could I have this dance (for the rest of my life)

(For the Enterprise's bridal insert.)

When I was girl, I wanted to learn how to dance.  My parents were not in favor.  Wickedness.  Worldliness.  “Until you’re married.” Mom remarked over dishes one night.  “Then you may dance with your husband as much as you’d like.”

 I snuck into our high school’s homecoming dance when I was a sophomore.  There my parents’ prohibition clicked.  Jesus taught that looking and lusting were adultery.  Surely the wiggling and grinding of the mob in the middle of that dimly-lit gymnasium violated the seventh commandment as well.

The mass chaos of that high school dance was not what I had in mind when I twirled around the linoleum as a little girl.  It’s not what Elisabeth Elliot had in mind when she penned the following to her daughter, either:

You can’t talk about the idea of equality and the idea of self-giving in the same breath.  You can talk about partnership, but it is the partnership of the dance.  If two people agree to dance together they agree to give and take, one to lead and one to follow.  This is what a dance is.  Insistence that both lead means there won’t be any dance.  It is the woman’s delighted yielding to the man’s lead that gives him freedom.  It is the man’s willingness to take the lead that gives her freedom.  Acceptance of their respective positions frees them both and whirls them into joy (Let Me Be a Woman).

Marriage is like the waltz.  It’s exclusive: one man and one woman.  The husband lovingly leads.  The lady cheerfully submits to his direction.  Their careful movements and clearly defined roles mirror a heavenly mystery.

                In contrast, our world approaches sexuality more like a homecoming dance.  Insist that God created the man to protect and provide and the woman to respond and serve?  Gasp!  How old-fashioned!  How demeaning!  Or, where have you been?  The rules of the dance have been re-defined.  There are new steps.  New music.  And switch partners whenever you’d like.  As a matter of fact, there really are no rules...except don’t make any rules.

The result?  Broken hearts.  Broken homes.  STDs.  Unwanted pregnancies.  Abortions.  Filthiness.  Sin.  Instead of the waltz people promote a mosh pit and then stand around scratching their heads in wonder at everyone getting hurt.  Many in the U.S. attempt to erase the idea of gender differences altogether.  Our tax dollars fund Planned Parenthood’s sex-ed program, which advertises “It’s only natural” and “Safe sex is meant to be shared.”  Homosexuality is accepted, lauded.  Co-habiting, divorce, and weekend “hook-ups” are the norm.  Porn has not only made its way into every nook and cranny of the Internet – books like “Fifty Shades of Gray” line the checkout aisles of nearly every grocery store. 

When I consider the way our world attempts to re-define God’s rules for sexuality I can’t help but think of Hans Christian Andersen’s story “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”  The smallest child is able to point out what’s wrong in our society.  A toddler could tell you that being a “boy” or a “girl” defines how he or she thinks and plays.  Kids would laugh if there were two Prince Charmings on the dance floor and no Cinderella, or if Cinderella was doing the leading and PC the twirling. I overheard our kindergartner tell his sister yesterday, “Peregrine Falcons mate for life, Leah.”  “Yeah, swans do to!” she exclaimed.  “Isn’t that strange, Will?  Some birds are better at being married than people are!”  Ask a child whose Dad has left his mom and siblings what he thinks of this “new normal.”  Or the girl whose un-wed mom brings home one boyfriend after another.  They may not say it, but they know.  This is no “new normal.”  It’s abnormal.  The emperor’s got nothing on.  And the mainstream watches it all unfold with a smug nod of approval.

Are you a married Christian or a Christian about to be married?  Take heart.  Our God carefully choreographed this waltz.  In fact, He’s its Creator.  Refer to the instruction manual He’s given daily.  Remember that mastering marriage requires repetition.  You can’t sit out for even part of this dance - once you write your name on your spouse’s card, you’re committed - to your partner, for life.  And to practicing.  For life.  The steps don’t change.  They might get a little slower, a little sweeter, with time.  But still the same steps.  The leading.  And the following.  The loving, and submitting.  Self-giving, forgiving, and faithfulness in the small things, and the big things, all danced to the sweet strains of friendship.

Your marriage will be enhanced by the knowledge that the two of you together glorify God in a way that you couldn't if there was only one of you.  And it will be admired and imitated, Lord willing, by the little ones watching, who benefit in untold measures from your faithfulness to one another as they await their turn.

So remember your role.  Commit to repeating the steps.

Insistence on doing it any other way means there won’t be any dance. 

quotable - Accustomed to the Dark

We grow accustomed to the Dark --
When light is put away --
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye --

A Moment -- We uncertain step
For newness of the night --
Then -- fit our Vision to the Dark --
And meet the Road -- erect --

And so of larger -- Darkness --
Those Evenings of the Brain --
When not a Moon disclose a sign --
Or Star -- come out -- within --

The Bravest -- grope a little --
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead --
But as they learn to see --

Either the Darkness alters --
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight --
And Life steps almost straight. 

~ Emily Dickinson

sunny

When we left Iowa

they were nine inside our gray van:

us kids,

Dad and Mom,

the baby in Mom’s tummy,

and two cats:  Twinkle and Sunflower.

The pop-up rode behind.

That night we slept in Lincoln, Nebraska.

We could hear trucks speeding down I-80 from inside the pop-up.

Twink and Sunny slept in the new pet taxi from Wal-Mart,

and in the middle of the night Mom got up and put them in the new litter box.

Even though they were farm cats and had never seen a litter box before,

Twink and Sunny knew just what to do with it.

When we came to Colorado,

we thought that Twink and Sunny might run away.

We didn’t know where anything was,

and they didn’t, either.

So we made them wear collars and tied two leashes to the fence:

one pink, and one blue.

Our cousins laughed about this.

But they didn’t run away, Twink, with his white paws,

and Sunny, gray and quiet as a mouse.

By late summer we let Twink and Sunny play free in the yard,

and they never ran away.

We would watch them tackling each other while we ate lunch and laugh.

Sometimes they climbed the fence to play with the neighbor kids

kitty-corner from us,

but we didn’t mind.

Two days before Mom’s birthday we made Christmas cookies.

Before supper we walked down the street,

under our white lights

and past the neighbor’s blinking colored ones

with a plate of sugar-cookie men

for Paula and her husband Joe.

It was while we were at Paula’s house,

smelling sour Thai food and sick old people,

that Dad came home from school and saw Sunny lying still in the road.

Mom buried her the next morning,

a gray morning.

Gray like Sunny.

We didn’t know this, because we were still in bed.

We didn’t know that night,

when we sang at the Christmas program

with little candles lining the aisle

and my hair in a curly bun.

We didn’t know the next day – Mom’s birthday – either.

Mom said we were too busy to do the cats, she would.

So we didn’t have to think about Sunny being dead

while we ate cupcakes downtown

and shopped for Christmas gifts at Bomgaars.

­

The next day they told us.

They told us when our tummies were full of Sunday dinner

and banana cream pie.

And we all cried, except for Nathan,

and played with Twink all afternoon.

When I came home from school on Monday,

I was outside until dark.

I drug a cement block around the garage

and made a gravestone.

For Sunny.

Mom didn’t say anything about not practicing my piano

or about ruining her permanent marker on the cement block.

She just helped me lug it behind the garden shed

and told me that maybe someday

we’ll go back to Iowa

and look for a little garden of stones in Grandpa’s grove

where she buried her pet birds

when she was a girl

like me.

So long, Sunny.

quotable - "Discipleship of the Mundane"

...You never look at a picture of a beautiful living room and picture yourself in it sleep-deprived with a bad headache and needing to go to the bathroom.  You do no envision that Cape Cod getaway as the place the whole family would get the stomach flu.

Oftentimes mothers want this for their real lives.  We always want everything to look as if we have arrived, all the time.  That is like focusing entirely on the victory moment.  Like a football player who never trains, but only practices his touchdown dance.  Like a woman who sets beautiful tables for a living, but never feeds anyone  Real life is messy because it is going somewhere.  Things constantly need to be done because people are constantly growing.  Repetition should not be discouraging to us, it should be challenging.

When we buy into this kind of idealism, we start seeing things as failures that are anything but...We don't know the value of what we do.  We can't always see why God wants us to be doing these things, so we want to negotiate with Him.  Lord, couldn't you think of something better for me to do?  Or worse, rather than complain to God, asking for Him to answer us, we complain to others.  We fuss at the children for being what they can't help being.  We get dreary to our husbands, explaining yet again how repetitive our lives are...We belittle our work, we make much of the mindlessness of it, and, not surprisingly, we then lose interest in it.

But imagine we could switch this attitude into a situation where we understand the value of the repetition.  Imagine we could see a young girl at a piano, practicing scales with a world-class teacher.  Imagine that instead of seeing that she was being taught the fundamentals of something amazing, she was mocking it.  Imagine she was complaining and moaning and drooping.  Imagine she wouldn't try them.  Imagine she was hollering to anyone close enough about how unfulfilling and demeaning this work was, or just sighing to herself continuously.  Imagine that she used as her main argument that she was above this kind of fiddly work because she was meant to be a concert pianist.

I hope that we would all see the foolishness of this kind of attitude.  Feeling above it all is simply a way of showing that it is actually above you...

When we honor God in our work, we please Him.  We aren't doing this to impress others.  We don't need to try.  We do not need to justify all the work we are doing to the world, because we are not the teacher.  We are the student.  We need to trust the teacher, and rest in knowing that our teacher does not make mistakes.  He is giving us the perfect things to practice.  He is making us into exactly what He wants us to be.

~ Rachel Jankovic,  from the chapter entitled "Discipleship of the Mundane" in her new book Fit to Burst

a call to arms

Hi.
It's me.
Rubbing the holiday haze from my eyes and waking up to this new year.

Yesterday I learned from the Three R's blog that the word "alarm" was originally a Medieval battle cry: "To arms!  To arms!"  An urging to take up your weapons and make war. 

Fitting, then, isn't it, to being the day with an alarm - a call to begin another day fighting the good fight?

Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.  For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.  Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.  Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness;  And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace;  Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.  And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God:  Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints...  (Epehsians 6:11-18)

But thou, O man of God, flee these things [envy, strife, railings, evil surmisings, perverse disputings, covetousness...] and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness.  Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou art also called, and hast professed a good profession before many witnesses...  (1 Timothy 6:11-12)

I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.  (2 Timothy 4:7-8)

quotable

The missionary and martyr Jim Elliott (1927–1956) wrote, “The devil has made it his business to monopolize on three elements: noise, hurry, crowds…Satan is quite aware of the power of silence.” It is difficult to escape the busyness, noise, and crowds of life. We are bombarded by a host of amusements and contraptions, most of which we have enthusiastically welcomed into our lives, homes, communities, and churches. We have conditioned ourselves to distraction, and we are leading the next generation down the same path in a hurry. C.S. Lewis wrote, “We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and private.” We stand at a crossroads, and we will either rediscover the lost virtues of listening, meditating, and thinking, or we will amuse ourselves to death.

However, our problem lies not in our twenty-first-century tools and toys, but in our inability to use them without them using us...

~ Burk Parsons, January edition of Tabletalk magazine

The Word for the new year - Ecclesiastes 9:10

                One year ago, my husband and I decided we would move our family from Iowa to Colorado.  I was two months pregnant with our fifth child and overwhelmed with the events that marked the next 12 months as regular as the inch markings on a ruler.  On January 9, 2012, I wrote:

Not only am I a whole week behind, I'm not even sure what word I would pick to give me the direction I need for today, much less the whole year.  The next few weeks are intimidating enough without considering the eleven months that follow.  But, thank God, I've got the Word.  My one resolution - if you could call it that - is the same passing thought I've had at the beginning of the past several years, which goes to show how good I am with resolutions.  I need to know God's Word.  I need to be busier reading, meditating, memorizing, praying that Word each day.  Because if I know anything, I know this:  when the Word is my priority, the other things get put into perspective, they fall into place.

                Now here I am, 12 months later, 685 miles away, and baby Eli playing next to me on the sofa.  I turned 30 last month, we’ve just returned from our first trip “back home,” and 2013 stretches out long in front of me.

                “Do you have a New Year’s resolution?”  I ask my husband this on our first night back here.

                “Try harder,” he responds.

                “Try harder?”  I echo.  “Try harder at what?”

                “Try harder at everything,” he says.  “Do a better job of explaining what I’m reading during family devotions.  Play more with the kids.  Plan better for school.  Spend more time with you...”

                It’s the next morning that I read Ecclesiastes 9:10:  “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, wither thou goest.”  That verse pretty well sums up me right now.  Wanting to try harder.  To do better.  At many things.  In many areas.  As wife, mother, daughter, friend, neighbor.  And all with the sense of the rapid passing of time and my own mortality looming over me.

2013.  So far the only event marked on the ruler is my sister’s wedding in June, six inches in.  My resolution for this year is the same as last’s, with one word added: I want to better live God’s Word.  I’ve written down specific goals for myself, because I hope to measure this year by my progress in living rather than the events in my life.  I’ve written down those goals knowing that only if the Lord wills, I will live and do this, or that.  (James 4:15)

And in those moments when I can see only the eighth of an inch in front of me?  Then I’ll turn to Ecclesiastes 9:10.  And to Colossians 3:23-24: “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.”

And I’ll pray for the grace to do just what I am doing with all of my might.