Beth Moore's Blog, page 46

Hurry Up and Wait

And panic.

A week ago I had jury duty. I realize that it is my civic duty, or rather, my civic honor as they kept explaining to us, but it felt more like a duty and less like an honor. While I went to college in the land of prisons and criminal justice, I’ve never had the burning desire to be put on a panel of jurors, so to me the whole concept makes me sweat bullets.

You may have heard my sigh of relief when, after four hours of literally doing nothing but waiting, I was finally released to go home. No jury for me. At least this time.

Anyway, the entire day was a hurry up and wait kind of deal.

For instance, you have to be there at 8:00 AM or they’ll shut the doors on you, lock them and throw away the key. However, when I arrived at 7:15 in a slight panic not knowing what the day would hold, I made my way to the jury courthouse, got checked in, found my seat in a frenzy among 1300 other jurors, then proceeded to sit there until 8:45 AM when they actually shut the doors and locked them.

You see what I mean? Hurry up and wait.

And in my case, panic and sweat for fear the day might not end up in my favor.

When all was said and done, my state of panic was worthless. Thank you, Lord.

However, it stirred up in me something greater.

I don’t know about you, but that is how I always find myself waiting.

I wait in a panic.

A few summers ago during one of the Siesta Summer Bible studies, one of the questions on the first evening was to go around and share one word that describes the current season you were in. When it got to me, I didn’t even think twice before I blurted out the word “waiting”.

Nearly two years later, if asked the same question, I’d be inclined to share the same word.

Because I am, after all, in a season of waiting.

I’ve said it before and I’’ll say it again, waiting is the one thing God has used in my life to make me more like Him. The relief that statement alone brings me makes me thankful for the way He holds me in places that makes me more like Him. Far from easy, and even sometimes lonely, but at least I know He has a purpose for me in the waiting. I didn’t always think like that.

Since I get the joy of moderating the comments that come through this blog, that means that on SSMT days, I’m seeing a lot of scripture. It is impossible for me to read each and every one, or I’d be here for days, but on those days I’ve become a pro at skimming them. However, on this last SSMT post, at the top of nearly every page moderated, Psalm 27:14 popped up, “Wait for the Lord;
 be strong, and let your heart take courage; 
wait for the Lord!” It wasn’t the verse I’d chosen, but I took it as a sweet reminder from the Lord.

That as He keeps me in a season of waiting, it’s not to bully me, but to strengthen me.

I’m no scholar, but I do see a theme in scripture when the Lord speaks of waiting, He often speaks of strength.

“Have you not known? Have you not heard? 
The Lord is the everlasting God, 
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
 He does not faint or grow weary;
 his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint,
 and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary,
 and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
 they shall mount up with wings like eagles; 
they shall run and not be weary; 
they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:28-31

I think of a bride getting ready to see her husband at the end of the aisle. I’ve not yet been a bride, but I’ve been in my fair share of weddings and I think we all know the length of time it takes for the wedding party (particularly the girls) to get ready for the ceremony, and rightfully so. We spend all day primping (while the guys play golf and then get ready in 30 minutes tops!), then, about an hour before the ceremony, all of the sudden everything comes to a complete halt and we sit, and wait. And often have a moment of panic. All of our hustling and hurrying and scurrying around all day, to sit and wait. That hour before the ceremony is the hardest hour of the day, in my opinion, but the expectation of what’s ahead brings unspeakable joy. She waits with expectation.

Often times, I’ve noticed my weariness in the waiting comes when I am tempted to manipulate things to go my way. I get lonely, so I try to replace that with busyness. Then I get burned out. Or, I get antsy, so I try to manipulate relationships, only to watch them fall apart. Or maybe I need a job so bad I take my first offer, only to realize it was a terrible fit, instead of just trusting in God’s perfect provision. My timetable looks terribly different than His, so when I try to push my timing on others, whether it be people or things, I’ll always end up selling myself short. The moment I lose sight of the true prize, I fall.

But most times, our waiting is much longer than any of us like to think or wait, but if we only knew what He had in store for us, we know the waiting would be worth it.

My sweet coworker KMac said it best, “We wouldn’t appreciate ANYTHING without a little delay and anticipation.” And all the people said amen.

That’s why in the waiting we wait with hope.

We wait with expectancy.

We wait in patience.

We wait in prayer.

We wait in strength.

Most times, the waiting really isn’t about the waiting, it’s about becoming.

“And therefore the Lord [earnestly] waits [expecting, looking, and longing] to be gracious to you; and therefore He lifts Himself up, that He may have mercy on you and show loving-kindness to you. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed (happy, fortunate, to be envied) are all those who [earnestly] wait for Him, who expect and look and long for Him [for His victory, His favor, His love, His peace, His joy, and His matchless, unbroken companionship]!” Isaiah 30:18 (Amplified)

Those who wait win the prize.

But know that even when you become tired in the waiting, the Lord is still working out every little detail.

“Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.” Romans 8:26-28 (The Message)

You and I are waiting on the Lord to move in different ways, provide different things, and surprise us along the way. Instead of growing weaker, let us grow stronger. If you find yourself in any kind of waiting season, find things that stir your affections for Christ and pursue those.  Maybe the Lord’s given you a gift you’ve let get dusty, pick it up and start practicing that craft. Whatever you do, don’t put your life on hold. Panic and worry do nothing but drain us of any energy or hope we may have had.  This may sound harsh, but is there anything more unfulfiling that becoming selfish and living for yourself in our season of waiting?

And lest you think I’m writing this to preach to you, I’m writing this to preach to myself.

I recently saw this quote, on twitter of all things, by Charles Spurgeon, “The Lord’s “quickly” may not be my “quickly”; and if so, let him do what seems good to him!”

Expect, look and long for Him, dear Sister. At the end of the day, if you wait on God, no matter the outcome, I’m willing to bet by His promises alone, that the odds will always be in your favor.

2013 Siesta Scripture Memory Team: Verse 7!

Hey, Everyone!

Praise God, He is still risen on Monday! I trust that your Resurrection Sunday was so full of Jesus. This was our second Easter as a church at Bayou City Fellowship and all of our services were filled to the brim, not only with people but also with hope. I love this time of year so much. I cannot think of anything in existence that exceeds the implications of the empty tomb: not the heavens above you, not the earth beneath your feet, not a single school or workplace, nor the blackest heart or most broken mind. No power nor principality can roll that stone back over the mouth of that tomb. Come one, come all. Come while there is still time. Come to Jesus.

 

I only have a few minutes on here today because Jackson and Annabeth are at my house, each playing within feet of me. (Right where I want them, needless to say.) Annabeth just put her baby doll in my lap and said, “Bibby, you need to change her diaper. She pottied in her pants.” So, there you go. As much as I’d like to linger on here with you today, obviously this is not the time. Diapers need changing around this place.

 

In the meantime, you and I have arrived at Verse 7! Our Scripture memory year is rolling like a freight train. We’re starting to flip those spirals now, Sisters! Don’t you grow weary. We have a lot ahead to celebrate! In case you like seasonal verses, these might be a few options this time around. (I’m grinning while writing these but if there’s anything we don’t want to be, Sister, it’s the Old Testament’s take on a  fool. Today or ever.)

Psalm 14:1 –  The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.”

and

Proverbs 12:15 — The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, but a wise man listens to advice.

and

Proverbs 29:11 — A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back.

 

Then again, the New Testament gives a whole new twist to the idea of foolishness. This is the verse I’m selecting this time around.

 

Beth, Houston. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong. 1 Corinthians 1:27 ESV

And that’s the only reason I have the privilege to serve you.

Merciful One, You turned the world upside down.

 

Let’s hear your 7th verses, Sisters!

 

 

 

An Invitation to Imagine

The following is a fictional story line that I have written over the last 24 hours as a means of turning all my thoughts to that one weekend in history on which the fate of humankind fell. All four Gospels record a fascinating piece of information that creates as many questions as answers: Matthew 27:57-60, Mark 15:43-46, Luke 23:50-53, and John 19:38-42. Read them for yourself before you fall into the storyline and you will be well able to sort the facts from the fiction. Let no one be confused between the two. But, only when we’re seated with the saints around the Table of the Lamb will we hear the hundreds of individual stories told by those gathered in Jerusalem one particular Passover. That is when those living stones will talk. Until then, we are left to imagine. It is, of course, unlikely that the story of one particular man went as follows but of this you can be sure: the actual events exceed all supposition, captivating all the human senses.

______________________

 

“Already? I think not. It’s only been a few hours. He could have a day, even two left to go. But then that beating was –”

 

“He is dead, Governor.” Joseph fought to keep his composure. Less than an hour earlier, he’d steeled himself and shaken off his fear with all the ease of an ox trying to shake off his hide. But once his courage surged, it blasted like a trumpet and brought forth his outrage. The man standing before him was a coward. And he knew one when he saw one. Shame burned in his throat. They’d all been cowards.

 

“Guard, send word to the centurion officiating on the hill this afternoon. Have him brought here.” Pilate’s gaze never left Joseph’s face as the guard stepped into the corridor. “So, who are you representing here today that you want the body of the Nazarene? Ah, yes, the Council has sent you to make sure the land is not defiled at dusk, has it not? You people and your peculiar laws. I’d say you’re running out of time for today.”

 

Joseph’s mind flashed with a firestorm of faces. Red, angry pious faces. He’d known those men on the Council for years. He’d dipped bread with them. Prayed with them. Respected them. Been respected by them. Hadn’t they all been looking for the kingdom of God? And had any of them ever seen a man like this man? If they did not believe his words, how could they not believe his works? Joseph had not seen this coming. He’d heard boasts and threats among them but never imagined it would materialize into this.

 

He knew there had been others like him who believed but they’d been equally discreet.  Secret disciples. Spineless disciples, Joseph thought to himself. That evening before as men morphed to beasts, Joseph searched the room frantically for expressions of horror, for mouths pinched tightly, withholding consent. He’d known when he’d objected that private interrogations and public insults would come in the aftermath. He’d pay. He knew that. They’d remember. That prior evening, however, there was no debate. No order in the court. Only an ear-splitting mob mopping for blood.

 

“It wasn’t my doing.”

 

Joseph stared at the governor but refused to service him with a response. He was the last person who was going to help Pilate swat away his ghosts like flies. They’d all have to deal with the night haunts of culpability.

 

“It wasn’t. I told them I found no guilt in the man. You saw me yourself. I washed my hands of him. It’s on them. On you.”

 

The hair-raising chorus of the crowd echoed like a psalm from the abyss in Joseph’s thoughts. “His blood be on us and on our children!” He’d mouthed the words in respondent horror to himself, “On us, Blessed Name. If You must and You must. But oh, that You would spare our children!” Joseph knew nothing of the dream of Pilate’s wife and her icy forewarning to him but the maddening tapping of the man’s stubby fingers on the armrest and the bulging vein on his forehead betrayed an unraveling. Even amid his own frantic state, it was clear to Joseph that Pilate knew more than he was saying. But they all did.

 

“Governor.” The guard had reentered the room. “The centurion is here.”

 

Pilate motioned at the guard to send him in. “The Nazarene. He lingers, right?”

 

“No, Governor. He is dead.”

 

“You know that yourself? As an eyewitness?”

 

The centurion’s tongue felt blistered from the words that tumbled from them earlier. Truly this man was the Son of God!  His heart hammered. “I saw him breathe his last.” He cleared his throat. “I heard him.”

 

“Dead?”

 

“Dead.”

 

“They broke his legs, did they?”

 

“No, Sir. They would have. He was already dead.”

 

“So soon? I would have given him longer than that. He had a strength of will about him. Who wouldn’t have begged for his own skin with that coming? Nevertheless, your word is as gold in the crown of the King, Officer.

 

No answer. Pilate dismissed the centurion and returned his attentions to the Arimathean. “This is highly irregular, you know, releasing the body to someone outside the family. We’d probably have refused it even to them. That’s not the way this is done. This is at my mercy, you know.”

 

Joseph clinched his jaw until he could make words cling to his thoughts. “It is mercy I am seeking.”

 

“What on earth will you do with him?”

 

“I have a place.” Joseph said each word slowly as if he himself were trying to fathom what he was saying.

 

“The heap?” It was a burial place for executed criminals away from Jerusalem.

 

“No, Governor.” He paused but could see clearly that Pilate wasn’t going to be satisfied. “It is something I own.”

 

“Ah, Councilman. You will contaminate the sacred bones of your fathers, will you?”

 

“It’s never been used.” None of this was Pilate’s concern. If this conversation lasted much longer, Joseph feared that something inside of him would come unhinged.

 

Incessant tapping. Both hands. The Councilman’s head was nearly splitting.

 

“Well, what is a corpse to me, Joseph? Have it if you want it.”

 

And with that, the cancerous guilt of Pilate bore explicit testimony. The crime for which Jesus had been crucified was the exception among all gestures of governing grace. When offenses are lèse-majesté, let the vultures clear the crosses and may their bellies be the tombs.

 

There was no turning back. Pilate’s permission may as well have been Pilate’s commission. Joseph was bound now and his name would be permanently marked by this action. Some among his own blood would be outraged by this outsider’s body in the new family tomb. Joseph had purchased it and quarried it out himself. It was his to give but they would not see it that way.

 

He forced them all from his thoughts. Joseph’s determination commanded the full obedience of his mind and body. He knew where he had to go first.

 

“Joseph! Why are you here?” All of them who’d gotten involved looked to have aged eons, thrown to the elements of a 40-year wilderness in one thunderous afternoon.

 

“Nicodemus, I need your help.”

 

“But it’s over, Joseph. There is nothing left to be done. Have you not heard, man? He is already dead.” Nicodemus motioned to his children to back away from the door. The shame bore heavy on his beard.

 

“He is not buried!” Joseph spit the words out with such slow cadence and fierce anger that Nicodemus steadied himself against the door frame.

 

Joseph leaned into him and the two men spoke in deep, guttural tones that the closest eavesdropper could not have interpreted. The brief dialogue ended with Joseph’s hands firmly gripping the shoulders of Nicodemus. He neither nodded his head nor shook it in response. He stared wide-eyed and slack of jaw. And, just like that, Joseph spun on his heels and flew as fast as his feet could carry him down a winding pathway to a place he could collect what he needed. He then started up the hill, arms full and an end of the cloth whipping behind him in the wind.

 

Joseph saw his silhouette long before he reached him. He knew exactly which body was his. He did not know if he had the iron within him to do what this would require. The bones in his neck felt fractured, his chest starting to heave. He chided himself to courage, to do this one thing in his power. Joseph saw two soldiers nearby and knew he’d have to contend with them first. He inhaled deeply, arching his back and expanding his shoulders. He held his head high and mimicked the confidence of the man he’d once believed himself to be.

 

The elder one shook his head and said, “Not today. It’s too close to dark. What’s left of him tomorrow–”

 

“Today,” Joseph spoke emphatically. “By order of the Governor.” A nerve came over the Arimathean that he’d never felt before. “And you have been given to me to assist in taking him down.”

 

Joseph would look back on that moment with wonder for years to come. Heaven alone could have seen to it that they never questioned him. The next half hour would be etched on the walls of his mind like laws on broken tablets for the rest of his days.

 

Grumbling all manner of protest, one of the soldiers set the short ladder behind the cross and threw out his palm toward Joseph for a piece of the fabric. He then began the gruesome task of weaving it under the left arm of Jesus, across his chest, and under the right arm. The soldier cursed at the mess. “You had to pick this one.”

 

The other soldier circled around to the front of the cross with a hammer in his hand and bent over toward the feet of Jesus. The bodies of the men who’d been crucified were suspended only about three feet off the ground. Joseph was startled by the callous and carelessness of the men. It was a high price they’d paid for seeing too much. Hearing too much. Joseph impulsively jerked back the arm of the one as he swung the hammer against the grain of the nail through Jesus’ feet.

 

Irritated, the soldier yelled, “Do you want him off of here or not?”

 

Joseph nodded and stepped back. With two more sledges of the hammer, the nail gave way and the feet fell free. The body dropped six inches and lurched forward. Joseph instinctively threw up his arms to catch him.

 

“Get under him,” the soldier on the ladder ordered Joseph, “if you’re planning to catch him.”

 

And Joseph did. The hammer was handed off to the soldier on the upside. The other held each end of the fabric woven over the chest of Jesus. Joseph’s back pressed to the wood until he could feel the jar of every hit ricochet within his ribcage. The weight of Jesus’ body pulling heavily against the nails in his wrists caused them to give way quickly and brutally.

 

“You got him?” the soldier on top yelled.

 

Joseph responded hoarsely. “Yes!”

 

They let the body of Jesus down gently at first but, just as Joseph struggled to get his grip solidly on dry flesh, they dropped him. His entire weight fell into the lap of Joseph and thorns from his crown tore down the side of the Arimathean’s face. Joseph was making sounds. He could hear himself. Sounds of horror and panic, his mind fighting to flail from his heart.

 

As Joseph grabbed hold of himself, he saw the soldiers walking off. “Wait! Where are you going? Get back here! I order you!”

 

The one swinging the hammer as he walked glanced over his left shoulder and yelled, “It’s yours now. We’re finished here.”

 

“But how am I to get him to the tomb?” Joseph was frantic and his chest felt crushed against the wood.

 

With one wave of the soldier’s hand, Joseph was left alone on the hill, the living among the dead, suffocating under the weight. He’d failed. There was nothing more he could do. It was an impossible task for one man. He inhaled until every bit of afternoon air seemed swallowed by his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a curdling scream.

 

The sobs came like quakes until, exhausted, Joseph leaned his head back on the cross in defeat. If the Merciful One had any mercy left for this Israelite, He’d let him die right there. He was broken now, beyond all earthly mending.

 

Joseph did not know how long he’d been there when his eyes blinked open. At first he thought he was having a dream. A vision conjured up by a crazed mind. A thirsty man’s mirage in the desert. He mustered the strength to lift his fist and wipe the water, blood, and dust from his eyes.

 

No. This was real. The colors vivid.

 

“Joseph, it’s me. It’s okay. We’re here.”

 

Nicodemus knelt down in front of him and touched his hand. He was flagged on each side by several servants clutching containers. The scent of myrrh and aloes stirred Joseph fully conscious.

 

They lifted the body of Jesus carefully off of Joseph and helped him to his feet. Nicodemus urged him on. “Joseph, we do not have much time. It will be dark soon. We must work quickly now.”

 

The small band of men transported the body of Jesus to the cave, stopping only to shift the lifeless weight and regroup. The servants carrying the heavy urns of spices – about seventy-five pounds in all – set them down from time to time, trying to catch their breath. All of them trudged the distance in silence except for an occasional direction from Joseph. There just outside the mouth of the tomb, they laid the body of Jesus. And there in the hush beyond the madness of Pilate and violence of the dismount, two men ministered like priests in the holy place.

 

They labored in tandem like they’d been trained all their lives to handle the dead. The irony would be wasted on neither of these sons of Abraham, these strict adherents of Moses. It had taken them both to remove the embedded wreath of thorns from Jesus’ head and each were pierced and scathed. That Jesus could no longer feel the searing pain was of no consideration to Joseph and Nicodemus. They treated the body as if they were studied meticulously by guardian eyes and working under a canopy of wide and outstretched wings.

 

They sponged the body and groaned the torn flesh. They bound it round and round with linen clothes and packed it with spices. They each paused silently at the last glimpse of Jesus’ face. Joseph combed the matted hair from his face with his fingertips and both of them stared. Nicodemus reached over and closed the mouth of the great teacher, preparing to circle the linen under his chin. He could not silence the words replaying in his mind.

 

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.

 

But how can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born?

 

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.

 

Joseph covered the bruised eyes of Jesus last.

 

A body you have prepared for me.

 

The servants helped move the body length-wise to the mouth of the tomb then Nicodemus dismissed them. The small opening only left room for two of them to maneuver the body into its place. Joseph crawled inside then reached for the upper body of the corpse. Nicodemus lifted the lower, crawled in behind them, and together they stretched the body of Jesus on the hewn ledge.

 

The last vestiges of evening light shone through the opening just enough for Nicodemus to see Joseph’s final nod. The task was done. He stooped and backed out through the opening and waited on the other side. Joseph sat with the body for what could only have been a moment but time seemed suspended in the cave’s thin air. He blew the last bit of air from his lungs and forced himself up. He felt like pottery broken, a century old. Before he departed the tomb, he leaned forward on his knees and kissed the feet of Jesus.

 

Messiah. Son of David. Kingdom not of this world. What will become of us, God-forsaken?

 

The precious oil running down on the beard of Aaron and on the collar of his robes had been traded for human tears. And, when they dried, surely the dew of Hermon would dry with them.

 

Without a single word between them, the two men rolled the stone down the embankment and slid it securely over the opening.

 

Joseph could not lift his frame for the next 2 days, exhaustion making lead of his bones. But neither could he sleep. The whole family had gathered for the Feast but only a few of them had seen his woeful condition when he returned to the house where they were staying. That he was late for the meal was appalling enough for them for now. The rest would come out soon enough. They supposed him to be sick. And he was.

 

“Joseph.” It was his wife. “You have a visitor. He’s insistent on seeing you. I have said you’re not well but he is determined.”

 

Joseph felt disoriented but sat up from the mat. “Very well. I’ll be right there.”

 

He didn’t have to bother. The visitor pushed his way in and asked Joseph’s wife to excuse them.

 

“Brother.” It was Nicodemus. The urgency in his voice made the hair on Joseph’s arms stand on end. “He’s gone.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“Jesus! That’s what I’m saying. He’s gone!”

 

“The body?”

 

“Gone. Stone rolled away. Would they have left it open if they’d stolen him? Joseph, listen to me.” Nicodemus crouched down right in front of him and clutched him by the shoulders, shaking him enough to make sure he was alert. “The linens are all still there. Same ones.”

 

“Are you out of your mind, man?”

 

“No but they’re saying the women are. But, I don’t think so. They said they saw him, Joseph. He’s alive.”

 

 

What Would You Look Like?

Hey, Darling Things! 

I am about to write one of the fastest posts of my life because it’s almost time for the ministry to close for the day and I don’t like for any of the support staff to feel like they have to stay around and wait for me. My man will also be ready for his wife to come home. I don’t have time to think about how I should say this or to proof it and rehash it for the next two hours. I’m just going to spit it out there because I can’t shake it from my mind and I feel it pressing on me in such a way that I’ve got to release it.

In the wonderful (and I really do mean wonderful) world of blogs and Twitter-follows, a pile-up can happen with the potential to profoundly hinder the Gospel. We can find ourselves suddenly feeling panicked, or confused, or left out, or just plain lame because our follow-ship of Christ doesn’t look like someone else’s that we admire. I know that’s a yawner. I mean, who doesn’t already know that can happen? Talk about an elementary grasp of the obvious. But stay with me here a second and hash this out a bit because this very thing happened to me yesterday. And I feel like if it happened to me – and I’ve been pretty convinced of the direction of my calling for years now – that it could happen to a lot of us. Especially those who haven’t quite gotten their footing yet. See if you relate:

I read a fabulous post by a young woman I greatly respect and I was moved and convicted by it but over the next few hours I fell into the (self-induced!) trap of thinking things like, “I should have taken that same stand. That’s what’s really important. We should have vastly downsized. We should have moved to the inner city. Not out to the country. I need to get rid of more stuff. ” (And I do, for crying out loud.)  “And I need to be more active globally.” And on and on and on. Now, listen to me carefully when I tell you that it was not her post. The post was tremendous, filled with the love of Jesus, and such a portrayal of the Gospel. The problem was what my mind then did with it.

I started thinking of all the people who are doing effectual things for the Kingdom, who I admire tremendously and often wish I were more like. For instance, I started thinking of some Bible professors who I follow who spend all of their work lives training up students in the Scriptures then watch them walk out into the world and take their places. Now, that’s huge. And I started thinking of my dear friends who do amazing and courageous work to fight the atrocities of human trafficking and I think, “Now, THAT’S enormous! What a reflection of the heart of God! Freedom!!! Does it get any bigger than that?? THAT’S what God’s prioritizing right now!” They impact and motivate me every day. And then I start thinking of people who’ve adopted numerous orphans and those who put their hearts at risk over and over as fabulous, loving foster parents. I love children! What could be more Christ-like than that??? And I have so many missionary friends who have left every worldly comfort for the Gospel of the living Lord Jesus Christ, sometimes at the daily risk of their lives. That is the Great Commission! The main thing Jesus sent us out to do!

AND, SISTER, IT IS.

But which cause do we take up? Where do we begin? Which one is God’s favorite?? Who’s God’s favorite??? Because I want to be like God’s favorite, don’t you? Yes, yes, Jesus is God’s favorite. And He is the one and only Person we should want to be just like. But, let’s admit it. Sometimes we can get a little confused in this lens we have to the world through one quick gleaming glance at our screen. The works of God taking place out there are astounding! And some of them we now have the privilege to give ear to every single day through Twitter. It’s fabulous. I absolutely love it. But it can also be bewildering as we try to figure out where we fit in all of that. And maybe we can’t see a fit at all.

Here’s what I want to throw at you to consider. This is what I felt God placed upon my heart as I wrestled with this last night.

What do you look like when you love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength?

Because THAT person, Girlfriend, is who He’s looking for in you.

When we’re trying to hash out God’s priorities for us, that’s IT in a nutshell. “Teacher, which commandment is the most important of all?”

And that’s what He told them.

So, let me ask you this: when you are teeming with love for the Lord your God, who are you right then? What is your passion? What is it that you are bursting to do? That’s probably the stream of your calling. I’m not asking you who you see in front of you when you feel the most love for Jesus because that could be your pastor or your teacher or your worship leader. I’m asking you who is INSIDE OF YOU when you are flooded with the fiery love of Christ? Right there in that passion you’ll start discovering that purpose.

You following Christ will not always look the same as someone else following Christ. Why on earth would He have bothered to form you in your mother’s womb with your own DNA and life experience ahead just to copy what someone else you’re seeing is doing?

Who are you supposed to look like in your calling here on earth and in the way you follow Christ? You’re supposed to look like the version of you that loves Jesus with everything in you.

That’s the real you.

And that’s the road down which you will find what He put you on the planet to do. You don’t have to figure out what to surrender to. Just surrender your heart to Jesus. Every single ounce of it. Ask Him to give you a love for Him that surpasses anything in your human experience. A supernatural capacity. And ask Him for it every day until He does it and then ask Him to do it some more. If you’re a writer, your exploding love for Him will bring it out. If you’re a liberator, you will not be able to keep yourself from seeing to the oppressed. If you’re a teacher, you won’t be able to quit studying except to share what you learned with somebody. If you love Him with your whole heart and that whole heart bursts to sell everything and move to China, Girl, get your passport!

Who would you be if you loved Jesus with your whole heart, soul, mind and strength?

That’s what you’re meant to look like.

Let THAT person follow Him, and He, Child, will make you a fisher of men.

My fastest post ever. But I feel better.

 

I love you guys so much.

LPL Phoenix – Recap Video

Well, I think we all know by now that typically, a Siesta ticket giveaway post is followed by the recap video. They’re just too fun not to share! Don’t you agree?

(Also, I’ll have you know that just before I pressed “Publish” I realized I spelled Phoenix with the e before the o in the title. Pheonix. How embarrassing would that have been? Bless my heart.)

Our friend and amazing photographer, Rich, burned the midnight oil to get this done for us by today. We are so grateful. And y’all, it’s rockin’. He has a gift not only for taking amazing pictures, but capturing the weekend so well in the recap videos. You get a tiny glimpse of what it may have been like if you could have been there. At this point, I think I might offer to pay him to help me perfect my craft in the small videos we make here. Grin.

Without further ado, here is the video, friends.

Oh, and while I’m here, would you pray wellness on our Beth? She came home from the event with an upper respiratory thing and we all can understand that’s no fun and has the potential to stick around longer than we want. Thanks so much, y’all!

Living Proof Live | Phoenix from LifeWay Women on Vimeo.

Ready, Set, Go! The First LPL of 2013!

Happy Thursday, y’all!

I write to you with great joy today as Beth and then entire Living Proof Live team make their way to Phoenix, Arizona for the first LPL of 2013. Woohoo! How many of you are getting the chance to attend this SOLD OUT event? We prayed each of you up on Monday and not just on Monday, but all week long it’s been our mind, and certainly at the forefront of our dear Siesta Mama’s mind! It’s been nearly four months since the last LPL, so it’ll be fun to have the recaps and the stories back as well.

With that said, even with the event sold out, we have SEVEN, I repeat, only SEVEN Siesta Scholarship tickets to give away to those of you that would love to attend, but financially, just don’t have the means to do so right now.

IF that is is you, please call the office and ask for Kimberly. You can call 281-257-3344 or call toll free at 888.700.1999. She will get you squared and away and good to go! If you happen to call during the lunch hour, please leave a message and we’ll get back to you ASAP.

I think it goes without saying, but would you please pray that God would do what only HE can do this weekend? The Lord has allowed the team to do this for 15 years, and they’re not taking it any lighter this year! In fact, they’re pressing in all the more. Press in with us, will you? And, if by chance you happened to miss the video earlier, you might get a kick out of Travis and Beth here. So fun!

We love y’all!

My Non-Spring Break 2013 Highlights

A last minute dentist appointment. That is exactly what kept this post from going up yesterday morning. And really, I said last minute, but it was more like an emergency. That sounds so serious, and really all is well. I just had a tooth that was giving me more pain than I could bear, so to the doctor I went.

The saddest part is I didn’t learn anything new. I was simply told to do what I’ve put off for a year now. What is that, you ask? Oh, just to have my wisdom teeth removed. (Can someome please explain to me why we have wisdom teeth anyway? If we just have to get them removed? It makes zero sense to me.) I know it’s not that big of a deal to most of you, but if you knew how much I loathed the dentist you would understand. It’s an honest fear of mine that I don’t know how to explain. If you’re a dentist, I have nothing against you personally, I just don’t enjoy like my mouth is feeling violated. And the gagging? Well, that’s the absolute worst.

That is all just really TMI and has no connection to this post in any way, shape or form. I am so sorry. How did we get here anyway? My bad.

Moving on.

Last week most of Houston was on spring break. And while I didn’t get an actual break since I’m not a teacher, a student, a mom of young children or any other breakers you can think of, I did enjoy some of the perks.

In all honesty, last week was the calmest and slowest week I’ve had in a long time. It was both nice and weird at the same time. Nice, because I had been going ninety to nothing, but annoying, because it came to a complete hault, and I had a lot of downtime. I don’t do well with a lot of downtime. I like to be on the go! But that’s just me. Let’s just say I had a lot of quality time with my roommate.

In no particular order, here are the top three moments of my non-spring break 2013. (Don’t get your hopes up. It wasn’t that riveting!)

(Also, I spent the first half of the week recovering from my couch. I know you have spring break envy now.)

1) Family dinner

My little brother who is finishing his last year at Texas A&M was home for the week, so we got to have dinner one night. As a whole family. Whoa! We had none other than some fabulous tex-mex, and then took the party to my parent’s house where we watched countless hilarious YouTube videos. We laughed until we cried! And then we took this awkward family photo with my mom’s iPad. We’re fancy like that.

2) The Houston Rodeo

Y’all. The Rodeo is a BIG deal here. And rightfully so! It always lands during spring break and they are brilliant for doing that. So, I took full advantage of that Houston entertainment and took a few of my Bible study girls down there for the day. A few highlights from our day were getting to walk through the livestock show and seeing a mama sheep give birth to a baby lamb (you may be grossed out by this, but I thought it was fascinating and really neat!), eating rodeo food – YUM, watching mutton bustin’, and the pig races. None of us really had much interest in the carnival. Not to mention, the weather was fantastic! It was chilly in the morning, then got a little too warm as we were leaving that afternoon. Thank you, Lord!

A few of us before heading out that morning!

Among other things, I at this cinnamon roll. Yes, it is as big as my hand. Yes, I ate the entire thing. No shame. So delicious.

This is what you would call hanging on for dear life! In other words, a little mutton bustin’. It is by far my favorite thing about the rodeo. How could you not love a little four or five year old riding a sheep? Or, a mutton? Grin.

Our clan for the day. It was a smaller group since spring break is so give and take, but we loved it!

A girl and her cowboy boots. Yes.

3) Coloring and Swinging

I spent Saturday watching a few of my favorite kiddos on earth. Jen and I were on babysitting duty and we had a blast! Do you realize how cathartic coloring is? And swinging? Spending the day with a four year old, a kindergartener and a baby will make you so happy you could bust. And so tired you fall asleep at 9:00 PM. I know those of you with young kids are laughing!

Mr. Dean and I created this lovely art together. Are you impressed with our coloring skills?

Life is good upside-down on a swing set. The sign of a good day.

Oh, and how could I forget to add our friend pollen?

This is the sidewalk of our office. That’s pollen. Not yellow chalk. And we wonder why we can’t breathe? Mercy.

What was one highlight for you over spring break? That is, if you had one. Or, you can make up spring break like me. It works like a charm!

2013 Siesta Scripture Memory Team: Verse 6!

Hey, all of you lovely things! It’s nearly Spring and we’re all the way to verse 6! You are doing fabulously, Sisters. We are still THOUSANDS strong on this Scripture memory team. Thousands of Swords drawn and in the hands of women who want to love and not hate, build up and not destroy, rejoice because our God is faithful and not throw ourselves in the nearest ditch because life is hard. And, boy, is it.

I think God has given me something that could be a tad fun to do this time around. Since we started off the week here on the blog talking about clothes, what do you say we end it that way? For those of you who want to come alongside this theme with me, I’m throwing out three different Scriptures about clothing ourselves. You are still welcome to do your own selections as always but, just in case some of you were still in decision-mode and this sounded fitting (pardon the pun), come along with me into the closet of Scripture and let’s come out some well-dressed women of God! I’m offering the first two selections to you in two different versions so you can choose which one resonates most.

Colossians 3:12-13 (NIV) — (As you can see, this one includes two Scriptures. You’d only need to choose one of these for Verse 6 but I thought just maybe somebody could use a fresh, strong exhortation to forgive as you’ve been forgiven. I don’t know about you but that verse is never wasted on me. If you’d like, you could do the first verse for #6 and the second verse for #7.)

12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. 13 Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

Colossians 3:12-13 (Here are the same two verses in The NET Bible – I loved the wording “clothe yourselves with a heart of mercy.” As you’ll see later in the post, this is the one I’m going to choose for my verse this round.)

 

12 Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with a heart of mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, 13 bearing with one another and forgiving one another, if someone happens to have a complaint against anyone else. Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also forgive others.

================

 

Now for the second set of verses on clothing ourselves. Sometimes we need to clothe ourselves in humility before we try clothing  ourselves to no avail with compassion. Our pride is usually reason #1 that we don’t feel compassionate. At least it has been for me.

 

1 Peter 5:5 (NIV)

In the same way, you who are younger, submit yourselves to your elders. All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because, “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.”

 

1 Peter 5:5 (The NET Bible)

In the same way, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. And all of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.

===================

 

And you’ve just GOT to love Luke 24:49 in view of our clothing theme this week! Here’s the third selection out of the closet of Scripture, straight from the mouth of our Lord Jesus Christ:

 

Luke 24:49 NIV

 I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.

 

Luke 24:49 The NET Bible

And look, I am sending you what my Father promised. But stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”

 

Power from on high! Bless His most holy Name.

==============

 

So there you have it! Three gorgeous jackets to wear. Which one do you need to wrap around you most right now? Do you need to be clothed with compassion? Humility? Power?? He’s got you covered. But just like we do each morning, we’ve got to get dressed on purpose.

 

Here’s what I’ve been thinking about in view of our clothing theme. Remember all those jackets in my 5+ Year Club? Several of them I’d had for ten solid years and I’m still wearing them. When it comes to tangible clothing, that can be good stewardship. But sometimes we can do the same kind of thing spiritually and emotionally and it’s not pretty. We can keep wearing the same old jacket…

…of anger

…or of bitterness

…or of negativity

…or of chronic disappointment

…or of sensuality

…or of desperation

and we’re so used to wearing it that we throw it on automatically, without giving a thought to the fact that we really could have a whole new wardrobe. It might be time we changed the way we dressed. And this whole new incredibly expensive wardrobe of compassion, humility, and anointing has already been paid for. And it’s in your size and mine.

 

Yep. I’m in the mood for some new clothes.

 

Beth, Houston. Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with a heart of mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another, if someone happens to have a complaint against anyone else. Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also forgive others. Colossians 3:12-13 The NET Bible

 

OK, Sisters! Let’s have it! What are you memorizing this time around???

 

 

PS. LifeWay Women’s All Access Blog did the funniest thing. They dug into the Living Proof Live archives and pulled out pictures of every single one of those jackets in Monday’s post. Some of you might get a kick out of it.  Here’s the link: The Proof Is In The Jacket.

 

 

A Weekend of Highs and Lows

Listen, y’all. I know it’s now the middle of the week, but who said you can’t blog about your weekend on a Wednesday morning? Better late than never, right?

We’ll start with Friday:

I had the great joy of meeting my coworkers at Luby’s for lunch to start out my day. After a full day at the office on Thursday because of Girl’s Bible study that evening, I had a slow morning at home on Friday. Little did I know, it was just a snapshot of what my weekend would hold because low and behold, Friday morning (well, it really all started Thursday moring) I woke up feeling about 50% like myself.

That was a low.

But, that meant I got to drink out of my favorite coffee cup. I’m here to testify that there’s not a cup on earth that makes me happier than this one.

That was was a high.

(For those that are curious, the mug is from Anthropologie. They make great gifts! In fact, I’ve been given two. Double the pleasure!)

Once I made it to the office I diagnosed myself with a head cold, a sinus infection and a bad case of allergies. You know I wasn’t’ feeling great when I turned down a free ticket to the Houston Rodeo to see Tim McGraw. Can you say bummer? Mentally I was dying to go, and had one foot in the door, but physically, my body was begging me not to give in. I ended up not going afterall. Although it was wise, that was a low.

However, after administering drugs to myself in the form of Tylenol Sinus and Congestion I was able to attend a party hosted by my friend where she was selling cute jewelry and fun things where the proceeds went towards an adoption fund. That turned into a hilarious, tear-inducing, stomach hurting laughter girls night. Is there anything better? That was a high.

Saturday.

I slept in. That was obviously a high.

Then, in quite the foggy state, I was able to get myself somewhat presentable to meet my BFF for an early lunch at a local Chinese restaurant. Our favorite. The fogginess was lifted by Ellie. Also known as Jen’s baby, and my current obsession.

How could you not be in love with this eight-month-old bundle of love? Sigh.

That was an obvious high.

Right after that I went to a one year old birthday party for another friend. I joked at lunch that I need to borrow a baby for the party! I was right. I may have been the only one without a child. Except I’m totally kidding. Kind of.

Can you even stand this smash cake cuteness? Too much. Happy birthday, Moses!

By now you may realize that my life has no lack of cute children in it, and for that I am very grateful.

Straight from the party, I headed to the Woodlands to attend the Chris Tomlin Burning Lights tour. It was the perfect evening to sit on the lawn. Beautiful weather. Beautiful music. The Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavillion is an outdoor concert venue that is really neat when Houston decides to have pretty weather. When Chris Tomlin and Kari Jobe sang Crown Him I was done. And I mean that in the most endearing way. What is it about that song, y’all? If you’ve not heard their rendition, I feel sorry for you. It is incredible.

The entire concert was a high. (If the tour is coming to a city near you, I’d encourage you to do all you can to get a ticket and GO). The minute I left I felt myself crashing, and quickly. On top of that, I officially sounded like a man. It was lovely.

That was a low.

I was supposed to sing the next morning at church, but decided right then that it would not be a sweet sound to the Lord, nor to anybody else. So feeling terrible, I bowed out gracefully.

I skipped church the next morning, got a really good night of sleep and nursed my wounds, both emotionally and physically. I hate missing church! My sweet mom brought me chicken noodle soup, and by 5:00 I was feeling good enough to go to the evening service. And I am so glad I did. It was so good! Pastor Curtis brought a strong word on unity in the church, and worship was just sweet.

That was a high.

Although I was on the mend, I woke up Monday morning still sounding very manly (an obvious low), decided I didn’t need an entire sick day, just half of one, but when Sabrina told me to stay home and rest, I didn’t argue. It was best for all involved. You never know how great you don’t feel until you sleep the day away. Apparently I needed the rest.

So, here I am, back and work, grateful to be here and feeling 85% like myself. Praise God!

And now I’m not sure how to end this post. And I’m laughing. Maybe I should just ask you to share a high and low from your week should you care to share it! You know, since it’s Wednesday and all.

Oh, wait! You want to know another high from my weekend? The Passion 2013 “Let the Future Begin” CD was released. I don’t think I need to explain to you that it’s been on repeat since I retrieved it from my mailbox on Sunday. You have to get it!

(You can get it practically anywhere. Target, Walmart, iTunes, and so on. Just don’t miss out on the blessing it is!)

Okay, that was a much better way to end this post. At the very least, it was a takeaway for you, my friends.

Happy Wednesday!

The (Closet) 5+ Year Club

CAUTION!!!!! This post is about clothes! If you are offended or put off by this kind of thing, please run for your life until the next post! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! See you later in the week!

Dear Those-of-You-Who-Are-Left,

When you are a bleached blond not only by bottle but somewhat by nature, it is not always easy to explain how your brain comes up with certain concepts but, alas, I am going to try to tell you how this post was conceived. You may need to pour another cup of coffee because it’s rather involved and, not only that, it could not possibly be less important.

Maybe I should say that last part again: It could not POSSIBLY be less important. Proceed from here at your own colossal waste of time.

While many of you have frozen half to death in other parts of the country and world, we have enjoyed a series of near perfect days in a city that, in the summertime, could well be selected as the sweaty armpit of Planet Humanity. Except for a rainy respite here and there, Houston has basked in blue skies and cool breezes with trees budding and birds heralding the in-breaking Spring for such a run of days now that we might well fear that the end is near.

Last Thursday was so utterly gorgeous that, the second I got home from work, I pitched my purse and keys on the counter and headed to the spot where I keep my rubber boots. I couldn’t help but get tickled because all it takes for my two brilliant little canines to rev up for a romp in the woods is for me to start changing shoes. Running amok in these country acres makes them so exuberantly happy that I could honestly swallow gnats from over-smiling as I trudge the path behind them. And I trudge quickly, like my boots are on fire, or they’ll leap and bound themselves to the next county. (Side note: You don’t dare run in these woods if you’re a human or you will break your foot on a big, fat root. And you will miss the poetry in those last 8 words if you do not hear the word “root” as my grandmother would say it: root as would rhyme with foot. Now, try it again: break your foot on a big, fat root. Got it?) So, while I was bringing up the rear (hopefully literally), I was overcome by their imposing enthusiasm and overall cuteness and decided to take a picture of them and tweet about how smart they were. This is the picture.

That is Geli (pronounced “jelly” and short for Angelina) in the front and my own Queen Esther, or Star for short, hanging back a tad closer to her mother. Geli appears headless in every single picture I take of her from behind because she is a bird dog and runs snoot down. I mentioned in the tweet how they know their run is coming just by a changing of the boots. (Kind of like a changing of the guard.) Then, after I got a few fun responses, I thought to my blond self, “If I were on the other side of that tweet, visual soul that I am, I’d be trying to picture the pairs of shoes involved in the person’s exchange.” SO, I did what any red-blooded superficial woman would do. I tweeted a picture of the boots. (Are you on pins and needles by now? Isn’t this post riveting?)

 

I told the good folks on Twitter that, after I pitched my keys, I exchanged the boots on the right for the boots on the left but, based on the replies, I do believe most of them flipped the order around in their own mind’s eye. I think they assumed I’d had on the rubber boots and changed to the cowboy boots for the walk in country. Au contraire mon ami. Those are gen-u-ine (long “i” on last syllable) Lucchese’s and you don’t wear them in the mud and sticks. Or at least I don’t. I have other cowboy boots I would subject to the ugly elements but not those. Those are the boots I’d worn to work. All said, I switched to the rubber boots for the walk. I can only imagine how intellectually stimulated you must be by now. It’s just that, if we’re going to be visual learners, let’s try to get our visions as accurate as possible. Now I’ll go on if you’re caught up.

So, I’d mentioned in the tweet that those Lucchese’s were a gift to me from the great Texas town of El Paso. Lo and behold, only a few minutes later, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a tweet capturing the momentous reception of those very boots?? The snapshot below was backstage with the most wonderful and gracious handful of women you could imagine at our Living Proof Live Saturday morning before our session began. We seldom do this kind of thing and I also don’t make a practice of receiving lavish gifts but this was arranged in advance and was, quite simply, a matter of heritage. It takes a Texan to know one. That’s all I know to say. Don’t bother entertaining the thought that I did not put the boots on instantly and wear them for the rest of the day to teach. Of course I did. And home on the plane.

SO (there will be lots of “so’s” in this post because I’m taking you with me on a dizzying journey of the blond psyche and I’m trying to sew/so the pieces together for you) THEN I noticed that I had on the exact same jacket in the picture in El Paso that I’d worn to work THAT VERY DAY. (Did any of you catch your breath??) Some of you regulars even with abbreviated memories may remember because there is a picture in the previous blog of me wearing it. This is not the exact same picture I used in that post but it’s among the handful KMac and I took for it and it gives you a better view of the jacket. I wish it was full length because the same boots would really provide the finishing touch. (And, if there is anything some of you are wanting by now, it’s the finishing touch.)

Now, let’s admit it. There’s absolutely nothing impressive about me having on the same jacket in 2013 that I wore in the picture from Living Proof Live El Paso in 2009. But surely you will quit that slouching in your desk-chair post haste when I tell you that I bought it at a Lord & Taylor department store in Houston, Texas that has been closed for a solid decade and have worn it for 13 years with a devotion that can only come from true smittenness. I have loved it every time I’ve worn it.

Whose boots are stepping in this hay with me now, Sisters? Are you beginning to see the light? Because this post is about those rare and elusive pieces of clothing that we can actually call a good buy. And the best way to tell a good buy is that you…

never can say good-bye. No, no, no, no.

SO (everybody say that word with me now), I marched into my closet when I got home from that walk in the country and commenced to grabbing hangers. The result of that mad hanger-grabbing was 7 of my personal favorites from what I will henceforth call my 5+ Year Club. Each of these jackets have not only been in my closet for five or more years. They are still on the active list, getting plenty of current wear. Drum roll please:

I love this one. It’s got a darling little strip of that beading on the lower back, too. It’s a good choice for a big room. Tailored but not stuffy. Just in case you care to know a fairly reliable dressing guide for female communicators, the smaller the room, the better off you are if your clothing is understated. The larger the room, the larger you might tend to go on the look so that you don’t disappear in it. (Of course, the rub is that “larger” is a highly subjective matter. For instance, small rooms never kept me from large hair.) Addendum: I just heard from one of you on Twitter who said I wore this jacket at LPL Portland in 2003. Boom.

As you can see, the following is the utmost in understated. Clearing throat. So sue me. I’ve totally loved it. I wear it numerous times a year but without fail on Valentine’s. It is even brighter red than it looks in this picture if you can imagine that and I most like to wear it with black slim-legged slacks or jeans.

Melissa gave me the next jacket for Christmas a number of years ago. She and I tried to think exactly how long it’s been but couldn’t quite put a date on it. It makes the 5+ Year Club for certain though. It would have been a little pricier because it came from a rack at Anthropologie.  It was a splurge for love of her mother and one not put to waste. I’ve worn it a million times. Because it’s bell shaped, I go with a slimmer leg on this one, too. My usual rule is: blousy top, slimmer bottom. Slimmer top, blousier bottom.

I wish I could remember exactly where I got this next one because it was my favorite kind of buy: super cheap and great fun. (Interjection: Melissa proofread the post and said, “Mom, you got it at Forever 21.” Embarrassingly, I think I did.) It is well beyond the 5 year mark and still not nearing the retirement list. I wore it to teach one Tuesday night during this recent round of women’s Bible study and somehow must have gone so utterly wild that I flung a button. (See fourth spot below) I did, however, find the button up on the third level of the church auditorium where it had put somebody’s eye out (all of that part was a lie). I will soon break out the needle and thread, as much as I hate to, and give it a mending. Or at least before next Fall.

Come on, Western Girls, and give this one a hand! BEST WESTERN COAT I HAVE EVER OWNED. Hands down. I’m going to estimate it at about 8 years old. Its story, however, has taken a recent turn that will color it, I fear, a whole new shade. A few weeks ago a young barista at a Starbucks told me how much she liked it and I was so powerfully jolted by the spirit of giving that I scared the living fire out of her. Wild-eyed and grinning madly, I ripped it off my shoulders and said, “Take off that green apron right this minute! Try this on! I want to give it to you!” To which she responded with horror and said (I wish you could hear the tone of this as I write it) “I don’t WANT your jacket!” And off she went with her lighter and pack of cigarettes like she was running from Freddy Krueger. I think she may have been staring at me from safe cover as I walked with my head down to my car, slinking like one who’d been shamed. For some reason I’m tickled. Let’s move on.

We are now nearing the end of Beth’s personal favorites in her 5+ Year Club. This next selection gets honorable mention because it is without a doubt the one I’ve worn the most. It is multipurpose and can be dressed up or dressed down. I’ve spoken or taught in it more times than I could count, worn it to dinner with Keith (when we used to actually go to restaurants because we lived in an actual city), worn it to church, and to numerous funerals and it is still a long way from worn out and nowhere near retirement. If I were quizzing you, I’d ask this: Based on my rule of pairing earlier stated, would I wear slimmer pant-legs or blousier pant-legs with this?

Blousies win.

I saved this one for last because it is the jacket of my life. Yep. My all-time favorite. I could almost pause for a moment of silence. Melissa got it for me for Mother’s Day while she was in college and that was a minimum of eight years ago so it’s at least that old. Amanda and I do a lot of gift-giving as well, needless to say. It’s just that Melissa has been more prone to jacket-buying somehow. It’s the neatest fabric ever and such a pretty blend colors. It’s truly my favorite thing in the closet. I don’t wear it as much as I used to but I just can’t seem to say good bye. I want to retire it like a basketball jersey and have it hung in one of my daughter’s homes after I’ve passed. Addendum: Amanda has now added that a theme has emerged here today: my best jackets have clearly come from Melissa. For this reason, I am leaving instructions in my will for this jacket to be hung in Amanda’s home for time immemorial.

This final selection is meant to serve as a warning not to buy things when you are hormonal. It is the most hideous thing in my closet. It looks and feels like something a deep sea diver would wear and you sweat in it like you’re wearing a tall kitchen trash bag. It’s so orange, cars yield to it and pumpkins bow. I am ashamed to show it to you but, to be fair, I feel that I must. We make it a practice to air some of our dirty laundry here on this blog. I still own it, not because it was a good buy, but because it wasn’t and because I am trying to punish myself by making myself wear it. I put it on from time to time and think something to the tune of, “This is what you get.” I have to challenge myself when I wear it not to try to explain it to people I’m with. I have this feeling that most would not fully grasp that I am trying to punish myself. I need to give it away but really. Who wants it?

SO, that’s it. Let me just go ahead and say that I am sorry for this post. I have a feeling that some of you read all the way to this point because you, too, are in a self-punishing mood. I’d like to thank you.