Update on Sarah and Charlie

If you read my post on Sarah and Charlie from October 2013, you would be glad to know that the couple and their two children are doing well, though Sarah is still fighting symptoms and not yet fully recovered. And, due to septic shock in her body, most of her hair has fallen out.

But they are still grateful for life, thankful for friends and family, and they continue to acknowledge God's hand on them. Even if it means Sarah has to shave half her head, and may have to shave it all. She knows that her beauty does not come from her hair, or her figure, or even her smile. It comes from the beauty of her Christ, which radiates through her.

If you want to see how beautiful Sarah looks, click on Charlie's Blog for the most recent photo of her. You'll see what I mean when I say "She's gorgeous!!!"

Raising P.K.s

About a week ago, I realized something.

My children are P.K.s. (For those of you not familiar with the term, it means 'pastor's kid'.)

I had overheard my husband asking my children if they were willing to share what they had learned in Sunday School with our Friday night Bible study group. (Our group is unique in that all the children sit with us as we study, rather than go to another room to play or watch videos.) Hearing my husband's words brought back memories of my parents calling me over to meet adults, asking me to fill in as teacher or pianist, or telling me that I 'have to' wear a dress to church. There was always some expectation of me as a P.K.

Naturally, I grew up thinking that being a P.K. was the worst thing possible, and it was something that I never wished upon my own children. But becoming a pastor's wife has taught me something-- that we can choose to live by the world's definitions, or we can live by God's definitions. We can be bound by the world's expectations, or we can live as God intended us to live. We can take the idea of P.K. and make it into a legalistic prison for our children, or we can search for God's intent for us as parents.

So now my definition of P.K. has changed. It no longer means children of ordained pastors, who must always smile, be quiet and polite, and wear a shirt and tie or dress and tights on Sunday. They aren't the ones singled out to be an example for other children, the ones who are disciplined more harshly, or the ones who are expected to always take the lead. A P.K. should be every Christian's child, because every Christian should teach their children to be kind, to be servant-leaders and role models for the other children (and sometimes adults), and that they are a valid and vital part of the Body and participants in worship. A P.K. doesn't have to have all the right answers, but he or she should be learning and growing in the Word. He or she is not a perfect child, but one who is learning right from wrong, hand in hand with discipline and grace.

As parents, we have been ordained to be pastors of our families, shepherds of our little flocks. Remember that as you care for your children, your P.K.s, day in and day out.

Embracing Extraordinary (Part 2 of 3)

I should have mentioned this before, but it's hard being extraordinary.

I don't mean the extraordinary that we wish on ourselves, like being drop-dead gorgeous, writing an award-winning novel, or finding the cure for cancer. This kind of extraordinary brings us attention and praise.

I'm talking about God's kind of extraordinary: being brave when others aren't, standing for truth and justice when others don't, living in the light of His kingdom while on earth.

That's what makes it hard, because it doesn't bring us the kind of attention we want, nor does it often bring us praise.

It means being extraordinary by refuting a well-respected professor in ethics class. Or standing up to your boss even if it means your job may be on the line. It means seeing  the unexpected and/or tragic as a blessing, as in the case of Joni Eareckson Tada, who was a quadraplegic at the age of 17 because of a diving accident. Maybe in your case, it means undergoing cancer treatment and enduring curious glances at your hairless head whenever you venture out. And in my case (unexpected by not tragic), it means preparing myself for Baby #6 in a time and place where being a homemaker is not an admirable career choice and being a strong bearer of children is not considered a talent.

As always, God's timing was perfect. I already turn heads when I go out with my children. People either give me an amused, annoyed, or chin-dropping-to-the-floor look, but never do I get a look that says, "You are an extraordinary mom!" That used to bother me, until I learned that I can't spend the rest of my life trying to win the world's approval. No, God called me for something greater, and though I don't always get to choose what that something is, I do get to choose-- ordinary, or extraordinary. 

And as hard as it may be, I am choosing extraordinary.


(Click here to read Part 1, Ordinary No More or here to read Part 3, Extraordinary Examples)

On Grandparents and Gifts

What I'm about to write may be blasphemous to some…

Grandparents say they have earned their right to spoil their grandchildren because they were never able to do the same for their children. Now, I'm not saying that all grandparents spoil their grandchildren (or that I don't appreciate what my parents and in-laws do for my children), but what if we tried something new? What if grandparents gave their children (who are now parents) the joy that they didn't have when they themselves were parents?

It sounds confusing, but here is an example. Grandpa, instead of insisting on buying the new bike for Billy, says, "I'll pay for the next three months of piano lessons so Dad can use that money to take Billy out and get a new bike." Or Grandma, instead of taking a granddaughter out for a special date, offers, "Let me watch the other children so Mom can take Suzy out for ice cream."

Grandparents don't need to be self-sacrificing ALL the time, but imagine how much joy could be given in a gift like this, especially for parents who wish they could buy a new bike for their children, or wish they had more special one-on-one times with their child. These are parents who work hard, but sometimes worry if their children will have more fun memories with grandparents, and can't help but feel a little jealous; parents who want to give their children everything, but oftentimes have to make the wiser decision; young parents very similar to young parents thirty years ago, wishing that their many 'no's could sometimes become a 'yes'.

This was just a thought, something I'm tucking away for later, when I'm a grandmother...

Ordinary No More (Part 1 of 3)

I spent most of my life trying to be ordinary.

In junior high, I didn't want to get 'free' lunches because nobody else did. As soon as I could, I started bringing my own squishy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When girls hair-sprayed their bangs to stand at least two inches above their heads, I did the same. When 'pegging' your pants was in, I did that too. (This was the 80's; we did some strange things.) I wished I lived in a big, beautiful house like my friends, and had parents with ordinary jobs like my friends' parents. If I could have become Caucasian, I would have too.

In high school, I still tried my best to blend in. I switched to contact lenses and started wearing make-up. When none of my friends wanted to join the choir, I almost joined the marching band just to be with them. I thought about taking French instead of music theory, again because all my friends were in that class. I didn't speak up in class, and shared as little information about myself as I could. I didn't talk about going to church or Chinese class or playing the piano.

Ordinary. That's all I wanted.

But God never allowed me to settle for that.

My hair, first of all, would never allow me to be ordinary. As much as I wished for beautiful, shiny straight hair or wonderful, gorgeous, wavy hair, my hair did its own thing. It was (and still is) big, puffy, dark, and crazy. (One little girl once told me that I have 'angry' hair). Then there were the hand-me-down clothes. With a closet full of out-dated and mismatched clothes, I was forced to be creative. And being a pastor's kid, though there were times when I hated it, meant I couldn't hide; I was required to be a leader and role model, even at an early age. I did end up joining the choir and never looked back, and excelled in music theory. If it weren't for those classes, I would have never become a music major in college. 

All of this lead us to this very moment, where at the age of thirty-five, I can say "I will be ordinary no more!" I can forget my childhood insecurities. There is no shame in my hair, or my strange sense of style. I don't need to be afraid of people's opinions of me and allow them to prevent me from meeting new people or inviting them to my humble home. When people comment (no matter how insensitively) on my five children (because four is okay, but for some reason, five is a lot), I can smile and say, "Each and every one is a blessing to me." When they question me on homeschooling, I can speak with confidence on what God has called to me to do. And when the Spirit prompts me to take a leadership role, I can say "Yes!" I am learning to love the person God calls me to be!

God doesn't want us to be ordinary. He wants to make us extraordinary. And whatever that may look like for you, don't settle for blending in when God wants you to SHINE!


(Click here to read Part 2, Embracing Extraordinary, or here to read Part 3, Extraordinary Examples)

Parenting and Writing, Faith and Hope

My friend and fellow writer Dorcas shared about her young son's food allergies on her blog, Motherhood in Moving Pictures.

In such times of fear, I can only return to faith. I don't feel adequate to protect my son from fish, nuts, or any other danger that may come his way over the course of his life. And the truth is, even if I tried to protect him from everything, I'm pretty sure I'd drive myself insane doing so.

After reading this, I started thinking of all the ways parenting is like writing. Despite all the work and time you put in, there is no guarantee of success. Somewhere along the journey, your heart will be broken, at least once.

So what can anyone say that is of encouragement to parents? Well, I give you the same encouragement I would give a writer.

1)  You parent simply for the love of your child, as a writer would write simply for the love of writing.

2) You hold onto the joy in the midst of pain and fear. In writing and parenting, there will always be pain and fear, but there will also always be joy.

3) You live in the hope of this amazing person that your child can be, like a writer lives in hope of what he/she will write next.

And really, as Dorcas wrote, "I can only return to faith." Her words say it best:

That's why I have to believe that Someone else is looking out for [my son], Someone with infinite courage and compassion who loves my son even more than I do, Someone who is strong enough to carry our entire family through this.

I am no alone in this. [My son] is not alone in this. And that gives me hope, which is a whole lot better than fear.

Popping the Suburban Bubble

I rarely leave the Tri-Valley. I drive a mile or two to get groceries, or I go to the next town over for church or to visit friends, but most of my life happens right here in my home. Because of this, there are days when I feel like I'm in a bubble: alone, untouched, and with no influence on the world.

It's not because I don't like leaving the valley; I actually miss the eclectic atmosphere of Berkeley and the sense of adventure of being in Chinatown. There are certain aspects of cities that I appreciate, and I always gain a renewed perspective on life when I travel to one. It just doesn't happen very often.

Yesterday was one of those trips, a rare Saturday when our family had nothing on the agenda for the entire day. We decided to visit the Tech Museum of Innovation in San Jose with my sister, to make good use of our Christmas money and see the Star Wars exhibit (props, costumes, and models). I didn't realize this at the time, but I had put on my "going-out-with-five-kids" armor. I am so used to comments and stares when I go to the store, the library, or the park that I had learned to guard myself against the feeling of being an outsider.

But that was not the case at all yesterday. No one stared. No one even noticed. There were children everywhere, and some were dressed in a Star Wars costume, right beside their parents in matching Jedi robes. I had forgotten about the wonderful diversity in a big city! And a few people did ask about my family; one dad (on a father/daughter date with his miniature Padme) shared that he and his wife were expecting their fourth child in March. Another couple had a two-year-old and a baby, and needed reassurance that life with children will not always seem so crazy. They were the only two conversations I had in the dimly-lit exhibit hall, but both were very encouraging for me.

Contrast that with the comment I heard while we ate our sandwiches outside the exhibit hall.

"Children are adorable until they start talking back." It was the young man checking the museum tickets. The young man spoke with confidence and punctuated his statement with a laugh. I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to jumping into other people's conversations, but I also knew that nothing I said could change the young man's opinion. Either he will believe what he said for the rest of his life, or he will become a dad and realize how wrong he was.

After viewing the other exhibits in the museum, we started heading back to the car. Our day was coming to a close, and I was surprised at how uneventful it had been. But as we approached a crossing, we saw an ambulance and fire truck parked in the street. A man was being wheeled on a stretcher, and I could not tell from looking at him what state he was in. We then saw several police cars surrounding a shopping cart full of bags and things, and I knew right away that the man was homeless. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was poor health, but whatever it was, he was not doing well. In a corner, huddled on some steps, were two other homeless people, holding each other and crying. I felt the suffering of these people, though they are so different from me in some ways, and I was reminded that this is daily life for some people. They know of nothing but suffering, pain, hardship, and sadness.

We also stumbled across a memorial outside the San Jose courthouse. It was for the Japanese who were put in internment camps during World War II. This memorial beautifully depicted in cast bronze the story of the Japanese who had to sell their businesses and leave their farms on trains and buses to live behind barbed wire. Family crests of Japanese families decorated the borders, and a copy of the official decree for the internment was printed on the side. More reminders of the sadness of life, and the need for Hope in this broken world.

And so my little bubble was broken yet again. These images and conversations followed me to bed last night and to church this morning, and will continue to follow me and fill me with a sense of connectedness as I take care of my family, teach my children, and love my neighbor as myself.

On Expectations and the Church

Growing up as a pastor's daughter, I've heard this question my whole life.

"How much does the church cater to the expectations of the public?"

I choose to use the word 'public' instead the word 'congregation' because there really are two arguments going on here: how much do we do for the sake of growing the Body within, and how much do we do to 'attract' those on the outside?

Whatever the argument, I don't know if there is an answer, especially for those of us ministering in the United States. We want to set ourselves apart from the world, but we don't want to look too different. But it seems that if we focus on one crowd, we're going to lose another. It's the elderly against the youth, the hymns and organ or drums and worship songs, or polished, "professional" programs versus volunteer, lay-run ministry.  Everyone comes to church with a certain expectation (nice-looking building, coffee and refreshments, etc.) and many leave when those expectations aren't met.

"Well, the early church didn't have childcare and youth programs or fifteen minute sermons!"

And one could argue, "Well, this isn't the first century anymore. Times have changed."

"Churches in China and Africa don't have fancy buildings, full bands, and a light show!"

And another could argue, "This isn't China or Africa. This is suburbia in a wealthy nation."

And when one church doesn't satisfy you, it's all too easy to find a new church. 

I'm not saying that churches are in competition with each other; I am saying that sometimes we focus too much on demographics, age group, or social class, and we allow that to damage the unity within the Body. Leadership can spend their days arguing about the flow of the worship service, but in the end, the answer to the question "Who do we want to attract to our church?" should be "Those who love Jesus."

Of course, then we go back to the old argument: "But I love Jesus better through hymns." "It's easier to love Jesus when the chairs are cushioned."

It hurts my heart. Talk like this feels like a divorce in my family. I've seen friends become enemies over talk like this. I've seen churches grow cancerous and die. I've heard people both within the church and outside the church ask, "How can the God of love be the God of this?"

This is what I say from my observations: it's time for each of us to look outside ourselves. It's time to open our eyes and see the elderly and the young in our church, the widows and orphans, and our brothers and sisters abroad. It's time to look past the color of the carpet or the number of musicians on the stage. Let's reexamine our expectations of 'church' and realign them with what the Bible teaches.

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit-- just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call-- one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.  ~Ephesians 4:1-6

Public Speaking

I was asked to speak at the Valentine's Tea at our church. Wow, the year has barely started and God is already throwing in the surprises! At first I thought that this would be a couple's tea, something that my husband and I could work together on. Then I was told that it's a women's tea, with women of all ages and backgrounds. And the topic is love.

My mind raced through my list of DISqualifications for this job. I'm no expert on love. I'm no Bible scholar. My background is fairly limited. I don't feel like a leader among women. I don't stand out. In fact, I'm more of a wallflower. And, I am definitely NOT a public speaker. I've never even taken a speech class in school. I can hide behind a piano and perform with a band, and I can be silly in front of a group of kids, but standing in the front of a room, sharing my thoughts with a crowd whose eyes are boring into me… I don't know. My heart races just thinking about it.

But then I remembered a line from the VeggieTales movie 'The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything'. (I have five kids. I can't help but make references to children's books and movies.) In the film, the princess says that she can trust the goofy-looking pirates because she trusts the One who sent them. In my case, I can trust the leaders of the women's ministry because I trust that they are following God's will in asking me. I trust that they are prayerful and mindful when they disciple women and seek to raise up the next generation of leaders.

Likewise for the leaders, they trust that God has sent me to help with the tea, though I am not the most outspoken, courageous, or altruistic of women. They recognize something in me, a seed that was planted by the Holy Spirit, and this is their taking an obedient step in helping me cultivate that seed until I am blooming and fruitful. All I can say is, I'm both honored and humbled.

I have been prayerful on the matter since Friday, and my conclusion today is this: because my hand is in God's hand (as are the leaders of my church), I know that I CAN do this task despite my short-comings. It won't be the beginning of a speaking career (unless God has more surprises in store for me) but for one afternoon, God will use me to be His instrument to a room full of women.

My heart races just thinking about it…

Hope for Writers, Rest for Me

Sometimes, a friend knows just the right things to say. And last night, my friend was Madeleine L'Engle.

My husband had given me her book 'A Circle of Quiet' for our anniversary last July, and I had yet to read past page 20. By some inner prompting, I decided to pick up the book and read at least a page or two before going to bed. Immediately, I was transported to a quiet, coastal coffee shop, listening to Madeleine talk about her experience as a young writer and mother. Somehow, she knew what I needed to hear, and her heart was on the same page as mine.

I was always tired. So was Hugh. During the decade between thirty and forty, most couples are raising small children, and we were no exception… my love for my family and my need to write were in acute conflict. The problem was really that I put two things first. My husband and children came first. So did my writing. Bump...

But during the decade when I was in my thirties, I couldn't sell anything. If a writer say he doesn't care whether he is published or not, I don't believe him. I care. Undoubtedly I care too much. But we do not write for ourselves alone. I write about what concerns me, and I want to share my concerns. I want what I write to be read...

I covered the typewriter in a great gesture of renunciation. Then I walked around and around the room, bawling my head off. I was totally, unutterably miserable… I uncovered the typewriter. In my journal I recorded this moment of decision, for that's what it was. I had to write. I had no choice in the matter. It was not up to me to say I would stop, because I could not. It didn't matter how small or inadequate talent. If I never had another book published, and it was very clear to me that this was real possibility, I still had to go on writing.


I often picture writers as professionals, with a specific place and time write, a notebook and pen always beside them, and a few sticky notes on the wall. At least, those were the "real" writers. But here was Madeleine L'Engle, the Madeleine L'Engle, sounding a bit like me-- trying to frantically jot down a beautifully crafted sentence while stir-frying and hushing a child on her hip; trying to find time, even just a few minutes, to work on a page; trying to be true to herself and find someone to publish 'A Wrinkle in Time' and 'Meet the Austins', but only to receive rejection note after rejection note; trying to give up writing, only to find it flowing from her despite her attempts to stuff it down.

And so I start 2014 with a refreshed outlook, where I am not dwelling on the writing that was (much of which was rejected), but the writing that will be. There are still opportunities out there, and so much inspiration! I can try to stop writing, or I can choose to embrace it for what it is.

Which leads me to my word for the year: REST.

I want to REST in God's everlasting arms, and not in the world's fickle embrace.
I want to REST when I feel impatience, anger, or frustration rise.
I want to REST even when my to-do list is beckoning to me. 
This year, I want to REST.


(The idea of focusing on a one-word resolution for the New Year is not my own. It is from my friend Laura's blog, which I recommend reading, especially if you've recently lost a loved one. Her father died suddenly a little over a year ago, and she writes openly and tenderly about her healing process. Click here to read 'A Letter to My Dad'. Also, she's very creative, and has TONS of crafting ideas!)

On Movies for Kids and a Spider's Web

My family is watching 'Charlotte's Web'. We've seen it before, a year or two ago, but my husband wants to preview it again for a family movie night at the church. 

Let me first explain to you my husband's purpose for the family movie night: to have fun together as a church family, but also to teach parents how to be wise about media choices and how to help their children filter media through a Biblical worldview. Before the movie, he will talk about media influences and a parent's role in protecting their children from those influences. Sometimes parents need a reminder that just because something is rated 'G' or 'TV Y' doesn't mean it's Biblical (or suitable for children).

Secondly, I won't lie and say that I like the new 'Charlotte's Web' movie (some of you grew up watching the same cartoon version I did… "chin up! chin up!"- sing with me now!) Though I don't hate it, I am not a fan of how the producers took a thoughtful and humorous book and tried to make it more modern and more funny by adding talking crows and mild potty humor. 

But still, there is something to this movie, because it portrays the innocence of a bygone era. Today, Charlotte's writing would become a photo that spreads like wildfire on the Internet, then is quickly debunked as a trick of Photoshop. The generation growing up right now sees more on their little phones than a girl like Fern would have seen in her lifetime, and they are quicker to toss aside what they see as 'boring' or 'unreal'.

And that's why we still need movies (and books) like 'Charlotte's Web', so children, and adults, will not forget. Because if there is one thing that movie got right, it is that a spider's web, though common and everyday, is in itself a miracle, a wondrous work of God's hand. How a spider can make something so beautiful and so perfectly suited for its purpose is beyond our knowledge. And what's more, spiders have not one, but two, four, six, or eight spinnerets! They can produce seven types of silk (some sticky and some not), and their silk has the tensile strength of steel! Scientists have yet to make a synthetic form of it.

Take a look around you… you may find a new appreciation of the spider in the corner of your room. And the next time you hold a feather, an egg, a snowflake, or a leaf… remember that you are holding a miracle in your hand.


Parents and teachers: read Plugged In's article, Wise Parents Check Out the Ride. Also on Plugged In's website are guides for family movie nights (click on 'movie night's at the top of the page). There, you can print out a movie review, activity sheet, and discussion questions for 'Charlotte's Web', 'Turbo', and many other movies.