God's Precious Jewels

These are my daughters, ages 6 and 8. They are modeling the goofy mustaches I had crocheted for my brother-in-law and his wife last Christmas. The girls love to play cowgirls, draw, dance, ride their bikes, climb trees, and bake. They are not afraid of spiders, a little afraid of the dark, and, in general, enjoy school. Could you imagine if the only life they knew was living with a group of girls in a dark building, being exploited by men day and night?

Two Sundays ago, when I heard the stories told by Sara Groves and the pastors of Menlo Park Presbyterian, I was appalled, to say the least, and struck by the fact that they were describing children the same age as my own. Girls, and I do mean girls, were sold by their own families for this sickening, ugly business. Some were kidnapped, beaten, threatened, and forced into this life. One girl attended a Bible class on the weekdays, but disappeared on weekends so her grandmother could sell her. The price for one girl? Sometimes $5. Sometimes $30. And the numbers of girls entrapped in this form of slavery? More than we know.

Sara Groves is working with International Justice Mission to help girls like these. But they are not the only ones who need help. In some countries, innocent people are put in jail for the crimes the police commit. Pastors are arrested. People have homes taken from them. Please go to the IJM website to find out more.

I plan to support IJM. Maybe putting a face, my daughter's face, to a statistic will convince you to do so also.

Still Working on This

If it wasn't for the fact that the artist, my husband, and my friend Beth were there, I would have never posed for the caricature. But I was trying to get into the spirit of the party, and I wanted to join my husband in an activity of his choice (read last two posts for more details), and so I sat. I sat, and squirmed, and made faces.

"What should I look at? Should I look at you? Should I smile? Not smile? Should I stop moving?"

The artist chuckled good-naturedly. "Just relax," he said, and added a few strokes to the paper.

Our hostess (a.k.a. The Birthday Girl) came to peek over the easel. "Oh, that's good! I like that!"

I squirmed some more, then tried to relax by thinking about the delicious food waiting for me at the buffet. But I couldn't stop making faces... my eyes twitched, my nose itched, my stomach growled... but the torture lasted only several minutes. With a sure hand, the artist added a few more details, then presented to us the final portrait: my husband and I, with enlarged heads, playing a mini guitar and keyboard on a lit walkway. 

I was tickled... there I was, drawn in Sharpie, with my freckles, curly hair, and friendly grin. I actually wouldn't mind having that on my wall.

"That looks just like you, Rita!"

Hmm, maybe I'm not so tickled... is my chin really that pointy? Is my nose that big? Are my freckles really that prominent? I should have tied up my hair... it looks huge!

I tried to shake these thoughts off, but they followed me around the party like a gaggle of hungry geese. Every now and then, I walked over to the artist's corner of the room to watch him draw other guests. He had an excellent eye for capturing facial qualities, but I couldn't help but notice that all the other women's portraits looked more beautiful than mine. Then I saw a woman walk by with her 'caricature self' playing a guitar, and another with her 'caricature self' holding a microphone. What I had felt was so unique thirty minutes ago suddenly felt mediocre and unoriginal.

Then I wanted to scream! Not because the artist did some great injustice when he drew me, or because I regret posing in the first place, but because I thought I had already conquered this mountain! This mountain of comparing myself to other women, of wanting to fit a certain 'look', of defining beauty as having porcelain skin, smooth hair, and dainty features, and defining success as having money, talent, and a title, was completely blocking my view of everything but myself. And my self-consciousness was keeping me from enjoying the party or caring for the people around me, which I knew is not how God intends for me to live my life.

So I'm reminding myself (again) that beauty is more than what I see on a piece of paper, and that success is much more than party small-talk and first impressions. And I'm revisiting God's dictionary, to fill my mind and heart with His definitions. Then up the mountain I go! 

Zax and Marriage

No, there is no typo in the title! I am referring to The Zax, by Dr. Seuss, one of the short stories found in his book The Sneetches and Other Stories. If you are not familiar with this book, I suggest you check it out from your local library. There is also a great audio version  produced by Dr. Seuss himself. (If checking on Amazon, look under "Dr. Seuss presents". It is on a CD with 'Fox in Socks' and 'Horton Hatches the Egg'. In this series, there is also an audio version of 'Green Eggs and Ham' that is my absolute favorite!)

Okay, back to the Zax! The story begins in the prairie of Prax. One sax, going north, never deters from his path. Another, going south, never deters from his. So what happens when the two meet? Let's find out:

"Look here, now!" the North-Going Zax said. "I say!
You are blocking my path. You are right in my way.
I'm a North-Going Zax and I always go north.
Get out of my way, now, and let me go forth!"

"Who's in whose way?" snapped the South-Going Zax.
"I always go south, making south-going tracks.
So you're in MY way! And I ask you to move
And let me go south in my south-going groove."

And back and forth they go, each refusing to be the one to budge. As far as I know, they are still there today, staring each other down and waiting for the other to move first.

One of Dr. Seuss's gifts is his gentle way of teaching us about life. In this story, I see myself. Sometimes in my marriage, my stubbornness kicks in, and I don't want to be the one who backs down first! But this is very dangerous, because there will always be a time when spouses disagree. Even in the best of marriages, spouses are not the exact same person! 

Take music, for example. My husband and I love to play music, but our styles are very different. He plays by ear, improvises well, loves a rockin' beat, and is a natural performer. I'm a sight-reader, classically-trained, and feel most at home with a moody, minor Chopin piece played for an audience of none.

It's amazing that we are even in a band together now, and have been for twelve years! And being in a band together played very much in our courtship (someday I'll share more of the story with you), but it almost never happened! When my husband first met me and heard me play piano, he immediately wanted to form a band. I did not (for all the reasons stated above) but hesitantly agreed. The first few months of rehearsals were frustrating for me, but I slowly grew to love the band, and with that, grew to love the man. And now, though life is hectic with five children, we continue to perform. There are still times when I want to call it quits. There are still times when I get the pre-performance jitters, or I'm stressed because I  am trying to feed the kids spaghetti, while getting dressed, while gathering my music to head out the door. Sometimes my husband gives me a suggestion about a song I wrote (he's the one with the 'pop' sensibility, after all) and I feel my muscles tighten because I like the song my way. Or he asks me to play a song that's bluesy and soulful, and though I lament to him, "I don't have any soul!" he doesn't let me off the hook. But because I love my husband, I do it for him.

I have learned that in a marriage, sometimes it's not what you are doing together, but the very fact that you're doing it together (and really, this can be applied to any meaningful relationship). Wives, to different degrees, find themselves competing with sports, cars, outdoor hobbies, the computer... but instead of 'competing', we can join our husbands in doing what they love, simply because we enjoy being with them. (and I hinted at this in my last post, Two Stories.)

But stubbornness can be much more harmful when it leads to many little incidents building up over time, when it concerns making an important decision, or when wounds are deep. An example is from the Iranian film "The Separation". Complex on many levels, at the heart of the conflict is the stubbornness between the husband and wife. The pride there leads to a divide which affects their daughter, the man's father, and another woman and her family. Though we never find out what caused the riff over the years, we catch glimpses of the emotions on both sides, and find ourselves wanting so much for the marriage to resolve. "How simple it would be, if one of you would only say, 'I'm sorry!'" we think to ourselves.

So let us not forget those words in our own marriage. Let us remember that marriage is a two-way street, and in a good marriage, the traffic flows with little interruption: you give love, you receive love (and God's love is the gas that keeps you moving!) But sometimes (and we all have these times), you reach an impass, and the traffic stops. In those times, remember the Zax. And if it's your stubbornness that is blocking the flow, be the one to step aside. That may mean being the first to apologize and ask for forgiveness. It may mean agreeing to do something with your spouse that you wouldn't usually do. Or it may mean changing your way of doing things. Whatever it is, remember the end goal, to be a peacemaker, and to love your spouse!

I know there are creative wives out there who have come up with ways to join their husbands in their hobbies. If you have a story to share, feel free to do so!

Two Stories

The first step to being a good parent or spouse is easier than we realize sometimes. I have two stories that serve as reminders of what it truly means to love someone. I've put my own touches on these stories, but both are from a speaker I have heard or a book I have read, though I cannot remember the names of the sources. If anything here sounds familiar to you, please let me know!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While visiting an elderly widow one day, a pastor stood to admire the many books on the woman's bookshelves. He noticed that the books on one shelf were entirely on electrical engineering.

"Wow, she must be an expert!" he thought.

Then he peered at the next shelf, and noticed that these books were entirely about auto mechanics.

"She really has some interesting hobbies!" the pastor said to himself.

When the widow returned with a plate of cookies and a cup of coffee, the pastor asked her about the books.

With a smile, the woman answered. "I have two sons. One's an electrical engineer, and the other's an auto mechanic."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After years of hearing about her husband's fishing expeditions, a wife decided to join him on one. She carefully put on the proper clothes, packed the proper gear, slathered on sunblock and insect repellent, then hoped for a day of bonding with her husband.

Once at the fishing site, the couple found a spot by the water to cast their lines. The husband didn't speak, and so, his wife also remained silent. Small birds flew overhead, a few squirrels scampered by, but no fish were biting. After three hours of sitting and waiting in silence, the husband decided it was time to go home.

As they walked back to the car with their poles on their shoulders, the wife couldn't help but feel disappointed. She had wanted the day to be about sharing their hearts, the excitement of her husband helping her with her first catch, a day that they could look back on with fondness. But instead, the time had been wasted. She kicked herself for not being the one to initiate conversation.

The car was packed. The trunk was closed. But before the wife could get into the passenger seat, her husband grabbed her in a big bear hug.

"Thanks for coming with me. That was one of my best fishing days ever. Let's do it again sometime!"

And he kissed her.

No Love in Me

Lately, many of my thoughts have expressed themselves in song. In the past three months, I've written five songs, which is much more than my usual song output. Even my husband says, "You're a writing machine!" I sit at the piano, and somehow, it comes out in music.

My most recent song is based on one single thought I had during communion last Sunday.

What if we looked as ugly as our sin?

I would be afraid if everyone could see me for the person I truly am, with my dark and twisted insides. It is God's grace that they can't. Any goodness, joy, peace, kindness, or love in me can only be from God. 

No Love in Me

If my outside looked like my inside

Would you still want me?

If my lips echoed my thoughts

Would you stay?

I don't mean to deceive you

Let me tell you the truth

There is no love in me

Though my intentions seem good

They're never pure

With my right hand I give freely

With my left I take away

The person you admire

Is not deserving of admiration

There is no love in me

I'm a master of disguise

I am an actor

I'm a weaver of words

A storyteller

Behind my many masks

Is just a shadow

There is no love in me

Apart from the fire,

I am nothing

Without your breath,

I am empty

I may speak like angels

I may move mountains

I may know all things

Or die for a cause

But what are these for

If I do them on my own

There is no love in me

But yours 

Family, According to Chesterton

If you are a fan of the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, you should read G.K. Chesterton's work. Born in 1874 (died in 1936), Gilbert Keith Chesterton was a Catholic theologian, playwright, and social critic. His works, ranging widely from detective stories to poetry to apologetics, are always deep with insight and laden with humor. Lewis, though he never met Chesterton, was profoundly influenced by Chesterton's book, The Everlasting Man.

I myself haven't read much of Chesterton's writings, but my husband has shared passages with me. Recently, I was astounded to hear Chesterton write on God's purpose for family in his book Heretics. Here are a few excerpts:

We make our friends; we make our enemies; but God makes our next-door neighbor. Hence he comes to us clad in all the careless terrors of nature; he is as strange as the stars, as reckless and as indifferent as rain... It is a good thing for a man to live in a family for the same reason that it is a good thing for a man to be besieged in a city... [or] snowed up in a street. They all force him to realize that life is not a thing from the outside, but a thing from the inside. Above all, they insist upon the fact that life, if it be a truly stimulating and fascinating life, is a thing which, of its nature, exists in spite of ourselves...

The family is a good institution because it is uncongenial... Those who wish, rightly or wrongly, to step out of all this, do definitely wish to step into a narrower world... This is, indeed the sublime and special romance of the family. It is romantic because it is a toss-up... because it is arbitrary... The element of adventure begins to exist; for an adventure is, by its nature, a thing that comes to us. It is a thing that chooses us, not a thing that we choose...

When we step into the family, by the act of being born, we do step into a world which is incalculable, into a world which could do without us, into a world that we have not made. In other words, when we step into the family, we step into a fairy-tale.

An adventure... a fairy-tale... how Chesterton puts a different spin on family! We tend to view family as a job, a duty, a responsibility... nothing as magical as Chesterton describes. And yet, just as a pregnant mother anticipates the birth of her baby like a child anticipates opening a Christmas present, there is an element of surprise there, isn't there?

And though Chesterton describes the "romance of the family" as being a "toss-up" and "arbitrary", keep in mind that it is only from our perspective that it is so. For God, there are no surprises- He's the one who wrapped the presents! The people in your family were hand-picked by God to be in your lives. Whatever disagreements you have with your parents, or difficulties you have with your children, think about these relationship as stories that is written by the great Author Himself!


If you are interested in reading more of Chesterton's works, my husband and I recommend Orthodoxy, Manalive, and his detective stories, The Father Brown Mysteries and Club of Queer Trades.

On Being a Mother, On Being Content

While I'm on the subject of motherhood, identity, and inspiring words from other writers, here's a topic that is rarely broached.

In responding to feminism, evangelicals should not be reacting with the, "Not only is staying at home okay, it's also the most challenging and valuable job on the planet!"

These are the words of Rebecca VanDoodewaard, from the blog The Christian Pundit that she co-writes with her husband.

The subject of her article, Stay-at-home martyr?, is that sometimes stay-at-home moms think of their calling as an obligation and a sacrifice, rather than a blessing and a joy. It is true that being a mom is important and difficult, but, as Rebecca writes, "...it is not the most important job in the world."

This article has made me think about my own writing. Have I come across as being sympathetic, or fishing for sympathy? When I try to convey pride in what I do, do I instead sound proud and haughty, like those who are not mothers are not good enough?

If I do, I apologize. That was never my intention. I have written before that mothering is the hardest job I've ever done, but I do mean that in a very literal sense, that it's the hardest job I've ever done, because I've had a rather limited number of experiences in my short life. I've never been a brain surgeon, a inner-city teacher, or a soldier.

But on those days when I would like a few minutes of quiet time out of the house, or on the nights when I had to turn down an invitation because I couldn't find a babysitter, I admit that the self-pity comes easily. I want some attention, or some compensation, or at least an 'Employee of the Week' award for all I do!

While I know that is the wrong attitude to have, I don't always know how to correct it. Rebecca's Biblical wisdom both humbled and encouraged me:

When we realize that by grace we are doing good work in thankful obedience, we can be joyful, instead of comparing our work to everyone else's, wanting to be lauded as doing the hardest, most important things. Why do we care how difficult and important our job is? As long as we know that we are personally obeying God's command to us (Titus 2:5), whatever that looks like in our stage and position in life, we should be content. Obedience is better, we're told, than sacrifice (1 Sam. 15:22), and God loves a cheerful giver (2 Cor. 9:7).

(There's more! Again, I'll let you read the full article for yourself, because she says it so much better than I can!)

What I love about the above passage is that it is not only describing mothers, but anyone who considers him/herself a follower of Christ, whether he/she is fifteen or seventy-nine, single or married, working or unemployed! Serving God is not about climbing a ladder, trying to outdo the person next to us, but oftentimes, whether consciously or subconsciously, we view it that way. Or we spend our time pining for 'what-used-to-be', or envying those who seem to have it better. Simply said, if we seek God's will and live in obedience to that will, we can be content, knowing that we are doing EXACTLY what God wants us to be doing. Anytime we start focusing on the negative, or comparing our lives to others', we lose sight of the joy and very reason why God put us where we are.

If you are grumpy and discontent, and you don't know why God has put you where you are,  ask Him!  If you are tired and joyless, "weary of doing good" (Galatians 6:9), I want to encourage you with this. It is one of my favorite Bible passages:

Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. ~Philippians 4:11-13 (ESV)

More on Being a Mother-Artist

I felt the need to add this addendum (is that redundant?) to yesterday's post.

When I think about my life today as a homeschooling mother-of-five, I don't feel like I've have to abandon my dreams; they've just been reshaped. And I don't feel like I'm a failure; my definition of 'success' has been redefined. Though I admit that I would rather be doing art than housework, I don't think art is more important than housework. Housework is just more immediate, at this point of my life. But neither is homemaking and parenting more important than art. They are two parts of me, that along with along parts (sister, teacher, friend, etc.) make the whole that is me. Our God is not limited by titles and job descriptions; neither am I limited in the ways I can serve Him.

I am a Mother-Artist

I didn't come up with the term 'mother-artist'. That's what Christa Wells calls herself. And years ago, I wouldn't have called myself that, but when I read what she wrote... she was describing me all too well.

Because almost everyday, I'm torn between art and housework.

"Ugh, the laundry needs to be hung... but I want to work on this song."

I choose to hang the laundry, because the sun don't wait for nobody, so they say. (or is it the tide?... either way, you get the picture)

"Laundry only takes five minutes to hang, then I can work on the song."

But then something else comes up... a diaper needs to be changed.

That's not housework, that's childcare. No contest... go change the diaper.
(even then, sometimes I would rather ignore the sibling rivalry going on in the other room than stop working)

It's one thing after another. By the time I actually sit down at the piano, I have ten minutes before dinner prep begins. And sometimes, even those ten minutes are interrupted by a minor catastrophe of some sort.

Christa feels the same way. A singer/songwriter, she put aside her music for years to raise a family (which included adopting a child). Meanwhile, she had several Christian musicians (Point of Grace, Natalie Grant) record some of her songs, but she herself thought it was impossible to make her own record.

And now, only after years and years of fighting her fears and insecurities, she's recording an album, and she shares about it on her site. 

Dear Fellow Mother-Artist... she begins. But I'll let you read it for yourself.

What is this drive inside me? I ask myself. Why do I feel pulled in two directions? I'm not on my way to becoming famous or making millions of dollars. I have no reason to do art except... to do it. It brings me joy, it makes me feel complete, it was what God intended for me.

The best way I can describe my life is that I live in two worlds, the world here, and the world of my imagination. In the world of my imagination, stories, pictures, and songs are alive; they are my friends, my family, my next-door neighbors. If I grow quiet and you see me staring into space for a few minutes, most likely I'm visiting that world. And the only way to bring my two worlds together is by writing out the story, or painting the picture, or playing the song to share with people in this world here. Then those people too will become acquainted with the friends, family, and neighbors from my world of imagination. 

If you're an artist, you know how I feel. If you're a mother-artist, I know how you feel. Whether you're a professional painter or a living-room musician, mother of one or mother of nine, be encouraged with the knowledge that someone out there struggles like you do. We long to add to the beauty, to take part in God's great production, and we still can, even if it's only in a small way... for now.

(and if you've never read the short story 'Leaf by Niggle', by J.R.R. Tolkien, you should)

The Easter Story Continues

"... you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth." 
Acts 1:8b

After Jesus rose from the dead, He appeared to many of his disciples and taught them for forty days. Then He told them, those who had personal contact with Him, to tell others about what they had seen. Those people then told others, who told others, who told others, until the Good News spread like a wildfire in all directions. And I'm so glad it spread all to the way to Hong Kong!

Because if a missionary hadn't shared the Gospel to the Chinese, there wouldn't have been a church on the island of Cheung Chau.
And if there hadn't been a church on Cheung Chau, my parents wouldn't have been invited to youth group.
And if they hadn't been invited to youth group, they wouldn't have heard the Message and become Christians.
And if they hadn't become Christians, they wouldn't have attended Dallas Theological Seminary.
And if they hadn't attended Dallas Theological Seminary, my dad wouldn't have become a pastor in the U.S.
And if my dad hadn't become a pastor in the U.S., I wouldn't have had my 5th-grade Sunday School teacher, who told me that I needed to accept Jesus as my personal Savior.
And if I hadn't accepted Jesus as my personal Savior in the 5th-grade, I wouldn't have stayed in the church through college, which was when I met Pastor Brian Townsend, who taught me about God's unconditional love for me.
And now I'm here, homeschooling mother of five, pastor's wife, writing to you about God's great love for me!

Have you ever thought about your 'faith family lineage'? Have you ever thought of all that happened to bring you to this point of life? Whether it was your parents, a pastor, a youth leader, a friend, a neighbor, or all of the above, there is a lineage of people sharing Jesus's story that leads all the way back to the first disciples.

So, really, the Easter story continues with us! We are witnesses of Jesus, and we need to share our story with people around us. Your faith family lineage goes back for two thousand years and has hundreds, maybe thousands, of branches. Don't let the faith lineage stop with you!