God of Every Story

Listen to Laura Story’s song “God of Every Story.”

You might find it unremarkable unless you understand it for what it is: her story. A newly wed girl whose husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor. A surgery that left him in good health, but not quite whole. A lifetime with a man who is not able to remember that he married her. That would be tough.

But God was not done writing their story and he held their family together. In 2012, they welcomed a baby girl into their family. And in 2014, their family expanded with twin boys. It is little wonder why she is not writing a lot of new music these days. Their house probably hums to the tune “the wheels on the bus…”

Their story is still not all told, but even the part we know now is amazing. Especially when Laura tells it in worship.

God of every story. The timing of this gentle reminder was not a coincidence. Just a few minutes before hearing that song, I had been on my way to work, minding my own business, when I had been suddenly struck with eminency of my own fears. The radio was tuned to a conservative talk station where I had been listening to Dave Ramsey rant the night before. Mind you, my commute is only about three minutes long. And in that three minutes, I expected to hear about Benghazi, Obamacare, or Common Core. But instead, the topic of discussion had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with the reality of my deepest fears. There. I heard it. I couldn’t unhear it.

I won’t tell you what it was because it isn’t the point—but you might be able to guess. It may seem silly to you. That’s okay. It isn’t your fear; it’s mine. It might mean nothing to you; you might be able to explain it away; tell me I’m foolish; or tell me you’re sorry for me. But you can’t make it go away. Only God can do that. And so far, He hasn’t.

God of every story.

When my faith is tested, I often let my fears rule my heart. I often take my gaze off my Savior and my feet begin to sink. But this time, I resolved I wouldn’t do that—I wouldn’t get caught in the storm of my doubts but instead focus on the proof of His love.

I looked around at the stories I’m seeing God write. In fact, scrolling through Facebook was like paging through God’s brag book. Budding romances…blooming families…the glory of God’s creation…good gifts in small packages! I saw my adorable nephew swinging on a swing; a friend of mine named Jaime loving her new baby—a story God is writing that I can’t wait to hear more of.

My eyes locked on a photo of pink ballet slippers, “It’s a Girl!” it boasted and I was moved to tears.

My cousin was told as a young teen that she would never be able to have kids. For the last 15 years or so, she’s believed that she would never be a mom. For a girl, that’s a big deal. And I suspect that even to guys who might have otherwise been a big part of her life—that was a big deal. But from what I know about Joelle, she was faithful. She loved the Lord even though she didn’t love the facts as she knew them.

A wedding was long in coming for her. Then about a year and a half ago or so, she got married to a man who had cancer. He had fought it in the past and he was getting ready to go through treatments again. They got married knowing that they didn’t know what the future would look like. Which says a lot about the kind of girl Joelle is.

And the doctors said because of his numerous cancer treatments, he also was not able to have kids.

And that’s why this post is such a beautiful thing. Because now there are three in their family. Three miracles: A wedding. A sustaining. And a birth. Because God is the God of their story and He saw fit to trust them with one of His most precious gifts. Regardless of what the doctors had to say.

Then there is me. What is my story? I don’t know exactly.

Perhaps I’m up too close to even see it. When people even ask me “what’s new?” I don’t know what to say. No miracles.

But I guess I could say what’s new is what God is doing in me. What’s new is letting go of fears. Peace in the storm. Love instead of jealousy. Kinder words. A cleaner heart. A life less driven by fear and more driven by faith.

It doesn’t sound exciting and it’s not, really. Not a thriller or a romance. There are no ballet slippers with that. A work in progress isn’t “new” I guess, but it just that—a work. A story still being written.

But when God finishes, I’ll write a song about it. And I suppose I’ll have to work hard to come up with a title since “God of Every Story” is already taken.

On Being Overly Sensitive

I’m cringing as I post this. I’m cringing because I know, sure as getting spaghetti on a white sweater, that as soon as this posts, someone is going to do something to hurt my feelings. It’s the nature of the beast.   Blogging is like waiving a flag at trouble and saying, “I think I’m the expert on this, come find out!”

And to heighten the odds, I’m a girl.

But, regardless, while I have other ideas for blogs, the rest of them seem to need a little more runway. So here I go.

I’ve heard sensitivity called a virtue. And maybe it is. Maybe it is the one virtue that needs to go find all the lost virtues and trade places with them. Or maybe it just needs some major dilution–like one part sensitivity to twenty parts real life.

One of the best pieces of advice I was ever given was this: Be very hard to offend.

Unfortunately, I was well into my twenties before I understood the wisdom of that simple sentence. I cried a lot of worthless tears. For myself.

There are a few things in this world worth crying over. Worth fighting over. Worth agonizing over. Christmas cards are not among them. Birthday parties are not among them. Who says “Hi!” to you on the way in and out of church is not among them. Facebook is not among them.

If there are two ways to interpret something and one is highly offensive and the other is a reasonable explanation, choose to believe the reasonable explanation. Practice it on the little stuff.

Without trying to be demeaning–the good folks of Ferguson would have saved themselves a lot of precious hours of sleep if they had just followed that simple principle. Mind you, I’m not saying that racial prejudice isn’t real and tragic, just that behavior like what we saw contributed nothing to the cause of justice. Frankly, most white people like most black people. And those that don’t aren’t the least bit swayed by looting and protesting.

While I’m on the subject of race, Condoleezza Rice came to mind. She grew up in segregated Birmingham–the south of the south. Her family knew what prejudice was. They knew they had to work harder to gain respect and so they did. They did work hard and they did gain respect.

In her book, she recounts a time (after moving to Colorado) when a potential landlord turned her family down citing the noise from her grand piano that would disturb the neighborhood. The Rice family was convinced it was actually because they were black. And they were furious.

But it worked both ways. Not every black girl gets the opportunities Condoleezza got–internships, fellowships, professorships.  But I have to believe from her story that she got more attention than she would have if she had been white. People were eager to have a bright, hardworking person on their team but being a black woman made her stand out in a crowd of bright, hardworking people.

And as it turned out, she changed her major from piano performance to foreign policy.

As life went on, Condoleezza must have developed some thicker skin. Because she took some hits. She took some hits as Provost of Stanford–even from the black students. She took even more hits as Secretary of State. Because who doesn’t hit on an attractive, single Secretary of State? Eligible bachelors. That’s about it.

The point here is that you can spend your life being overly sensitive–worrying about who likes you and who doesn’t and why. You can pull away from people and places and activities because there are people who don’t like you, don’t appreciate you, or don’t see eye to eye with you. And you can be miserable. That’s up to you.

But if you prefer to avoid the misery, I would encourage you to ask two questions: 1 is there another, reasonable explanation for what happened? And 2. Is this a hill worth dying on? (Or at least, worth crying on?)  If the answers are yes, and no, then in the words of a famous princess, Let it go! Let it GO!

It’s up to you–you can spend your life fighting with a landlord over a piano, and lose. Or fighting with the Soviet Union over freedom, and win.

Condoleezza recounts a time when she looked over at President Bush, then out the window of Air Force One and said: “I’m awfully glad I changed my major.”

And, for whatever reason, one landlord had missed out on responsible, history-making tenants.  Her loss.  It’s was time to forgive the piano incident.

Let’s Go Blue!

Law Enforcement Supporter (2)At the Bostic Law Firm, we are all about our clients.

We make friends for our clients. We make enemies for our clients. That’s what they pay us to do. And when we fight, we fight to win.  That’s why they hire us–because they think we will.

And frankly, most of the time, we do.  We try to out work the other side (Curtis), out smart the other side (Peter), or occasionally, just out spend the other side (me).

But while we’ll ask stupid questions for our clients, lose sleep for our clients, and miss family events for our clients; one thing we generally don’t do for our clients is take bullets. Our hourly rates just don’t cover the workers comp involved with that kind of lead poisoning.

And at the end of the day, if we find ourselves in a fight we don’t want to be in, representing people we can’t whole heartedly represent, or just without the resources or the facts to “bring it”–we look for a way out.

By contrast, between 100 and 200 law enforcement officers die in the line of duty every year.  If that doesn’t sound like a lot to you, start counting your family members. You can stop when you get to 200.

50,000 more will get assaulted and 14,000 will get wounded in the line of duty.

I have a friend whose husband was part of that last statistic.  In a matter of seconds, he became a quadriplegic.  The next chapter of his life was full of doctors, hospitals, home care nurses, medicines, infections, and eventually amputation and depression.  He died a few years later, but not before he and his family had been down a long, hard road.

I can give more examples–but the point isn’t so much the anecdotes as the general principal.  In a time when law enforcement has taken a beating, I think it’s time for us as citizens to show our gratitude.

There are 780,000 men and women in the USA who don a uniform every day.  We call them law enforcement because that is what they swear to do–uphold the law. They don’t get to pick their clients.  They don’t get to pick their fights.  They don’t even get to pick which laws.  And this world is just plain not Mayberry.

Perhaps to you, a job is just a job.  A client is just a client.  But to law enforcement families, generally, their job is a way of life.  It involves service, sacrifice, and danger.

So take a few minutes today to say “thanks!”  Start with the ones you know–a friend, a brother-in-law, a cousin.  And if you get a chance, reach out to a few you don’t know.  Pay for their coffee or stop them at the gym.  Say thanks.

Maybe we can make this county a little more like Mayberry after all.

Top 10 Things I’ve Learned from Traveling

It’s that time when I add up mileage from the previous year. Here are a few thoughts from a weary traveler…

– Salad is meant to be eaten at a table.

– You can never have too many cell phone chargers.  (They are cheapest at Big Lots and will probably last till you lose them).

– There are two kinds of gas stations; neither have nice restrooms.

– There is nothing like endless miles in a car that brings out the side of me that eats gummy bears and sour patch kids alternately.

– There is a Golden Corral in Johnson City.  The Sunday afternoon staff knows us by name.

– Hotel work out rooms are never what they look like in the photos.

– If you are going to pack your curling iron while it’s still hot, you have to live with the consequences.

– Always pack your unmentionables first.  It is really a bummer to get where you were going without them.

– Rented books on CD from Cracker Barrel are a great way to pass the time.  And losing one CD from each book is a great way to waste money.

– You don’t get to keep the rental car.  That’s okay.  You probably won’t want to.  You know…by the time you wreck it and all…

Are there any happy people out there?

Yes, it has been three months since I’ve blogged.  I pretty much gave up blogging.

But recently, some friends encouraged me to continue.  The type of friends that I’m honored even take the time to read my writing–much less miss it when it isn’t there.

One kind soul even took the time to ask if I was “okay.”  So here is the short story:

October and November were difficult months.  I’m not gonna lie.

December was peaceful, pleasant, and even fun.  But with the peace came sort of a spiritual “dryness” that left me really with nothing to say and definitely, nothing to shout above the din of viral videos, cute cartoons, pithy comments, family photos, Christmas music, personal notes, and far, far better blogs than I’ll ever write.

My theory is, when I have nothing to say, I should be quiet.

Then there is a competing theory that there is never a perfect time to write.  Life will always be messy in some respect or another.  Sometimes, I just have to do it. Even when it is easier to just be quiet.

Anyway, so in December, I was kind of a cautious happy, not a confident happy.  I tried to blog a few times, but I wasn’t quite able to pull it off. And this week, my spirits seemed to be in a steady decline and by Tuesday afternoon,  I would listen to anyone who would tell me a tale of woe.  And when anyone else would listen, I would tell my own tale of woe.  Pretty soon, I felt like one unhappy person surrounded by a world of unhappy people.  6 billion unhappy people is a lot of unhappy people.

And we would all say, “Oh, and Happy New Year!”  at the end of the tale.

Like suddenly, the clock would strike midnight and we would all reset to happy.

Seriously, though, I found myself asking, “Are there any happy people out there?”  The poor aren’t happy.  The rich aren’t happy.  Students aren’t happy.  Working people aren’t happy.  Retired people aren’t happy.  Parents aren’t happy.  Kids aren’t even happy.  How messed up does a world have to be for kids not be happy? 

I’m willing to wager that if I had been at Disneyworld on Christmas Day, I could have found for you boatloads of people singing the blues to “It’s a Small World After All.” If the happiest place on earth is devoid of people living happily ever after, what hope is there for the rest of us?

I read somewhere that the key to happiness in a relationship is the constant belief that the other person is better than you deserve.  The more I thought about that, the more I have realized there is a lot of wisdom in that simple statement.  Perhaps because, whether they realized it or not, the author’s conclusion was essentially the biblical principles of humility and gratefulness…with a touch of contentment.

I’m convinced that the same truth applies to happiness in life.  Choose to believe that your life is better that you deserve.  And that is the truth—whether you believe it or not.

I don’t intend to be trite—I know that some of us were created to think constantly, feel deeply, and care passionately (not only about our own hurts, but about others’ as well). It can seem cold and even irreverent to cast aside feelings of hurt for feelings of hope.

But, nevertheless, it is never wrong to embrace the joy that humility and gratefulness bring. So, I started to do something new this New Years.  Not a resolution, but maybe a new tradition.  I decided to write down one hundred things I was grateful for—one hundred.

Some came quickly…and in no particular order: New Kitchen cabinets. Working heat.  Ministries I get to be a part of.  Grandparents.  My Sunday School class.  The Bible.  A working car.  Dish soap.  My phone.  Salvation.  Julie Anne.  Photos.

Some brought to mind a negative counterpart…my health (but not migraines).  My paycheck (but not taxes).  But I put a lid on that: no list of things I’m not thankful for.

My resolve was tested before I even hit 20.  My day included poorly timed reminders that all was not well in life—or at least not the way I want it.  But when you keep in mind that what you deserve is hell, that kind of puts a different perspective on things.  Life is good when it is better than you deserve.

I got to 50 without too much trouble. Then I started again:   Roses. Indoor plumbing. Nieces and nephews. A hope of heaven. The USA. Our troops. Sundays.

I named people God has brought into my life; current and past. The Lanes—who let me stay at their house and drive their car for free for 8 weeks while I studied for the bar exam. My sisters and brother – who let me buy annoying toys for their kids. Candi Grinder – my high school yearbook advisor who told me I was good at graphic design. The Kinzers – Clients who have come to be special people in my life.

That brought to mind a story that I just have to share…I was in Kentucky by myself and the weather was an ungodly 1 degree. I needed to leave and I couldn’t get the car to start. It was bitterly cold—my brain was frozen and I couldn’t really think of what to do next.

Jerry Kinzer—one of the wealthiest men I know—happened to call and asked about something. I confessed that it wasn’t the best morning in the world and that I couldn’t get the car to start. Jerry could have done nothing at all. He could have said he was sorry. He could have given me the phone number of a tow company. He could have sent one of the 100 or so men that work for him to come and give me a jump.

But a few minutes later, he showed up in the 1 degree weather, hooked up the cables he brought with his ungloved hands and jumped the jeep so I could get on the road.

There are a lot of stories like that in my life. There are a lot of people like that in my life. And before I even got to 100—I was wholly convinced that my life is much better than I deserve.

Are there any happy people out there?

I don’t know. But there is at least one happy person.

In here.

Shoveling Coal

You gotta love the gym. Where else can you be updated on all the evils in the world all at once? TVs everywhere on every channel can give you updates from 6 points of view simultaneously. War in Israel. Chaos in Iraq. Mess in Washington. Mayhem in Detroit. Ebola in Liberia. Actors killing themselves.

Good Morning, America! It’s another day in our broken, messed up world.

You can turn off the TV, but you can’t turn off the problems. They are there.

So…what is there to do? What to do but put your head phones in and run. Run.

I can’t fix the Middle East. I can’t fix poverty. I can’t fix drugs and depression. I feel like I should do something, but what? And what would matter anyway?

Despite trying to shut it out, I can’t help but keep asking myself those questions while I’m running. Yep, I’m watching six TVs playing six different channels, I’m listening to something else on my headphones, and at the same time, I’m trying to solve the world’s problems in my head. It’s little wonder I’m exhausted before I even break a sweat.

This morning, my phone was playing Kisses from Katie, the recent story about of young lady who is trying to “do something.” She moved to Uganda after high school where she has adopted 13 children and helps provide for 600 more through a non-profit organization called Amazima.

I have a lot of respect for Katie Davis and what she is doing to show the love of Christ in a destitute corner of the world. However, although she is investing her whole heart into the lives of needy orphans, she too confesses that she feels some days like she is trying to empty the ocean with an eye dropper. Every little drop takes resources, but it is just a little drop in a sea of sickness and poverty. Even with her every effort, the world doesn’t look much different in the grand scheme of things.

Katie opined that God didn’t create more people in the world than He provided for. And that’s true. Her conclusion was that those with more should share with those with less. And we should.

But I don’t think that’s the whole answer.   How many billions of dollars in aid has the US poured into remote parts of the world and what do we have to show for it? We can pump billions of dollars into the Middle East and Africa—as we have done—and it will still be a mess. In addition to giving nationally, we can give individually. But it’s kind of like dropping 8,000 meals on a mountain hiding 40,000 refugees…a good thing; but how long can you go on 1/5 of a meal?  

Katie has also worked to help Ugandans “help themselves” which is a good thing, but I noticed that, like many organizations, Amazima primarily derives its support from people who are in the US or by selling handmade jewelry to people in the US.

Stick with me here; I’m trying to solve the worlds’ problems and it takes a little time to explain.

We can’t all quit our jobs and move to Uganda. Because if we did, we would simply be one of the far too many starving Africans. We could all quit our jobs, move to Africa, and try to find work there, but that seems a little silly seeing as we had jobs here that we are probably better trained for and adapted to than what we might find in a village in Buziika. Not only would we all need Amazima, but there wouldn’t be an Amazima because there would be no one to give.

So the end result of that plan to fix the world has everyone starving. Cross that one off the list.

So, what to do about the world’s problems?

I’m convinced of a few things: We should stand with Israel. We should fight against radical Islam. We should try to help the sick and feed the poor. But frankly, more than anything, I believe that we should live ordinary lives. Go to work. Take care of our families. Shovel coal.

Hear me on this.

What the world needs is not another leader. Not a movement. Not an aura of peace. What the world needs is healthy families working hard and providing for themselves and others.   At the end of the day, that is what works. That is what stamps out poverty. That is what cures AIDS. That is what diffuses conflict. That is what would solve most of the policy debate in Washington.

If people around the world understood the concepts of family and hard work, it would go a long way toward solving the evils in the world. Of course, those are both biblical concepts, so most of the world is going to try to find a more modern way to achieve a peaceful, prosperous existence. But they won’t.

Some of us may travel to distant countries. Some of us may start organizations. Some of us may be leaders. But most of us will do the most good by showing the world that family and industry work— husbands and wives who love each other providing for their own and then a bit extra—create the most successful nations.

That means, for some of us, the most important thing we can do is to shovel coal. Go to work. Be productive. Come home. Take care of the people God has placed in our lives. It isn’t glamourous. It’s not exciting. It wouldn’t be a good plot for an Indiana Jones movie. And apparently, it isn’t good fodder for the morning news.

Don’t be ashamed to enjoy what the blessing of God and hard work have given you.  Share what you have. Give till it hurts. But enjoy the fruit of your labor.

Some of us have an eye dropper. Some of us have a coal shovel. If you have one, don’t rip on the person who has the other; cheer them on. We may not win over the rest of the world, but we can keep from becoming them only one way—working to provide for ourselves and our families and just a little bit more.

33 Under 33

“Meet the millennials. They are 33 and younger. They are all on Twitter. And they are bringing innovation to the wide-ranging work of the kingdom. Behold, they are doing a new thing.”

The cover story of Christianity Today features 33 young people that it claimed have “picked up the baton” and are leading today’s church. It is a diverse group in every respect. There are singers, bloggers, theologians, advisors, teachers, and you name it all else. One has prayed with President Obama; one was elected as a state representative while a teenager.

My name was not among them. I guess because I am not on Twitter.

But there was a name and picture that I recognized. In fact, I remember her as a skinny junior higher preaching to sparse classroom on national policy she didn’t know much about. We were both involved in the same home school debate league in California many eons ago. Long before Twitter.

Her oldest brother and his debate partner handily delivered to me and my debate partner our first loss and would later go on to win the national championship in Washington D.C; beating out her next older brother and his partner in the final round. And so it was, that she apparently had a whip-cracking mom and came from a good gene pool.   Shoot, they probably invented Twitter.

Anyway, in the years that have gone by since then, she has matured into a gorgeous woman who is a mover and a shaker in the pro-Life movement, sometimes posing as an underage unwed mother and consequently exposing some of the evils of Planned Parenthood. You should follow her on Twitter.

I read each story with interest. The article intimated the world has changed and young people are uniquely suited to effectively seize opportunities the changes have created. “The Millennials.”

There was a comment on the online version that was something to the affect of… “Where is the article about 60 over 60? What about those of us who have been faithful longer…” At first, it seemed like sour grapes to me. But maybe he was right to encourage a balanced perspective. It isn’t all about youth and technology. Any anyway, perhaps it is premature to call a 17-year old state rep a “church leader.”

Now, entering my “Jesus year” as the article called the ripe old age of 33, I’m just old enough to remember life before computers and cell phones. When we got our first computer, it was a big event. And our first computer game was a “P” maneuvering the black screen obstacle course of = [ and – with increasing speed. You had to not only navigate with the up and down arrows, but also periodically hit the space bar to jump over a moving 0 that threatened to snuff out the life of “P.” Not X-Box exactly, but it could probably hold its own against Angry Birds.

When I was a teenager, my family had one e-mail address. When Erin went to college, Dad got her a purse-filling cell phone brick because of her commute. There was no reception along much of the commute. And there was no such thing as Twitter.

On the other hand, I’m just young enough to have sort of “grown up” with Microsoft—typing my book reports into Word, designing newsletters in Publisher, and creating spreadsheets in Excel. I transitioned from DOS to Windows like a duck to water and loved doing research on the internet instead of the tedious card catalogs at the library (even if you did have to put up with the screeching noise of a computer connected to the World Wide Web). I was considered fairly computer literate. Until Twitter, I guess.

As an aside, sometimes people do still ask me for tech help. I was babysitting a few months back a four-old brought me his ipad that he was watching a movie on. Thrusting it into my hands, he said, “How do I get it in HD?” Hey, at least he didn’t ask me why I wasn’t on Twitter.

Being roughly the same age as this impressive lineup of Christian leaders made me ask myself a lot of questions. What did they do that thrust them into the forefront? Am I doing everything I could be and should be doing for the kingdom? Is it just God’s sovereignty that some of us will be considered leaders while some of us will pass through our lives on this planet earnestly but quietly? Is it possible to be salt and light in such a way that our names aren’t known and our faces aren’t seen, but God is pleased nonetheless? Will these people stay faithful? What will this list look like in 30 years? And, of course, why am I not on Twitter?

As I have pondered this feature many times, I have found myself both grateful for and challenged by these examples. And for every one that was featured, there are thousands of others that have not “bowed the knee to Baal.” Simple people navigating through the hurts of a broken and sick world still singing the praises of our Savior. Moms raising another generation of warriors. Dads holding down the fort and perhaps sometimes, drawing a line in the sand and saying “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

And God, in His sovereignty will pick some of those faithful followers and give them audiences before kings; have them face giants; or put them in high places. A Lila Rose will take on a Planned Parenthood. Amazing.

Meet the millennials. They are all under 33. They are all bringing innovation to the wide-ranging work of the kingdom. They are all still under construction. They all still need the wisdom of mature Christians who were around before the age of technology and who can see past “diverse opportunities” to cling to absolute truths and faithful obedience.

And they are not all on Twitter.

The Other Side of Jealousy

I call it “In your face-book,” she told me. “I hate Facebook.”

I nodded, absorbing her reasons not to post updates on a given topic.

She didn’t say it, but I had to guess that perhaps her abhorrence of Facebook was at least partially related to the fact that God had not yet given her the desire of her heart in the form of a baby.

God knows that I know it’s impossible to get on Facebook without seeing “in your face” reminders of un-motherhood: pregnancy announcements, birth announcements…babies, grandbabies…videos, photos…funny sayings, cute faces…pajama pictures, pool pictures…ultrasound shots…maternity photos…My Little Pony cakes—you name it. Kids unapologetically brighten up the world and lighten up the Internet. And I’m glad they do.

Just the same, I could understand why my friend might avoid Facebook like the Gaza Strip. It was a constant assault on her deepest pain. Everyone else has what she doesn’t have. And it hurts.

It wasn’t Facebook’s fault exactly; deep down—deep, deep down—the problem was jealousy. I don’t know what it is about jealousy, but we do not want to call it that. I suspect jealously has worn more nametags than just about any other sin.

Admit it or not, of all the people who have told me they quit Facebook and of all the reasons they have given, I suspect that jealousy is the one unnamed deactivator of many an account.

Because other peoples’ lives tend to be perfect on Facebook. I confess there have been times I clicked through someone else’s photos and thought, She has everything: she’s beautiful, married to a good man, wonderful kids, nice house, nice vacations… and eventually closed the screen with an overwhelming sense of discontentment. My life stinks…

I’ve struggled with jealousy. It has chewed me up then spit me out in worthless chunks like a redneck, tobacco, and a country road. In fact, there have been full weeks—months—years—when the only times I wasn’t struggling with jealousy was when I had given up completely. It can still ruin a good day quicker than my alarm clock.

I know I’m not alone. I remember times when two of my friends confessed to me that they were jealous of me. I wanted to laugh. But they were serious. These were painful confessions for them.

I wanted to laugh because both came at particularly low times for me. I knew if they really, truly knew my life, they would be anxious to take their own set of troubles and go home. If they knew the tears I cried, the pressures I faced, and the mistakes I’ve made, they would probably be whistling on their way to work—thank God, I’m not her!

And when it comes right down to it, I wouldn’t trade with them either. Not even with the gorgeous girls with successful husbands and adorable kids. Not the movie stars; not the world-class musicians; not even the ice skaters.

There will always be someone out there—probably on the edges of my circle of friends—who is prettier, funnier, nicer, smarter, richer, and just happier than me. They will be young and interesting when I’m old and boring. They will be available when I am tied up. They will think of the right thing to say when words have failed my completely. They will make friends when I can’t even make hot chocolate.

But now that perfect girl is affecting me less.

I have a wonderful life. In fact, I am richly blessed beyond what I can ever deserve.

But that is beside the point.

The point is that I am learning the truth about jealousy. If you are jealous of someone, you either don’t know them well enough or you haven’t known them long enough. The fact is, their life either has troubles or will have troubles. Serious troubles. And unless they have chosen an attitude of gratitude, they probably think their life stinks too.

On the other side of your jealousy is a hurting, confused, lonely, and even scared girl that you just don’t know yet.

I thank God that even though I will always struggle, I’m coming to the realization that jealousy is me believing the lie that I would be happier if my life were different; when in reality it would only be…well…different. In the process, God has freed me to see Facebook as God’s brag book—budding romances, happy families, new opportunities, God’s creation, and, of course, God’s amazing gift of new lives in small packages. As friend after friend has gotten married and had kids, I’ve been able to genuinely say, “I’m so happy for you!” Because I am.

Just the same, if it causes you to stumble, or if you just don’t like it, there is no harm in staying away from Facebook. And unless you are truly ready for war, this would be a good time to stay out of the Gaza Strip.

The Girl with a Dog and a Blog

Inspiration for blog posts is entirely unpredictable.  Sometimes I find myself making lists of ideas.  Some times I find myself scrolling those lists with the same feeling as when I’m eyeing the numerous items hanging in my closet and thinking, I don’t have anything to wear!

And even when I have an idea, it’s kind of like riding a bull.  You can lead it anywhere it wants to go.  You never know exactly where it will take you or even if it will buck you off before the end.  It looks easy, but it’s just not.  The fact that you did it before doesn’t mean you can do it again.

So for these and lots of other reasons, I don’t consider myself an official “blogger” although a few people have surprised me–not long ago I was introduced to a group as the girl with a dog and a blog.  Ha!

Blogging has taught me some about what people think about me; usually in the form of tiny bits of feedback.  One friend I’ve known for years even read my blog and said, “Danielle, I didn’t know you were that…deep.”  Hopefully, they were not referring to the taco meat incident.

But my goal here is actually not about me, but wanting to give credit to the three people who inspired me most to start blogging (again).  My dad, who has always wanted me to write; Matt Walsh, whose creativity can make truth that you’ve heard a thousand times still fun to read; and my friend Colleen, whose blog often spoke to me in ways that were exactly what I needed–convicting my hard heart or gluing together broken pieces of my soul.

My dad probably deserves the most credit; I’ve already blogged about him.

Matt Walsh, I’m told, has the best read blog on WordPress, so he doesn’t need my introduction.  While I don’t always agree with him, he has a gift for getting his point across.  Like this one.  And regardless, I’m glad that there are young conservative bloggers out willing to speak out with unapologetic common sense.

That leaves Colleen–we both grew up in the same homeschool circles in Southern California.  She was five years older than me, so I wouldn’t say we were close friends, but I always had a lot of respect for her and knew 1) that she loved the Lord with all her heart; and 2) that she was a lot of fun.

Colleen was gifted in a lot of ways–singing, drama, working with kids, speaking, and writing to name a few.  Everyone wanted to be her friend and so she was forever being stretched in numerous directions, perhaps at the expense of basic necessities like sleep.

Colleen & Eddie Chao
Colleen & Eddie Chao

But despite her gifts, her beauty, and her attractive personality, when God wove her story, He didn’t choose to write marriage into the picture until she was 34–a number that used to seem very old to me.  I had long since moved from California by then, but I was able to catch glimpses of her life through things like Facebook and I read her blog with interest.  (Not dreaming then that I would identify so strongly with some of the challenges that she had faced.)

Her long-awaited dream of motherhood came at age 35 but it has been followed by a severe string of health problems, again altering her story from what she would perhaps have written with her own pen.

But anyone who knows Colleen would not make the mistake of thinking that she is not deep.  Colleen is deep.  And so is her faith.  For as long as I’ve known her, she has shared honestly about the insights that she received from Scripture.  Insights that have come from hours of reading, studying, meditating, and then singing, praying, or composing back to God.

The faith she has clung to in the midst of her numerous health challenges is evident in posts such as  We know Him Best.  And her eloquence is apparent, when, as a new mom she penned posts such as The Weak and the Warrior.  Colleen’s depth is accentuated by the time she will take to condense and organize her thoughts into a short, powerful prose that gives us a window into a quiet but fruitful life.

Although I was often encouraged by her blog, I didn’t write much myself for years–partly because of time constraints, but often because of my fears.  I hate putting personal information on the internet for the world to read.  I fear the combination of evil men and modern technology–call me crazy–but when I look down the road, I see a lot of potential for us to regret we are so free with personal information.

But in the end, I decided it was better to be fruitful than to be safe.  I would rather be a threat to evil and to myself than a threat to nothing at all.  I would rather get to an untimely end with nothing left to give, than live a long life and have buried any little talent entrusted to me.  If there is a chance I can write and encourage someone–anyone–to love God more, I’m going to try.

And if you’ve been even a bit challenged or encouraged, you can say thanks to my dad, Colleen, and maybe even a little bit to the courage of Matt Walsh and the day he wrote the controversial piece, Monogamy is Unnatural.

Wading in to the Modesty Debate

You’ve probably seen them. There are two of them—two complementing billboards on I-26. Big as life.

One of them shows a beautiful girl in a tight tank top and a pose that looks very much like an invitation and these words: It’s an outfit, not an invitation.

The second one says The little black dress does not mean ‘yes’ and it shows a pair of long, sleek legs parading out from beneath a very little black dress that practically screams “yes!”

I don’t understand these billboards. Why not put one up that says, Gravity ends Friday! or Eat cake to Lose Weight!

I’ll tell you why not.

The why not is because it would be a foolish waste of money. Putting a lie on a billboard does not make it the truth. There are certain natural laws that a billboard just can’t change. Not two. Not two thousand. Not two million.

I wrote these billboards off as some government grant that was procured by a marketing firm…or maybe by some teenage trust baby playing a practical joke. But billboards are expensive—especially on I-26—so I confess, every time I drove by I found myself asking that question. Who thinks this nonsense up? Planned Parenthood?

But I’ll admit, I’ve had some surprises in the modesty department lately. One was an article by a girl purporting to be a Christian who claimed that the Bible does not teach modesty. For someone who didn’t really know the Bible and just wanted to believe her, it would have been downright convincing.

The other big surprise was after reading an article heavily circulated on Facebook yesterday. It was a fairly good article on modesty, no real surprises there, what surprised me were the comments at the bottom. From my quick scan, it appeared that 2-1 the comments were attacking the author and attempting to “debunk” the case for modesty. It was a cesspool of stupidity really, and if I wasn’t so shocked, I probably wouldn’t have kept skimming. There was a little of everything—husbands, fathers, wives, daughters, old, young, Christian, LDS—all kinds.

The negative attacks boiled down to three arguments: 1) clothes are irrelevant to modesty; 2) women are only responsible for themselves—not some man’s wrong thoughts or deeds; and 3) you should judge someone by their character and not by their physical appearance.

Now, I’m no logic professor, but I think I could make a pretty good case that the first argument is equivocation; the second is a straw man; and the third is non sequitur (which is a sophisticated what of saying, just plain dumb).

The first idea—that clothes are irrelevant to modesty and the notion that “modesty is on the inside” is really not an argument, it’s a distraction. Looking to the authoritative source known as Wikipedia, “Modesty is a mode of dress and deportment intended to avoid encouraging sexual attraction in others; actual standards vary widely.”

That is what we’re talking about. If you want to talk about something else, save it for another day. 

Of course, clothes that cover are not the only ingredient of modesty, but they are kind of like the chocolate chips in the chocolate chip cookie.  Without them, it’s not modesty.

The second passionately made argument was a straw man because the author never said that anyone was responsible for anyone else’s wrong thoughts or actions. But what if she had? If you want to know what the Bible says—it has strong words for someone who causes someone else to stumble. Something about a millstone, a rope, and the ocean. The fact is, we aren’t judged for what other people think or do. We are judged for what we think or do.

Just let that sink in.

Even if you don’t care what the Bible says, you have to agree with me. If you give your eight-year-old a stick of dynamite and they blow up an elementary school, you should be held responsible. Even if you told them not to light it.  Okay, so that’s an extreme example—I’ll give you that—but why do we have crimes like “Contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” “accessory after the fact,” or “accomplice”? You can be only a fraction of the problem and still have done wrong.

The point is that if what you do makes it more likely that someone else will do wrong, think long and hard about whether it is right.

And as to the third argument—that a person should be judged for themselves and not for their clothes—it’s really not worth the ink. But some people actually believe that, so I’m going to address it anyway.

I guess the argument would go something like this:

Women should be treated with respect;
Certain clothes tend to cause men to respect women less;
Therefore—clothes are irrelevant.

See what I mean about non sequitur?

Because the fact is, that modesty is a virtue, virtues are what make up your character—or lack thereof. When you get dressed, you are telling the world about yourself—I’m cheap, I’m expensive. I’m neat, I’m a slob. I’m trendy, I’m classy. I want to be comfortable. I want to be noticed. I don’t give a rip. I shop at Goodwill. I shop at American Eagle. I want a job. I have a job. I’m a Carolina fan. I like black.  I’m insecure.

That’s not to say you can’t use clothes to hide the truth about yourself, but why would you try? Because you know the clothes are making a statement. You are hoping that the statement the clothes are making drowns out something else about you.

Frankly, no one’s character is judged independently of their physical appearance. However, for some of us, our clothing will say, “my character is important” and for others, “my character is not important.” But either way, our clothes, like our actions, speak louder than our words.

You can’t fight that. You will get the kind of attention you dress to attract; even Clint and Stacy preach that.

This would be the place for me to make the case for modesty. But actually, I’m not going to try. I don’t think I have a platform on this topic; I don’t hold myself out as any kind of role model.

I will just say this to Christians: don’t buy the lies the world is selling.  And don’t present yourself with the false dilemma that says that if I want to be modest, I’d have to dress like a “prude.”  Be honest to yourself about why you are wearing what you wear. If you seek godliness, don’t make excuses. Don’t interpret Scripture to conveniently suit your desires. Don’t let society dictate your standards.

Own it.  You give the invitations your clothes give. You say “yes” when your little black dress says “yes.”

Deep down, we all know that.