Hers was the last bootie shaking.  Through the din of the crowd’s cheering and whistles, you could barely hear the fading lines of Billboard’s #1 hit, Eye of the Tiger, before the contest was over and the redneck crowd erupted in unanimous thunder, announcing its winner by shouting our roommate’s name.  It was the same cacophonous pitch we heard most every Friday night after the Best Bootie Contest in the muggy Coyote Ugly bar we hung out at in South Texas in the fall of 1982. 

“RUTH-IE!  RUTH-IE!  RUTHIE!”

I was going to a Christian college in the Bible belt, and as one of a handfull of rowdy party girls on campus, a few of us had hooked up and decided to rent an apartment together.  Funny how partiers always find each other.   (”Do not be misled:  Bad company corrupts good character.”  1 Cor. 15:33)

Denise was our ringleader.  She came from such a long line of respected HPU alumni and donors that her last name was minted on an entire dormitory.  Her parents were divorced, and I’ll never forget her showing me a picture of herself at the beach around kindergarten:  wet ponytail, little pot belly, and a smile as big and warm as the state she grew up in.  Her mother had written in capital letters, red ink “SUCK IT IN HONEY!” on the bottom, and after I met her in Fort Worth, I  don’t think the woman came up with another original criticism throughout Denise’s entire trek through puberty.

Lisa came from big money too.  Her father owned a chain of tractor dealerships, and when I would go home with her for breaks, they insisted on paying for everything.  “Southern hospitality.”  Lisa eventually moved out - had to.  Her mother disapproved of us and was cutting off the money if she didn’t.  And aside from her laughing in my face when I told her my hair wasn’t bleached (it wasn’t back then) and pinching her shoulders around us like we had a communicable disease, in hindsight I don’t really blame her.  I have a vivid memory as an 18 year old sitting lamely on the couch, watching the profile of Disapproving Mom cart out the boxes, and thinking “Dang.  You could practically ski off that nose.  If I had all that money, I’d look up a surgeon.” 

In hindsight, Lisa was probably the brains of the bunch.

I chose HPU for 2 reasons:  One, I knew the Baptist bent would make my mother happy, and two, it was conveniently located in Texas - about as far away as I could get from her. 

Denise, Lisa, Ruthie and I were as different as chalk from cheese, and how we all ended up together only God could manage.  The only thing we did have in common was that we fit into a conservative Baptist college about as well a white glove fits in a pig pen.  Because deep down we all felt dirty.  For different reasons.  But as it turned out, Ruthie kept filthier secrets than most.

This is for Ruthie.

(to be continued)

As a mother, I’m often overwhelmed at the gazillion gidgets and gadgets for sale touting “safety.”  I understand the necessity of car seats, gates in front of the stairs, cabinet locks, and all those products that make life safe and prudent.  I just scratch my head at the sheer volume of products that line the shelves, from what is reasonable to what is truly insane.  All in an attempt to alleviate our deepest physical fears as parents.  

Maybe the more children you have, the more you relax.  People say we’re “laid back” as parents.  Maybe so.  Not much surprises us.  [SIDENOTE:  Before I got married I had six theories on raising children.  Now I have six children and no theories.]  

It’s pretty much a given you’ll be neurotic with your first.  The pacifier bounces on the floor, and you scald the nipple [and everything else she touches].  By your third, as the line goes in Parenthood, you’re yawning while they juggle knives.

Webster’s 1828 American Dictionary definese SAFE as:  

Free from danger of any kind; as safe from enemies; safe from disease; safe from storms; safe from the malice of foes.  Free from hurt, injury or damage.  Not exposing to danger;  No longer dangerous; placed beyond the power of doing harm.  Without injury.  Exemption from hurt, injury or loss.    

It seems the world is always seeking total exemption from hurt, injury or loss.  Which is completely unreasonable when comparing my Bible and the world under a Curse.  Sure we should strive for prudent physical safety with our kids.  But it takes real guts to believe Jesus for our kids physical and spiritual safety:  John 17, “Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name - the name you gave me - so that they may be one as we are one. ..My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. ”

The world was not a friendly or safe place for Jesus, or his followers, ever.  Even before He was born, men sought to kill him.  Following Jesus meant putting oneself at risk - then and now.  I’d even go so far as to say that satan might have a special target on our kids.  The comforting confidence is that protection and safety was paramount in Jesus’ prayers.  It’s amazing to think that Jesus prayed for my kids’ protection 2,000 years ago.  And Romans 8:34 promises that He’s He’s still at it.

I watched (through tears) the Steven Curtis Chapman family interview on Larry King Live the other night. 

What was most remarkable, and comforting, to me through this family’s tragedy was God’s ability to protect their belief in His goodness, His faithfulness, His sovereignty.  To keep their faith SAFE despite the fact that many in the world accuse Him of failing to keep their daughter safe.     http://trevinwax.com/2008/08/08/steven-curtis-chapman-on-larry-king-live/  Real faith, like the Chapmans, is always at risk.  The risk is part of what makes it real.  Or as Jesus said in his prayer:  “As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world.” 

The world was not a safe place for Jesus.  If “He is our example…” [1 Peter 2:21], why would we think it would be any different for us? 

I can’t believe its been a year since my mental reconciliation of the French tattoo artist carving a sugar skull tattoo on my daughter’s forearm.  And for those of you who’ve never been to the, now’s your chance!  Plus, this year you can register to win a Les Paul Vintage Sunburst guitar!  If that’s not reason enough, let me tempt you with my other Top Ten Reasons for Attending :

 10.  Live Music.  Bands who came up with names, on purpose, like DragStrip Riot , Viva Hate and Witchburn absolutely must be seen.  In person.

9. Low-key.  I’ve went for several years, and it’s not like there are hoards of people trouncing over each other.  Especially if you go on Friday. 

8.  A trip through  Fun Forest or the Seattle Center afterwards.  If you’ve been keeping up with politics in Seattle, they may end up closing this historic attraction after Labor Day in 2009.  When was the last time you rode Windstorm or took the kids on the carousel?  Got your toes wet in in the fountains or watched the seniors dance in the pavillion? 

7.Kat Von D.  Liar Liar Pants On Fire.  Okay, she isn’t really going to be there.  But it’d be cool.

6.  One of the main organizers loves Jesus and contributed content to one of Pastor Mark’s books.  And if you’re still wrestling with the whole “Christians:  To Tattoo or Not to Tattoo” issue, check out the VoxPop article, p. 7.

5.  You could enter to win the Les Paul Vintage Sunburst and give it to your favorite Mars Hill band member. 

4.  Contests.  Best Leg, Best Sleeve, Best Religious, Worst Tattoo.  Speaking of which, in my honky-tonk era of youthful folly, I brazenly allowed  Porky (the name says it all) to tattoo a cowboy boot & hat on my shoulder.  Turns out prison isn’t exactly the best place to learn the this trade, because over time his work bled and melded into what looked like a fat, er, mouse?  Thank you Jesus for laser removal technology.  P.S.  Lasers hurt WAY MORE than tattoo needles.  P.P.S.  A 2003 study revealed 17% of Americans with tattoos regretted getting them, per a recent program I watched on the History Channel.

3. If you’re over 18 and seriously thinking about getting a tattoo, this is a good place to get educated, even if you don’t actually go through with it.  Browse the books for a good look at the artist’s work.  (And if it’s full of pictures only, move on).  This is sort of like a wine tasting event ~ you really start getting the different flavors of the art and artists and what they excel at.  Especially if you don’t really know what you want, you’ll come away with a lot of new ideas.  If, however, you’re serious about going under the needle, go early.  The best artists are booked fairly quickly for the entire weekend.

2. People who attend.  Wow.  Seriously cool folks to pray for.  People are what matter.

And my Number One reason for attending is,

1.  The Tattoo Artists.  Evidence the variety of God’s amazing creativity first-hand.  These body artists fascinate me, and they travel from as near as Pike’s Market to as far as Jacksonville and London.  Eclectic bunch.  Hard core.  Traditional.  Chatty.  Quiet.  Funny.  Thoughtful.  Crazy.  Endearing.  I’ve seen them wearing everything from self-portraits to the Mona Lisa.  I’ve read shoulders with poems by e.e. cummings, and Latin Bible verses around one guys throat.  These are incredibly talented, professional artists who do things with a needle and skin that most of us could never imagine, and it’s fabulous to watch them work.  Did I mention people are what matter in life?  Yeah baby, and these artists rock.

Exhaustion means that our vital energies are completely worn out and spent.  Spiritual exhaustion is never the result of sin, but of service.  Whether or not you experience exhaustion will depend on where you get your supplies.  Jesus said to Peter, “Feed my sheep,” but He gave him nothing with which to feed them (Jn. 21:17).  The process of being made broken bread and poured-out wine means that you have to be the nourishment for other people’s souls until they learn to feed on God.  They must drain you completely — to the very last drop. 

Have you delivered yourself over to exhaustion because of the way you have been serving God?  If so, then renew and rekindle your desires and affections.  Examine your reasons for service.  Continually look back to the foundation of your love and affection and remember where your Source of power lies.  You have no right to complain, “O Lord, I am so exhausted.”  He saved and sanctified you to exhaust you. 

Be exhausted for God, but remember that He is your supply. 

“All my springs are in you” (Ps. 87:7).

Oswald Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest

* * *

I believe every experience in my life - good and bad, fun or embarassing, planned or surprise, understood or confusing:  sufferings, losses, joys & regrets  - every single season has been allowed by a sovereign God who loves me and desires to use it all for good as I surrender and submit to His will.  Perhaps more importantly for this 2 Much Too Busy series, keeping in mind that every layered experience equips us for service to Christ, and contributes to making us who we are today.  “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”  Eph. 2:10.  For me, the fruit of a somewhat cooky, unconventional life has meant having an extraordinary ability to be flexible and multi-task.  I used to be bitter about the ridiculous life God gave me, but today Providence is the sweetest pillow I lay my head on at night.  God knew eventually I would have an exceptionally large family by Seattle standards, as well as a huge extended Church family.  Flexibility is essential, and He’s created it to be my middle name.  I like how He’s uniquely created that “in Christ”, in me. 

With this in mind, one of my goals for writing this series was to show another side of the rhetoric of 2 Much Too Busy.  In the course of my Christianity, I’ve been scolded, judged and self-condemning for 2 Much Too Busy.   However, in coming to terms with Providence and His excellence in creating Shelly to be the runner in her unique race, for the most part these days I’m 2 much Too Busy full-time, and guilt-free.  A Scottish pastor provided great insight in reconciling my 2 Much Too Busy realities.  He acknowledged this running around like Martha was part & parcel of life, and further said something shocking that I never forgot:  It is okay to be a Martha - SO LONG AS WE take the heart of Mary along with us.  It’s something I daily, prayerfully practise.

In the must-read Christian classic Pilgrim’s Progress, Christian goes on a journey to the Celestial City (heaven), and 85% of his journey is met with dangers, toils and snares.  Only occasionally is Christian allowed respite from his journey and trials, and he takes full advantage of the rest when it comes.  I think Bunyan and Oswald are on to something.  The more I seek to be used, the more exhausted I become.  This year I committed to some pretty hefty ministry projects the week before Easter.  I didn’t get to bed that entire week before 2 AM, and I had work the next morning.  And every time the temptation to feel guilty came up, something said, “unnecessary”.  And then I read the Oswald Chambers selection I started this post with, and it all fit.  It felt so ”right” to be exhausted for Christ’s sake, the week before his crucifixion.

I don’t have any great wisdom on “How To R&R”, because for the most part, I think we all know how to do that.  And we should.  I have found that Jesus is absolutely trustworthy to provide respite.  He’s always looking out for me.  Sometimes that’s a full-fledged vacation, sometimes it’s a morning down at the beach in silence & solitude, sometimes it’s a catnap at the Columbia Center at lunch, sometimes it’s a delicious Korean dinner and conversation with my blogging buddies, and sometimes it’s a glorious night away downtown with my husband.  I grab it when He brings it, I suck every comfort out I can, and I charge up for my next tour of duty, because He saved and sanctified me to exhaust me.    Adriel’s recent post, 16 Men in My Life, illustrated this point perfectly.  And I’m stealing her equally perfect ending.

Good night.

 Speaking of weaving, my mind wandered during Pastor Mark’s last sermon on prayer, to recent conversations with my 5-year old on the same subject.

By way of background, on weekends this summer we have been going to a reading class at North Seattle Community College.  During our walks on campus, he noticed several water fountains, and because water play is right up there with dirt bikes and Legos, of course we got into the habit of visiting the fountains to skip (small) rocks and splash a little before class. 

Spying a few pennies at the bottom, he was naturally curious as to how they got there:

Me:  Some people throw money in water and make wishes.

Son:  Can I do that mommy?

Mom:  (Hesitate)  Um, sure.  Okay.  Just remember, Jesus offers us something super duper better than wishes.  We have a sure hope, and we can pray to Him.  He has way better ears than cement.

Thus ensued a new ritual of throwing in change every week, making a “wish”, and following it up with a prayer right there to Jesus afterwards.  Initially I tried to explain that the gig was you’re not supposed to tell your wish because supposedly it wouldn’t come true, but he’s not one of the dumb ones (nor can he keep a secret), and of course immediately told me right after he threw it in.  The standard prayer became wishing he could ride a 2-wheeler. 

Weeks passed in this ritual.  We added this wish to our bedtime prayers. 

Last week he dug out a fist full of Sweet Tarts from his camoflauge shorts pocket and asked if he could use them to throw in the fountain.  Sure, I said.  Sweet tarts work just as good as money in the big picture.

Son:  Can I make 3 wishes?

(Hmmm.  Branching out.  This would be interesting.)

Mom:  Absolutely.

Son:  I pray that I could ride a 2-wheeler. 

Plop goes a green sweet tart.

Son:  I pray that I would be brave.

(Really?  Wow.  That was unexpected.  What about the cap gun you’ve been begging for at the Little Store?  This is good.)

Glub-glub went a yellow candy.

Son:  And I pray that I wouldn’t be mean to Jack anymore.

(Okay.  My heart stopped.  I was leaking a little). 

Doink went the last blue circle.

Crouched down on our heels, we silently watched them melt.  After which, I hugged him tightly, looked him in the eye and told him how proud I was, and tried to squeeze every drop out of the teachable moment.  Thank you for that, Jesus.  We were late for class.

As Pastor Mark likened prayer to our Heavenly Father as being a similar relationship between the requests of children to parents, I was immediately brought to ponder the beauty, simplicity and integrity of my son’s Sweet Tart prayers.  Indeed, they reflected joy and purity in and through me.  It was easy to imagine this being the way with our prayers to God.

I really liked that of all the things a little boy could have asked for, he chose nothing material.  It caused me later to look up Jesus’ words in Matthew 6, where he says do not worry about what you will eat or what you will drink or what you will wear.  But seek ye first the Kingdom, and all these things will be added unto you.  I realized that I have been worrying about these pagan things.

His ritual prayer to ride a 2-wheeler was a prayer that I am convinced, Lord willing, he will master in time.  So it is that perhaps many of our prayers are confidently “so” in the realms of heaven, but as Pastor reminded us, the answer in the economy of earth’s time is often “wait” for now.  Just as I can absolutely envision him on 2 wheels, the Master of the Universe, who has perfect vision and is not bound by time, absolutely sees us through Christ as being more than a conqueror in many of our current monstrous situations.   

“Christ Jesus…is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us…No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”  (Romans 8, selected). 

Wow.  Jesus prays for me!  Like Brer Rabbit stuck in the Tar Baby, I have been stuck in unbelief, not trusting Jesus for the end result of being more than a conqueror like He promised.

This son has always been reticent, especially with new things.  Recognizing this quality in himself has been frustrating.  My definition to him of brave is “being afraid, and doing it anyway.”  Practicing those things we believe he can do.  His Sunday School teacher, Adelle, has been teaching the class that they are “imago dei,” or made in the image of God, and somewhere deep down, I think little boys recognize this imprint, and sense bravery as an essential character.  Yes, he will need to practice being brave as a young man, and draw on this quality many times over in life.  I want to be brave too, Lord.  Very brave for Jesus’ sake.  Finally, the least common denominator of my son’s prayer “to be nice to [his brother] Jack”, was a simple form of repentance, recognizing the human tendency to sin towards others.  How often do we neglect simple acknowledgements of this?  I could think of at least one sin, one error of commission or omission, with pretty much every single person in my world.  I want to be better ~ like You, Lord:  Quicker to the cross and violent in my exhibitions of unsolicited Grace.

Amen.

  I once worked for a generous boss who gifted me and the kids with free seats to Mariners games at the Kingdome - one row in front of the Mariners’ wives and girlfriends.  Most of these gals were drop dead gorgeous - It was like sitting on a clothed set of Baywatch.  (Interesting Sidenote Gleaned from Overheard Conversations:  Even if our husbands received Two Point Five Million Dollar signing bonuses, our conversations may not be full of grace and contentment).   As much as beautiful women fascinate me, it was easy to come home crabby from those games because there is an undercurrent in femininity that causes us to compare ourselves.  Despite studying women like Esther in the Bible and knowing beauty and good genes are simply another tool God can use for His glory, at times I wonder why He wasn’t a little more generous when He had my DNA on the workbench.  Like it be any skin off His nose.

We could write multiple blogs on the evils of comparing ourselves, but for purposes of 2 Much Too Busy, this comparing takes a hybrid route.  Like Little Red Riding Hood straying off the Path of Righteousness, we veer into the Forest of Discontent when we compare serving and giftings in the Church.  This big bad wolf devours our peace and we swing from pride to depression.

God builds us uniquely and individually with capabilities, giftings and life experiences.  Paul tells us in Hebrews 12:2 to ”fix our eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfector of our faith.”  I need constant reminders to do this, not veer off into what God is doing in my sisters’ lanes and comparing.  Even when we start accepting our imperfections and how God created us on the outside, this comparing takes a sophisticated twist as satan begins weaving discontent on our beauties from the inside.  Know what happens when a runner gazes too long in the next lane?  Trip.  Stumble. Crash.

Several years ago, a beloved friend called me in despair.  Her sister had been battling cancer, and she was starting to really freak out.  Knowing that I had lost several close family members, she was calling for advice.  

One of her toughest issues was that as the cancer took over, her sister obviously didn’t look the same, and she didn’t want her kids to see her that way, and was reluctant to let them visit.  The Holy Spirit did dress me in 1 Corinthians 1:4 conversation (”Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received in God“), but over time our conversations also catupulted me into a cauldron of judgment, anger and discontent as I compared my life with hers.  Underneath our conversation, I was beginning to have a new conversation with myself.

Was she serious?!  What the heck, should I let the kids visit?  In God’s Providence, my kids had to wake up in the same house and watch my brother slowly die every day for 2 years!  It was hardly pretty or conventional, spending toddlerhood in hospitals and the PolyClinic.  Goodness gracious, quit sheltering them, I thought.  What an extraordinary opportunity to teach them empathy and compassion, and that people are what matter in life!  One visit wasn’t going to kill them!  It wasn’t even ABOUT them!  Life is messy, bad things happen under the Curse -  Grow up!  TEACH YOUR CHILDREN TO SUFFER WELL! is what I wanted to scream on the other end. 

What kept me from verbalizing my poison was the Holy Spirit and the fact that she was my friend, and I loved her, and underneath her hysteria and frailty, I recognized an honest soul attempting to reconcile death and heaven for the first time apart from Biblical head knowledge.  She had never before been given the opportunity in life to grapple this out.  I, on the other hand, had dealt with death from an early age.

I took out my suffering ruler and began measuring.  Lost my father and a brother in childhood.  Lost another brother in adulthood to a freakish accident.  And most recently another brother to a terminal illness.  All of the pain and heartache I had stuffed boiled to the surface as I began comparing my list of bereavement experiences with hers, and I thought THIS REALLY SUCKS HOW COMPLETELY UNFAIR GOD HAS BEEN.  NO WONDER I’VE HAD ISSUES WITH MEN WHEN GOD TOOK ALL THE GOOD ONES OUT.

I spent some time as young woman wrestling all the implications out.  Shelly versus God, sovereignty and Providence.  Was He good, or not?  Then how come I had to endure all of that pain & loss?  How come other people didn’t have the same heartaches?  Wasn’t it just the least bit unfair to take all these men and their influence out?  Shouldn’t my Christian home have provided some insurance?  I resented this bereavement ministry.  In fact, I resented almost everyone at Church now with their happy clappy little perfect families.

During my time wandering in the Forest of Discontent, I stumbled across this root passage in Luke 18, starting at verse 9:

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable:

“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.  The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men-robbers, evilddoers, adulterers-or even like this tax collector.  I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

But the tax collector stood at a distance.  He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God.  For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Among the theological implications, this passage spotlighted my sinful attitude.  What hit me was this:  I was the Pharisee, looking smugly down at others and their losses and frailties, while I, the Pharisitical bereavement heavyweight, had endured so much more. 

This cut like a knife (see Hebrews 4:12).  How incredibly ungrateful to take the unique life experiences God had given me and use them to be smug, resentful and pious.  Instead, my posture should be one of humility, thanking God for His mercies in all of it, and trusting Him that this would somehow all work out to be beauty and grace in my life, and that of my children.

“But alas, so far from appreciating the gracious designs of the Refiner, how often we are petulant, and murmur when He empties us from vessel to vessel…“  A.W. Pink.

God never intended for us to compare life and giftings with each other in the Church.  This cultivates sinful swings from pride to depression. 

As Pastor Steve exorted us yesterday regarding suffering and any life experience:  ”There is purpose in all of it.  There’s purpose in what we experience and walk through.  You can trust that.”

Comparing life experiences and judging each other from our warped views is wrong.  God is either the who He says He is as revealed in Scripture and worthy of our trust, or He’s a cosmic jerk not worthy of worship. 

God will use every unique experience in our life for His glory.  Some of the fruit from my losses I’m just seeing now, twenty years later. 

Some of us have weathered inordinate internal pressure.  Some of us have weathered inordinate external pressure.  Some may not have much go wrong this side of heaven, at least from what we can tell.  Some will always look like they’re gaining, and some will always look like they’re not.  Some have public gifts, some private.  Some will look irresponsibly 2 Much Too Busy all the time, and some will look unhelpful and unwilling to serve.  Some will look like they have a perfect family, and some will look like the wheels fell off every Sunday.  Unless they are in your community and you have opportunity to get into their kitchen, as it were, fix your eyes on Jesus, and stay there.  We’re never entirely privy to what God is doing, even in our own life.  Jesus is the only One who understands the intricacies of 2 Much Too Busy, and we can trust He’s busy all the time:  Busy being faithful, busy being loving, busy disciplining, busy working all things out for our good, busy getting us ready for heaven.

Admittedly, I have a hard time sitting still.  My mind is always racing ahead, and I simply must be doing something.  My husband has been a great help to my resting (Heads up:  my last post in this series will be about R-E-S-T), and we work on this together in marriage.  For instance, he loves to kick back and watch the Mariners.  I love my husband.  But - I have a hard time sitting to watch, well, anything (except maybe a war movie).  So…I took up knitting.  Now he’s happy with me curled up beside him while Felix Hernandez throws a curve ball, and I’m, well, doing something.  I didn’t always used to be this way. 

Growing up in the rural boondocks of Route 48 in Montana, I spent my childhood with mostly imaginary friends and reading to my dog.   While most of the peer group my age reminisce about growing up watching tv programs like the Brady Bunch and Partridge Family, we lived so far in the sticks they had to pipe in sunshine - let alone prime time or cable.  TV was a gray haze of fuzzy screen, and I must have been 7 when I gave up the mental effort of deciphering the blurred images.  My mother was a young widow, making ends meet by working full-time at the local State Mental Hospital.  Consequently, I had a lot of time to myself, and as a third generation Finn, spent it taking saunas, reading to my dog Pepper, and making snowmen.  The choices were few.  Organized sports weren’t an option and we didn’t have money for music lessons.  Except for the Bible drills at church, I don’t recall a single day of my childhood feeling busy or rushed or pressured.  

I would make up for that.  As time went on, God sovereignly edged me ever closer to the city.  Ultimately, it is His “fault” in sovereignly molding me, right.  It was like turning up the speed on a conveyor belt:  new choices sped by every day, and I reached for each and every one of them like that classic scene of Lucy in the chocolate factory.  As a new Christian, it became a downright addictive hustle.  What I didn’t fully recognize in the beginning of my Christianity, was the impact of the spiritual gifts I’d been given.  I was just a single mom, raising two children, working part-time, caretaking for a terminal brother in a city ten times bigger than any other place I’d ever lived, reading my Bible like a maniac and growing like crazy in my love for people.  I couldn’t get enough of this Jesus.  I’ll never forget the evening I pulled up in front of church and my little boy said, “Mommy, day and night, night and day, why are we always at church?”  He didn’t say it like “Oh, bother!  I hate this!”, it was said in the venacular of a 5 year old asking why is the sky blue, or why do girls have boobs.  Why are we always at church?  Some might fault me for that, but I was hungry, taking every opportunity to learn, read, grow.  I loved Jesus - on steroids.

“Come to me…”  Matthew 11:28  The questions that truly matter in life are remarkably few, and they are all answered by these words - “Come to Me.”  Our Lord’s words are not, “Do this, or don’t do that,” but - “Come to me.”  If I will simply come to Jesus, my real life will be brought into harmony with my real desires. … “and I will give you rest” - that is, “I will sustain you, causing you to stand firm.”  He is not saying, “I will put you to bed, hold your hand, and sing you to sleep.”  But, in essence, He is saying, “I will get you OUT of bed-out of your listlessness and exhaustion, and out of your condition of being half dead while you are still alive.  I will penetrate you with the spirit of life, and you will be sustained by the perfection of vital activity.”  Getting There, Oswald Chambers

When God calls any of His people to go to a place, they may rest assured that He has fully provided for them in His fore-determined purpose.  In hindsight, there have been times I have done WAY too much for sinful people-pleasing reasons while getting pats on the back and serving in church, and times I have also been smack in the furnace of  God’s 2 Much Too Busy will, and tongue lashed by church ladies.  At one particular heated season of (God ordained) life, I took a stress test in a Redbook magazine, and my score was over their highest stress level.  “I knew it!”, I told myself, “I’m going to have a nervous breakdown!”  I needed professional help!  A shrink!  A counselor!  A razor blade!  (That’s a joke.)  The only problem was, I had no money.  As I look back, this was where the rubber began hitting the road to my Chrisianity.  The Word started kicking in.  When I read Jesus was my “wonderful Counselor” one evening, I put down my Bible and said Okay God.  You brought me to this city.  I have 2 little kids.  I’m caring for a terminal brother.  My husband just left me.  I’m flat broke, and Redbook says the men in white coats will be coming any day.  You say you’re a Wonderful Counselor.  Okay, then.  You better fix me. 

Without going into all the detail of how Jesus spiritually preserved me and rescued me from the pitfalls of 2 Much Too Busy (as well as the nuthouse), suffice to say that Oswald has reduced it to the least common denominator:  Come to Me.  Bring your daily life, your calendar, your commitments, your giftings, to Jesus.  Do not, and I repeat, DO NOT rely solely on impulse, or reason, or balance, or comparing yourself to other women.  Sidenote / Heads up:  YOU HAVE A PROCLIVITY AS A WOMAN TO COMPARE YOURSELF WITH OTHER WOMEN.  Understanding this curse is a KEY to unraveling 2 Much Too Busy.  C-O-M-P-A-R-I-N-G our lives to the other women in the race is a huge pitfall and will be my next topic in this series.

Beware of spiritually reducing 2 Much Too Busy to “reason” and “balance”, as good as that sounds, there is a flip side.  As one theologian put it:  “Ah, my reader, the path of faith is utterly opposed to what we call ‘common sense,’ and you often will find it harder to crucify reason than you do to repudiate the filthy rags of self-righteousness.”  In my experience, there are plenty of self-righteous (including my own heart) to share pearls of what is “normal”, and what you should be doing or not doing.  Jesus says COME TO ME.  Should you be in that women’s group?  Come to Me.  Should I join this church?  Come to Me.  Should I serve on the PTA?  Come to Me.  Should I be working here?  Come to Me.  Should I go back to school?  Come to Me.  Should I ditch this?  Come to Me.  Close Christian community has given me excellent advice.  And close Christian community has given me terrible “common sense” advice, when compared to what Jesus said when I came to Him directly.  There have been times I have been exhausted doing two things, and energized after 10.  Currently, I’m in an excruciating spiritual season of waiting on the shelf.  Every time I check in with Jesus (and my husband) about doing something in several areas of life, the answer is a resounding NO.  And so, I wait.  Jesus must be behind the commitments, no matter what. 

Once you have officially Come to Jesus and His Word concerning your commitments and calendar, your conscience can rest.  Ambivelence tends to fade when you have been proactive.  I remember times when we were building our house that it seemed everything was going under.  There were many times we were exhausted with the midnight runs to Home Depot and being overbudget.  We were often spent, financially and emotionally.  But the one thing we always came back to was the weekend our family prayed in earnest about whether to go forward in the first place.  God clearly spoke to us, and it was GO FORWARD.  Even though there were many days that next 2 years that the commitment took its toll and we slid into second guessing, Jesus always reminded us of the day He said “This is the way, walk in it.”  Is. 30:21.  Ambivelence faded and our strength was renewed when we chose to believe God again.  We had Come to Him in the first place, and that was what mattered.  Eight years later, we have had endless opportunities for ministry here.  It was God’s business to exhaust us for a season, even if that meant spending the O’s time in ”unreasonable” trips to Home Depot.   God is hardly conventional.

Take a day, a weekend.  You fast.  You take time in silence and solitude.  You literally bring your paper July calendar and commitments to prayer.  None of July is yours, really.  Think about it:  Every minute of every day of every week, is graciously on loan from our God Almighty.  My desire is to glorify Him with that.  I can glorify him in Bible study, and I can glorify Him changing a diaper.  We gave up our rights, including our rights to spend time, when we came to the Cross.  It’s all God’s time now, on loan.  And as a Christian, its entirely His business how He chooses to spend “our” time.   Consciously acknowledging that before the calender month starts, has made all the difference for me.  “I want to serve you this month, Jesus.  My calendar is [pretty] blank.  This is Your month.  May you fill it with rest and work that glorifies You.  Grant me discernment.  Give me the power to say no, and Your strength to say yes.  Especially when life seems unreasonably boring, or full.  I trust this month to You, whatever that brings.  Amen.” 

I have friends who feel perfectly conscience free doing 2 extracurricular things a week because anything more overwhelms them, and I have friends who hold down jobs, good marriages, parenting and ministry commitments, also conscience-free.  You may be judged as lazy or weak, or you may look sinfully 2 Much Too Busy in the eyes of the earth, but God alone is the Author and Architect of your time.  He knows you and what you can handle - better than you do. 

My prayer the entire time I cared for my terminal brother was, “Oh, God, when its time to take him Home, please don’t take him on my watch.   Father, you know I couldn’t handle that.”  I prayed that the entire 18 months I cared for my beloved brother.  But guess who Jesus chose state side when He took him home.  At first, I was mad at Him for that.  It was hard.  But I came to see that God gave me strength to bear it, and I did handle it. God knew me better than I knew myself.  He always does.  I try to never rely on conventional wisdom when it comes to following Jesus, or spending “my” time.

Earnestly, honestly go to Him.  Be willing to make His changes to your calendar, even if your best friend will misunderstand.  You must be solely devoted, dependent, and submitted to Jesus and His call on your time.

“Fear thou not; for I am with thee; be not dismayed; for I am thy God:  I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness.”  Is. 41:10

Life in the fast lane

Surely make you lose your mind

Life in the fast lane

Life in the fast lane

Everything all the time

Life in the fast lane.

Life In The Fast Lane, The Eagles

Hotel California Album, 1976

This wornout track on my Eagles album tells of a couple taking their excessive lifestyle to the edge.  Since my first post of 2 Much Too Busy, its like Don Henley’s voice has been humming on a backburner.  To make the fast lane a little faster, my maid, my cook, my nanny and my prayer partner left abruptly.  Well, at least that’s what I said to mom as I hugged her good-bye last Friday night.  (She travels here from 2 states over ever year to bless us for a month, and its the closest we’ll ever get to having a Christian Alice living in the house).  Sigh.

In mulling over my next posts, and prayerful considerations of my calendar and commitments, I’m also reminded of (Socrates? Plato?) who said “Beware the barrenness of a busy life.”

So, Granny left, and I’m back to planning full boat dinners by myself and digging out the Endust.  Two days after her departure, the upstairs is a mess, the catbox needs cleaning, I have two more doses of antibiotics to give sick kids, and I’ve abandoned my knitting project (again).  

In working through this topic Scripturally and prayerfully, the first thing I came to realize was that I’m a little offtrack with my #1 ministry (my husband - not my kids.  I learned that from Martha Peace in a study of her book, The Excellent Wife).  Good wife-ing is hard business.  (Which, as a sidenote, I’ve taught or taken classes in pretty much every Christian topic under the sun, but studies on how to be a good wife have been few and far between.)  And so, God’s first pit stop for me in my considerations of my next installment of 2 Much Too Busy, has been to consider my recent ”wife in the fast lane”, and how this affects my husband.  I love how J.B. Phillips puts Colossians 3:18:  Wives, adapt yourselves to your husbands, this is your Christian duty.  He doesn’t adapt to me, I am to adapt to him.  Selah.

Sigh.

 So, a less than excellent wife has this bit of wisdom to share with another wife who may be one-half of an excessive couple today (or at least the fast lane excesses of kids, husband, home, job, ministry, yadda):

Pull over.  Stop.  Think about your man.  Really sit and think about him and all he brings to the table.  Where can you adapt?  Secondly, be excessive to your husband today.  Excessive thanks, excessive praise, excessive kisses and hugs, excessive words to build him up.  Excessive respect.  Excessively build him up, according to his needs. 

And please, I don’t want to hear all the caveats and “what about this” and “okay, but you need to consider that” and all the disclaimers from the well meaning. 

Let’s keep it simple:  Take a pit stop from wife in the fast lane and be excessive to your husband in some way today if you have a good man who loves Jesus.   

And if you’re still waiting to taste wife in the fast lane, i.e. you’re single, pick someone close to you.  Where can you adapt?  Where can you give them excess?  You’re in Drivers Ed.  Pracise   

At some point in the high-speed connection of city life, you will inevitably hear someone say to you, “You’re doing too much.”  These are opportunities to check oneself. 

There are a few questions you can ask yourself.  Some are good.  Some are bad.  Some are  ugly. (more…)

My dad can’t do much for me anymore, and my brothers Jerry and Bruce aren’t involved in my life.

My cats Rosabelle and Tiger bring me no joy. 

I’m hitting Pause on those thoughts til the end of this blog.

 We’re studying the life of Elijah from I & II Kings in our community group.  Elijah is a larger than life character (think John the Baptist, William Wallace, Jeremiah Johnson) that God sets center stage during a hideously dark spiritual period in Israel’s history.  Elijah is a dramatic contrast to their degradation, a solitary but striking witness to and for the living God.  At this particular point in Israel’s history, you read one king after another  “did evil in the eyes of the Lord”, even sacrificing their own children to pagan gods (even King David’s son).  In all of their open mockery in defying Jehovah, no dire consequences had followed.  And so, a false idea prevailed:  The Lord God Jehovah had no real existence.  He wasn’t real.  He was powerless.  Lifeless.

Enter Elijah, self-desribed “…very jealous for the Lord God of hosts.”  Elijah doesn’t admonish the children of Israel - he marches bold-faced to preach to the root of the problem:  King Ahab. 

“As the Lord God of Israel liveth, before whom I stand, there shall not be dew nor rain these years, but according to my word.”

There is much more in this expression of Elijah than meets the eye.  First (more…)