Snow Globe

Whining for a White Christmas

A few days ago, our kids made Christmas wish lists, excitedly handed them to me, and with equal parts naiveté and ignorant bliss, seamlessly shifted to full-on expectation mode. They're at rest knowing we'll do all in our power as their parents to make their dreams come true. A few weeks ago, just days after we arrived in Kentucky, I saw tweets from friends back in Colorado that the first snowfall had begun. Outside my window, it was sunny, warm, and gorgeous. But I was glum. Few things elevate my spirits more than snowfall in winter. And in Colorado, my spirits were uplifted a lot. Rather than take my heartache to God in prayer, I sulked. He moved us here. He loves us. And He gives good gifts to His children. But it seemed silly to ask Him for snow here in the south. I assumed we'd left the white beauty behind.

This morning I was praying about my ingratitude and lack of faith. I even thought about my desire for snow and how selfish and childish it is to pout over rain in December. I reminded myself of a kid I saw at Target who spotted a box of Legos and demanded it, only to be denied. The scene escalated quickly, with great volume, till nearly everyone in the store was uncomfortably aware of the showdown. With fists clenched he melted down in tantrum. Pity the mother who gives in at this point. To get what you want after demanding it in anger is to teach that tantrums are what satisfy.

I'm too often like that belligerent child. When I don't trust God, I miss out on the joy of seeing Him act and witnessing His provision. Instead, I find myself receiving the gift when it does come--as it so often does--with sorrow. In those moments I'm most aware of my doubt and fear, when what I should be focused on is His goodness and grace. It's humbling. How much better to have humility in the waiting, in the absence and lack; a humility characterized by childlike faith. I want to wait in expectation, fully convinced that God is able to answer my prayers, and as loving Father, does. Ultimately it's not the gift that satisfies, but Him.

I want to be like our kids with their wish lists, not like the boy at the Target. When I wait in faith, the answers God gives are sweet, even when they're not what I imagined they'd be.

He is good.

And sometimes His answers are even better than I'd hoped for.

I'm sorry today for my doubt and fear and disappointment. But also, I'm reminded of His kindness and grace. So far, on this 4th Day of December, we've had snowflakes falling three of the four days. What a sweet gift--one I long to receive with delight over His goodness, rather than embarrassment over my faithlessness.

Thanks to our kids' earnest pleas to head outside at the first light of dawn, this morning I did.

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them (Mark 10:14-16).

Why I Take Photos

I take photos because--even when the kids are crying, and the tree won't fit in its stand, and the saw's not sharp enough to make a fresh cut, and the tree (once in its stand) is crooked, and the new lights stop working minutes after they're strung and covered with ornaments; even when the outing and the decorating and the celebrating are flawed events--the photos have a way of capturing the best parts of life.

Here's to the hope that time and grace will season our memories the way Lightroom seasons my photos!

From There to Here

It's hard to summarize the past four weeks of packing, driving, visiting, driving, apple picking, flying, speaking, birthday celebrating, packing, flying, packing, cleaning, flying, sleeping, packing, and finally, settling. But there you have it: the summary of our journey from our home of 13 years in Colorado to our new home in Louisville, KY.

Here it is in pictures.

The Gateway Arch on our drive east from Colorado.

Alongside the tree outside our apartment window in Kentucky.

Here's a bit of the view out my window heading north from Kentucky to Ohio.

And the view behind my seat.

Ohio provided lots of cousin time. We raked the leaves and jumped in them.

This guy turned four.

And this one nearly touched the sky. Or at least the tops of the trees.

Mid-way through our trip, Steve and I headed even further north to Minnesota for a long-planned speaking engagement at Northwestern College. While there, we toured a well-known ministry.

Visited a well-known friend.

And spent two days ministering alongside MJ and Julie, founders of Future Marriage University, as well as Brittany, the chapel coordinator for NWC.

We found some quiet family time at a little lake in Michigan.

And even found a way to get a group shot (thanks to an old lawn chair and my camera's timer).

In Ohio, the girls went to a fund raising tea for my sister's adoption from Ethiopia.

Then Steve and I headed back to Colorado to finish packing and, thanks to some amazing friends, spent our last few hours in our old hometown at our favorite place: The Braodmoor.

I've been tempted to great discouragement these past few months of transition as we've relocated to a new home after 13 years in Colorado. It's far too easy to focus on what I'm waiting for -- our house to sell, the new job to come through, the move to begin, the boxes to arrive, the move to end, etc. Waiting can be, and is, wearying. It's at times frustrating, depressing, discouraging, and more. I was reading Isaiah 40:30-31 and was struck by these verses:

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. (ESV)

Whether you're single and waiting for a spouse, married and waiting for a baby, or, like us, waiting for things related to a change of job or move, waiting is wearying. Whatever it is you're waiting for. Unless what you're waiting on is the Lord. And that's the lesson I'm learning as we've been moving from there to here.

$31.90 to Vote

We just spent thirty-one dollars and ninety cents to vote in tomorrow's election. I know, poll taxes are a thing of the past. What I didn't know -- till last week -- is that mail forwarding doesn't work on vote-by-mail ballots. When I realized our ballots were overdue, I called the Board of Elections and sure enough, our ballots had been returned to their office undeliverable. Thankfully, They offered to remail our ballots to our temporary address. Mail being what it is, I shouldn't have been surprised that we still hadn't received them as of this morning. My Dad, being who he is, called the post office first thing and asked if we could come retrieve our mail from the carrier's bucket with hope that the ballots would be there.

They were. So we headed back to my parents' to get our voting guide and fill out our ballots. Then we headed to the nearest FedEx. (This is where the $31.90 comes in.) In order for our votes to count, our ballots have to be received by our county elections office by 7 p.m. Tuesday.

That's a lot of money, but a small price to pay to participate in this important election (and they're all important). Lesson learned: vote-by-mail ballots are not the same as voting absentee!

So here's my plea: if you're registered, go vote tomorrow. I suspect it will be a lot simpler for you than it was for us (at least I hope so!).

It's a great privilege to be a voice for liberty. I won't take it lightly.

Earlier concept for Mt. Rushmore

...would have included more of the president's bodies.

Four Great Leaders

...sure are inspiring with 60 foot tall faces carved in granite.

Isn't it Ironic?

Here lately, Candice and I have been singing lines from "Ironic"--the Alanis Morissette song that was popular when we were in grad school. We've had two waves of inspiration for singing this song:

First Wave

We're trying to sell our house. A family we know has been working with the same realtor we have told us at church that they held an open house alongside a garage sale and it generated activity on their house. A few days later, their house sold.

We called our agent the next day and asked if we could add an open house alongside the garage sale we had planned. She agreed to arrange an open house for 9-to-noon on Saturday. For the first time ever, we decided to have a two-day garage sale, starting on Friday. The traffic on Friday was brisk--people were waiting curb-side when we opened our doors at 7:30 AM. That traffic motivated our kids to set up a coffee and lemonade stand on Saturday (with some help from our entrepreneurial neighbor).

Early Saturday morning, we set up for day-two of our garage sale and worked hard to stage everything for our open house. We opened the garage door with gusto, ready to get to work. But no one came. We waited for more than an hour--an eternity in garage sale time. Eventually a trickle of people came through, but hardly any wanted lemonade or coffee--and no one showed for the open house.

At noon, we moved everything back into the garage and closed the door. We apologized to the guy who was manning the open house and went inside to get lunch and put our little guys to bed. In the process, Candice noticed there was a message on our voice mail. Someone wanted to see our house in 30 minutes. We scrambled to make a lunch to-go and spent an hour at the park.

Second Wave

We were a two-car family for a long time, but we sold our Jeep on Craigslist a few weeks ago as part of our "clear the decks" mission. We're now down to our minivan. Because we plan to travel cross-country soon, we asked a mechanic we've been working with for years to give the van a tune up. (Ironically, he was working on the van when we got a call requesting a showing on our house. We ended up borrowing car seats from our neighbors to put into the mechanic's 1980-something conversion van and drove off ruffled and unshowered so that we could get everyone out of the house).

Our mechanic did the tune up and made a couple of minor replacements. "If you haven't changed your timing belt, I would have that done," he added. We thought he'd already done that so we looked through our paperwork in the glove box. We couldn't find anything and his records weren't turning up anything.

We made an appointment to have the timing belt replaced and prepared to come up with the $600 or so it would cost. Then we made a more intensive search through our paperwork to see if we could find a record of the work being done. We looked through binders of paperwork for each of the past ten years. We couldn't find a couple of those years but reviewed enough to assume the work just hadn't been done.

Yesterday morning I drove the van to the repair shop to get the work started. Around mid-morning, I felt motivated to start cleaning out our storage room. It was there, in the midst of old photos and memorabilia. Piled in a Whole Foods bag with some stray papers was a binder for the year 2007. A few papers in, I found an invoice from our mechanic, along with a record of our timing belt being replaced December 6, 2007.

I called the guy who was replacing our timing belt, but got his voice mail. I left a message asking him to stop the work. He called back later to say he would stop but that he was already a third of the way into the complicated repair and that we'd have to pay for the work he's already done. He ended up giving us something of a break, but we still had to pay $180 with nothing to show for it.

These ironies hurt a little more when we're already feeling vulnerable in a time of transition. And yet we trust God's goodness and provision. Something tells us we're going to look back on these challenges some day and laugh at how this transition chapter unfolded.