, had i wings i would fly away,
and be at rest."
chelsea moon + the franz brothers

It's just that I don't want to do it.  I recently watched a video where a friend of mine shared her 'last words' and end-of-life heart.  She was born a month before me and died this December.  As good, empowering and hope-filled as her words were, the only thing I could think as I watched was: I don't want to do it.

I don't want to record somebody's -- my somebody -- last words.  I don't want to say good-bye.  I don't want to delete her number from my phone, but I also don't want to look at it and know that she won't be there on the other side if I call or text.  I don't want to describe her to my kids, making them imagine her.  I don't want to labor through labor without her there to fight with me, and without her there to gaze at my new one like I do.  I don't want to hear her children say something funny and not pass on the story to her later in the evening.  I don't want to see an empty bed someday.  I don't want to watch my sisters fall in love and get married and look through the wedding pictures and see her missing.  I don't want my brother's to be dads -- tender and delicate and kind -- to their own babies without her able to watch on, without her able to see her gentleness passed on to them.  I don't want to live in a house she hasn't seen or design a kitchen without her thoughts or pick out fabric for the curtains without her hawk-sense for a deal.  I don't want to watch her get worse.  I don't want to stop going to chemo appointments because there is no one to bring.  I don't want her to miss their game winning lay-ups and home-runs and penalty kicks, and, well, I don't want her to miss their blow-out losses either.  I don't want to be the second emergency contact.  I don't want my sisters to look to me for things I looked to her for.  I don't want to never eat her salsa and fried tortillas and rice and tacos again.  I don't want other people to wrap her little kids' Christmas presents.  I don't want to know that no matter what there will be no "happy event" in my or their entire lives that will ever be shared with her ever again; that the best of times will never include her.  I don't want to lose her. I don't want to do it!

“My Father! If it is possible, let this cup be taken away from me!"

Sometimes the cup doesn't pass.  Sometimes it is upturned onto our heads, smoking, boiling, burning oil runs it's horrible pain over us.  It didn't pass for God himself.  And though He wanted us, He didn't want to experience death and hell.

“My Father! If it is possible, let this cup be taken away from me! But I want your will, not mine.”

That's the statement.  I've learned recently how acceptable and even right it is to vent to my Father.  I hate this.  I don't want it. Please remove this from me.  Oh God, make it stop.  But then that statement appears.  I want your will, not mine.  God that's easy to say when you're reciting the Lord's Prayer in a congregation when you're fourteen.  Thy Kingdom come! Thy Will be done! Woo hoo! Go God! Do your thing!  You can't say that statement flippantly when your whole heart and desire and prayer and beg and belief is in direct opposition to what God might will, is likely willing.  It's quite pleasant to say when His will feels comfortable, practical, pleasant and successful.  "All glory to God!" when He's giving.  Oooh, the words -- meaning the words -- struggle out when He's taking.  You can't fake it, like you fake worship when the photographer is capturing you.  All glory to God when she's missing?  All glory to God that my friend -- who dreamed of husband and babies and houses and ministry and more -- is not here?  All glory to God?  Oh, you watch what you say.  You don't say things you don't mean.  It's not a motion or habit; it's real and it hurts.  Therefore:

I don't want to lose her and yet I want Your will, not mine.  

Post 36 | A Morris Christmas Hunt

Four Christmases ago he sat in my family living room and opened presents. My brothers and sisters were painfully polite in front of him, a genuinely amused behind his back. It's only fitting that My Christmas Angel made a gut-call, last-minute, crush-stricken decision to fly to Florida and be with me on December 25th. To re-phrase Dorothy Custer: "And after that, there was only Caleb."

The following year he didn't just spend the holiday with us -- his entire family did too. My mom had cancer again and we didn't know it yet. I felt 'so fat' after gaining confident, happy, carefree, un-insecure, believed-I-was-beautiful dating weight. We wined + dined + hiked + biked + couch-snuggled our way through the summer and fall. Research shows that women tend to add pounds when they are in happy, long-term relationships and lose pounds when they are going through a break-up. I don't know. I just liked pasta carbonara, and him, and life.

Last year was the big change. The Christmas before I was 'just' his girlfriend, and then all of a sudden in one year I was married to him and growing his firstborn son. It freaks me out looking back at the pace, but it felt perfect at the time. We cut down a tree together that year, a new experience for both of us. "Next year we'll bring a BABY with us!" we noted. "Promise we'll still do things like this with a baby?" "Promise." Pine needles and cinnamon were a couple out of, well, three smells I could tolerate. The smell of "fresh air" and "clean bed sheets" and old books and newly washed hair disgusted me. Our apartment was intolerable. Saved by the evergreen! As soon as our (not so little) tree was installed, I could manage living in my own home again. Caleb helped me step out of urined pants and underwear, he tied my hair up high (the best that he could), he immediately handed me warm, damp washcloths so I could wipe off my nose and mouth. He bleached the floors over and over. He caught my vomit in his hands. He made me three meals, and I'd eat none of them and when I asked for a fourth ("I really think I can eat Honey Nut Cheerios. THAT is what I want. I'm sorry.") he made it happily. He rubbed my feet because I couldn't stand the smell of him and I needed him far away.

It's still hard to believe a person came out of me. My body grew a body. It's just... earwax comes out of my body. Saliva and sweat come out of my body. Hair comes out of my body. And this other body came out too. For me it is like pushing words out of my head, onto paper and then my story spoke back to me with a wet "craaaaaa-Ah!" It came out of (ripped through? literally tore through?) me and my heart and it was hard, with bones and cheeks and a reproductive system. It was hard meaning it wasn't a cloud or a puff of mist or a memory. I could touch My Living Story. He came out of us, and we love him just because. He reminds us every day that Hope Has Come. Hope had mini-bones and kitty-cries, too. Hope looked up at His mama, too, and just His eye-contact alone whispered "The LORD comforts Zion. Your LORD reigns. Behold, I am with you." Her breasts dripped milk and it dried in her clothes and she had to wash Hope's milk out of her garments. Hope has come, and He came very tiny, and He rules the world with Truth + Grace. Rowdy is a Wonder of His Love.

Christmas with my family. Christmas with my baby. Christmas with my husband. Christmas post-Jesus. Christmas in the details. Christmas in the tears. Christmas in the eye-contact. Christmas in the relief. Christmas in the longing. Christmas in the snow. Christmas in the bitter cold. Christmas for us. Christmas because we matter much. Christmas with Bing Crosby and Mariah Carey. Christmas with my mom. Christmas for victory! Christmas for 'at last!' Christmas because my boys and tree farms. Christmas because He came happily, He wanted to. Christmas for cookies -- homemade or storebought and definitely full of fat. Christmas because a teenage mama swept a swept a slimy, wailing, cheesy, helpless, mess of a baby into her arms and pronounced love to Him. Christmas because He loved her more. Christmas because of delivery. Christmas since The Word of God tore through the canals of Humanness and was attached to a woman by an umbilical cord. Christmas because our soul's have worth and we are loved by a Very Good King. I don't think the beautiful starkness of glowing tree (or even candle) in a dark place, in a cold season, is missed by Him.

Merry eff-ing charming real hopeful Christmas, rascals.

Post 35 | The Two Faces of Legalism

It's a pricy penny.  And there are two sides to this coin.  Legalism.  "Behaviorism," I've heard it called.  Pharisee-ism.  Self Righteousness.    In my last post I talked about my firm, growing and delighted belief that the cross is not the gospel, or the most important part of or "the heart of" the gospel.   My belief that the events of the cross aren't the center, with the "other" events of Jesus toggled around it, like the rays of a child's hand-drawn sunshine.   The gospel events are the pieces of a puzzle, or dominoes -- one goes missing and the whole operation halts and cannot be finished.  I shared that I believe the gospel is what God, three-in-one, did for us and gave to us, because He loved us and it made Him happy and glorified to do such things.

(Recap if you missed it:  

What did He do? Chose, loved, made, sustained, came, lived (sinlessly), died as a Lamb, experienced hell, defeated it, resurrected, left the grave for good, walked on earth again, ascended to heaven, sat on the throne, and made us heirs of every single good gift.  

What are the good gifts He gave us? Family, Salvation, License, Nobility, Righteousness, Freedom, Hope, Paradise, Feasting, Companionship, Blessing, Honor, Power, Home, Victory and every other good thing.  Every single one.)  

Legalism contorts both of those things (what He did and what He gives).  It uses His very Holy Language, Scripture itself, and twists, mangles and stabs.  It is offended by diversity, license and individuality.  It thrives in like-mindedness, repetition and rules.  

“There are people... bent on making you a slave of their conscience. They are legalists, and their tools are guilt, fear, intimidation, and self-righteousness. They proclaim God’s unconditional love for you, but insist on certain conditions... I’m not talking about people who insist you obey certain laws or moral rules in order to be saved.   Such people aren’t legalists. They are lost! They are easily identified and rebuffed. I’m talking about Christian legalists whose goal is to enforce conformity among other Christians in accordance with their personal preferences. These are life-style legalists. They threaten to rob you of joy and to squeeze the intimacy out of your relationship with Jesus."  Sam Storms (borrowed be EGM)

There is a legalism that tries to re-sculpt what God has finished.  It tries to convince you that you need this on top of Jesus' complete, A-Z, work.  Many a cult and religion have taken off by using the Bible and Jesus Himself, and then adding to it.  Many not-cult churches are guilty of doing the same thing.  Sometimes it's as "simple" as saying "You must be believe in Jesus and be baptised in order to be saved."  

This form of legalism -- the kind that claims you can add to the security or finality or actuality of your salvation -- is, well, to be frank, very easy to identify.  Anything -- anything -- other than "by grace I have been saved through believing, through faith!" is salvation-legalism.  "I did not do this myself -- I contributed nothing, as this is the gift of God to me." Excellent.  Easy.

"Yet, I have noticed that many of us Christians are certain that God's observing face must be twisted in a displeased scowl. Most seem sure that God experiences a roller-coaster ride of emotions regarding us – dictated by this morning’s state of behavior, spiritual focus, or attitude. We seem to assume that God saves by grace alone and then enjoys us according to a fluxuating, gold star, logarithm-graphed, merit badge system…alone. I knew I should have paid better attention to cosines and tangents in high school and if only I could remember that one other spiritual discipline we were taught last year." Enjoying Grace Ministries

This other form of legalism is a crafty serpent.  It sounds like Colossians 3 with a "don't you dare!" and supernatural-ultimatum tone.  It looks like hands held high (much like the shirt collars), busyness and involvedness in church affairs, and a Bible filled with underlines.  It looks good.  Really good.  Self-depricating, scripture on the tip of the tongue, and a fierceness in guarding God and 'His commands', while remaining doting, 'humble', and friendly.  Pharisees.

They convince you that you are to work hard at pleasing God.  "If you have been raised with Christ, you better seek the things above." They talk about 1 John 1:9 as if it were written to believers, not the lost.  For some reason you feel like you're never quite walking out your salvation without enough fear, enough trembling, and enough accomplishing -- psh, you feel like it's your responsibility to "walk out well," its in your hands.  Conversations in church groups and accountability sessions -- more often than not -- circle around your and their struggles: the conflict in marriage, the unbelief in hearts, the (always sexual) lust given into, the pride we possess that deceives us more than we can know, the single person's fight with emotional purity.

When you share with them the honest, vulnerable, painful stories of your life, they ask you things like "Do you think you are being bitter?" or "Do you think you deserve something more?"  Sports were "gospel-centered" by doing things like praying before, after or during games, never missing Sunday morning church because of sports, by opening up practice with a devotional -- I even know of kids who were sent out of practice to spend 10 or 15 minutes 'with the Lord' because they hadn't done it earlier in the day.  The way to make 'regular things' turn into 'a Christ-honoring thing' was to do 'the spiritual things' (pray, encourage, use scripture, confess sin, etc).  'Godliness' (according to human standards) was often highlighted publicly and often for doing publicly-'spiritual'-things (for example: the youth worship band being applauded for their godly lives and their motives for playing in the band -- "their desire is to glorify God!" -- when I know for a fact that some of the kids are 'struggling' or abandoning their walk with their Lord, and some were playing in the band because they loved their instrument and... that was about it.  I also know some of those kids were Pharisees. PS. I don't care about which kids were up there... I care that their personal lives, motives and hearts were often falsely announced and then clapped-at.  Why can't we just clap-at their talent and thank them for their time? Regardless of "why" they play?  Their skill reflects their God even if they don't realize it.  I actually have more to say about "this" so I should let it be for now.  It should be a separate post.)

"Rarely would these folk ever admit to any of this. They don’t perceive or portray themselves as legalists. If they are reading this they are probably convinced I’m talking about someone else. They’d never introduce themselves: 'Hi! I’m a legalist and my goal is to steal your joy and keep you in bondage to my religious prejudices. Would you like to go to lunch after church today and let me tell you all the things you’re doing wrong?'

I suspect that some of you are either legalists or, more likely, the victims of legalism. You live in fear of doing something that another Christian considers unholy or vital, even though the Bible is silent on the subject. You are terrified of incurring their disapproval, disdain, and ultimate rejection. Worse still, you fear God’s rejection or displeasure for violating these things. You have been duped into believing that the slightest misstep or mistake causes God’s disapproval and disgust." Sam Storms

The first time I read this article I had tunnel vision and sat on my bed wide-eyed.  I was such a blinded, knowledgable legalist that I even frequently used the word 'legalism' and accused other people of it!  Flashes of my life struck like lightning in my head, and I sat there in stunned acknowledgement: "Oh. My. Gosh.  That's me.  I'm a thief of joy, and I'm terrified of God being disappointed in me.  The times when I was most convinced I was 'taking a stand for God' or 'being a good friend by not shying away from tough love' were the times I robbed joy the most.  I must make people so uncomfortable."  While I never (EVER) told anyone that the way to be saved was to "add to the gospel," I did live like people could do things to add or detract from God's pleasure with them, therefore, I was a legalist. "IF you LOVE Him, you WILL obey Him." I announced.  It was a demand, not a new way of life, a promise.  "Guess what, guys!  If you love Me, if you believe in Me, part of the perk is that you're going to obey me! More and more, until heaven where you'll be flawless."

I didn't realize that my salvation was final and God's delight in me was final.  I had lived two decades primarily thinking of 'the gospel' as 'my salvation' and "I'm not a legalist because you can only be saved in Christ alone, by grace alone, through faith alone!"  but I didn't feel like God really absolutely enjoyed me all.the.time.  All the time.  That I never disgusted Him.  That when He thought of my name, when He watched and walked beside me in my life He wasn't thinking "Gosh, when will she EVER learn?  She's a hard-hearted one, this Kristen.  It's a good thing I'm strong so that I can change even HER."

"I will not keep silent... you shall be called by a new name

that the mouth of the Lord will give. 

You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, 

and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. 

You shall no more be termed Forsaken, 

but you shall be called -- your name will be! -- My Delight Is in Her!   

Your land will be Married for the Lord delights in you, 

as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride,     

so shall your God rejoice over you."

Since the gospel is two-pronged, legalism is too: what God did for you, and how you can add to it!  What God gave to you, and how you can change that.

"When you are around other Christians, whether in church or a home group or just hanging out, do you feel free? Does your spirit feel relaxed or oppressed? Do you sense their acceptance or condemnation? Do you feel judged, inadequate, inferior, guilty, immature? Jesus wants to set you free from such bondage!" (Sam Storms) Do you feel like you have to explain, in dramatic detail, why you can't make it to small-group or other church events?  Do you still feel really, really, really bad about not going?  When you walk into church after worship has already started, do you feel like your friends in the seats around you are disappointed you are late or are thrilled to see you?  (Also, does it cross your mind that if you show up late looking good and made-up that people will think you are really vain and self-absorbed... and if you show up late and disheveled people will think you are really a disaster?)

What I am writing and sharing here is much more about my own story and what I believe with all my heart the world needs to know -- the riches we have in God -- than me feeling angry towards or trying to bash the people and leaders (and parents!) who surrounded me growing up.  This is about my husband who grew up a thousand miles away and who had never heard of my church/family of churches, but lived his life in legalism.   This is about anyone who could be a legalist and not know it (most don't).  This is about Scripture saying "They shall wash their hands and their feet, so that they may not die. It shall be a statute forever to them and their offspring throughout generations.” (Exodus 30:21) and the men who cared deeply about Scripture, who spent their lives desiring it be passed to their offspring and the rest of generations, being offended when this Jesus waltzed into the scene saying things like "...to eat with unwashed hands does not defile anyone.” (Matthew 15)  He directly contradicted Scripture and therefore God, so it seemed.  The Word of God matters! they must have thought!  How dare He! they must have worried!  God's Word is True! they must have countered. But they missed the point.

This is for anyone who may have missed the point.  Who have devoted themselves to God, Scripture, Church and missed it.  Like me.  Like my husband.  You may have been raised in the circles we were raised in and never missed it.  But we did.  And we know others have.  And if you have perhaps missed it -- if you have perhaps obeyed, and memorized, and know the language, and serve, and sing, and have a lot to say about your faith because you take your faith very seriously, stayed a virgin, have a bright shining face but make possibly make your fellow saints feel uncomfortable, please listen.  This is where Jesus was harsh.  This is where He was violent.  The diligent, obedient, compliant, determined, admirable, dedicated Older Sons can be left outside of the Father's House.  Obedience is fabulously important -- please don't hear what I'm not saying.  Obedience, diligence, etc is good.  It's necessary.  It is.  But there is a reason the horrifyingly disrespectful, greedy, douchebag, sleezeball son was rejoicing at the feast, welcomed into the house.  There is a reason the boy-who-would-fulfill-every-checklist, the son who obeyed was left out of the celebrating.  He missed the point.  He had the appearance of wisdom and goodness.

This isn't directed at someone or some specific group: it's for the church kids and adults anywhere and everywhere who are doing it right.  Be. Careful.  If you may be an Older Son, listen closely:

“You tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people's shoulders... You do your deeds to be seen by others... you love the place of honor and greetings in the marketplaces ...

... For you shut the kingdom of heaven in people's faces... You blind guides, straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel!  Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! 

You clean the outside of the cup but inside they are full of self-indulgence... outwardly you appear beautiful, but within are full of all uncleanness... So you also outwardly appear righteous to others, but within you are full of hypocrisy. 

You serpents. 

You group of venomous snakes."


"If with Christ you died to the elemental spirits of the world, why, as if you were still alive in the world, do you submit to regulations— 'Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch' referring to things that all perish as they are used — according to human precepts and teachings? These have indeed an appearance of wisdom in promoting self-made religion and asceticism and severity to the body, but they are of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh." Colossians 2

Be free.  Be free to be real.  Come as you are, and be who you are.  Pursue every good thing you can get your hands on.  Enjoy it.  Live life like you want kids to respond to their Christmas gifts: with anticipation, wild, noisy happiness, and natural excitement.  He's everywhere.  He's in running line drills, He's in strumming your guitar to Dave Matthews Band, He's in the sound of a toddler's voice, He's in a new haircut that just kind of makes you feel pretty, He's in the color of eggplant, He's in the pages of a Book and in the pages of wordy Ernest Hemingway.  He's in nature and in Times Square and in bath-tubs and in graveyards and in coffee shops and in bed at noon (because you slept in).  He's in the days of sweatpants and the days of sweaty workouts and the days of tears and the days of cheers.  He's not disappointed with you.  He adores you.  He is in charge of "who you are" and He calls it "good" and He is making it "perfect."  Everything about Him is good, and everything about Him is yours.  If washing your hands makes you happy, wash away Germ-Freak and if you don't mind jumping right into a meal without, stuff your face Fatty. You are free.  Do not submit to self-made, severe religion.  Be free! Head inside for a feast!

__________________________________________________

---> EDITED TO ADD <---

I am not looking for just affirmation and "positive" response (don't get me wrong... I want that too!).  In a way that's not "giving you permission" but that's hoping for conversation: it's okay to disagree with me.  I'm not trying to draw the line in my sand and push you away and keep you in, I'm opening up the front door and putting my self, life and thoughts out here hoping you'll come in, even if your story or beliefs are different.  I don't *have* to write -- I believe this, and I talk about it as much as I can as it fits the occasion.  I want to discuss, I want to help, I want to share -- and I want you to as well.   And if you think it's futile slash annoying to discuss on comments... e-mail me (kristen leigh photography at gmail dot com), ask for my number and call me, set up a time to chat in person.  I'm not afraid of people disagreeing.  I'm afraid of what would have happened to me if I hadn't been told the things posted above, if I hadn't become completely free, indeed.  Especially if you've grown up in the same places Caleb and I have -- we know those two "worlds" well, and we love so many people in them.  Even people who we might disagree with on every point.  If you're willing to join in a discussion and chew over big, real topics - welcome! Really!