Nikki Brungard

Dear Newly-Elected Officials...

2010-11-02T19:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Newly-Elected Officials,

Congratulations! You've worked very hard for what you have achieved. You have inexhaustibly stumped your way across your states in an effort to get your constituents to believe in you, and your hard work has paid off. Take a break and enjoy your likely-a-bit-neglected family before you start picking out curtains for your office.

Before you pack your bags and head to Washington, or your capital city, or wherever the center of power is for your individual office, I want to remind you that you were chosen because you appeared to display a willingness to respond to your constituents. I don't think the results of yesterday's elections were necessarily a mandate for Republicans. More than anything, I think they were about policy (finally!) and a rejection of a legislature and executive office who don't seem to care about the will of the people. We will not accept that same treatment from you. If you do not listen to us, we will - oh dear, how should I put it? - vote your butts out just as quickly.

So...have a good time in the big city. But remember that 'we the people' employ you. Govern with prudence. Don't spend money we don't have. Enjoy the perks of your office - but not too much. Be sure that power and prestige are false gods. Always keep in mind that you are civil servants, elected as our peers to represent our views. Remember that we believed in you in 2010. And we can just as quickly stop believing by 2012.

Love and all those other niceties,
Nikki B.

Who Shouldn't Vote Tomorrow

2010-10-31T20:05:00.000-07:00

With the 2010 mid-term elections upon us tomorrow, I thought it fitting to offer my commentary on the stupidest thing I hear people say around this time of year.

Drum roll, please...

"Everyone should vote."

No, really, they shouldn't.

The fallacy of this statement couldn't have been more clear than observing the elections of 2008. During that election cycle, I had many conversations with people who planned to vote for our current president. When I inquired further as to why, this is how the conversation often went:

Me: "Why are you voting for Obama?"

Voter: "Change."

Me: "Change of what?"

Voter: "I don't know. Just change."

Me: "Do you know anything about Barack Obama?"

Voter: "No."

Me: "Nothing other than that he wants to change things?"

Voter: "Yes."

Me: "But you have no idea what kind of change he wants?"

Voter: "No, not really. I just think change is good."

Me: "So you've never read anything he's written, dug further into his political philosophy, investigated the people he claims are mentors or friends, researched who his favorite political philosophers are, or developed or formulated an opinion on any of the policies he espouses?"

Voter: "No."

Me: (proceeds to bang head against wall)

I wish it were not true, but I think that this is how a good portion of the American electorate functions at election time. We hear buzzwords spewed by candidates, we swallow what we hear our peers saying, we allow ourselves to be impressed with what celebrities say about candidates. And it shouldn't be.

What has happened to that independent American spirit? What has happened to being able to discern public policy and its effects on society? Why won't we invest the time necessary to know more about the people who are representing us and what kind of job they are going to do? These elections are like a job interview for a $174,000 per year job (what the average congressman makes.) Why do we act like it's for a minimum wage job that has no bearing on our everyday lives? These people we are electing are our employees. We need to treat them judiciously and with the utmost scrutiny when hiring them to do such critical and important jobs.

So how can we know if we're prepared to vote? If we've done our due diligience? If we should disqualify ourselves from this greatest of American privileges? At the risk of sounding elitist, here's a simple list to help you decide whether you should vote on Tuesday.

Please don't vote if any of the following apply to you:

1) You get all of your political news from Comedy Central, MTV, Stephen Colbert, or Jon Stewart. This alone pretty much just knocks you out of the running for voting. No other requirements need to be met.

2) You have no idea if you are a conservative, liberal, or libertarian and WHY. (Notice I didn't say a Democrat or Republican or Tea Partier.) Determining this may require some further reading on your part, however. Here's a reading list from my former employer that might get you started (and, admittedly, my own reading list just got much longer.) If you're not willing to invest some time into determining your own political philosophy and delving into the same of the candidates you support, it's probably best to stay out of the game for now.

3) You have ever asked or even wondered of a candidate, "Boxers or briefs?"

4) You walk into a voting booth and just pull the "R" or "D" lever without any forethought.

5) You typically make voting decisions according to how your profession, race, union, church, or family thinks you should. It amazes me how many people choose a candidate or party affiliation based on what their family has always done, how their union tells them to vote, what their professors tell them to believe, or what they think the rest of their peer group is doing. Think for yourselves, people. I believe in you.

6) And if these reasons aren't enough, here's a little video illustration for you of who should not vote.

Please, America, take time to be informed. The blood that has been shed, the risks that have been taken, the courage that has been displayed over the last 234 years so that we could have this privilege demands at least that. Please vote. Or maybe not.

Your Last Birthday

2010-09-22T11:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Judah,

I've been joking with you lately that this is your last birthday because you simply can't turn double digits. You, of course, know I'm joking (most of the time) but every once in awhile you cock your head and hesitantly try to read my face and seem to wonder, "Can she do that?" No, sweet one, I can't as much as I wish I could. You will continue to charge forward year after year into what God has for you and there's nothing I can do to stop it. And about that, I'm glad.

What a year this has been! We started second grade at our house in Lake Land'Or, sold that house, hit the road thinking we were heading to Vegas, hung out in the Promised Land, visited our friends up and down the East Coast, spent over a month in Florida with Uncle B, and then finally settled into our new house here in Richmond. Whew! What a crazy time that was, but, all the while, you persevered and were flexible and were a huge help during what I'm sure was a crazy time in your mind. You are a leader and child who is willing to take on any challenge set before you. I can't wait to see what God is going to do with that. It's going to be good. Really good.

I was just telling Dad about how much I enjoy talking to and relating with you. Our conversations over the last year have changed from a mother bossing around her son to a mother relating her son in a new and different way (though I know I'm still plenty bossy for your taste. :)) I am excited about what this next year is going to bring us. New challenges, new learning environments, new friends, new dreams.

So, while this isn't your last birthday, I am going to do my best to live like it is and enjoy every last second of you over this next year. You are one cool cat (with a lot of this and a lot of that...)

Love you. A lot,
Mom

Having a Birthday Sister - How Sweet It Is!

2010-08-22T12:04:00.000-07:00

On August 22, 2006, the obstetrician decided to induce me (my third induction - my babies really like me apparently) and began the Pitocin drip at Mary Washington Hospital. Well, that Pitocin dripped. And dripped. And dripped. For 10 hours. I had full-on, wretched Pitocin-induced contractions. Tons of pain. And still, the little girl inside me was just not interested in coming out. Fearing a c-section was in my future, I quickly agreed when my doctor suggested stopping the Pitocin drip and trying again tomorrow. I was ELATED. Not because the pain was going to stop (though that was great.) And not because I had avoided a c-section (though that was reason for celebration.) I was thrilled, overjoyed, ecstatic because "trying again tomorrow" meant:

I WAS GOING TO HAVE A BABY ON MY BIRTHDAY!

I mean, really, how cool of a birthday present is that?! Some people tell me that they don't think they would like "sharing" their birthday with someone so close to them, but I love it! All year long, Cana and I call each other birthday sisters. We even have a little chant we do. It is a joy to have her to celebrate and plan with! Before her, my birthdays were really not a big deal. No one made much of them. It was really just another day. But then Cana came and it was a reason to be excited and sing and get "birthday secrets" and just enjoy one another. It is so fun!

I have absolutely loved these last four years with a little girl in my life. She is fun and charming and loving and smart. She gives her brothers a run for their money and doesn't take much grief from anyone else either. She absolutely adores having me as her birthday sister/mom (most of the time) and I appreciate her gentle spirit and kind heart. She softens me.

So, today, I celebrate the day that my birthday changed for the better.

Our Precious Five Year-Old

2010-07-25T18:38:00.000-07:00

Today my little Simeon turned five. Five! I can hardly handle it. Wasn't I just pushing that blue-faced child out of me last week and watching the doctor gently unwrap the umbilical cord from around his neck? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was praying for that same stinking cord to fall off after it stayed attached for five weeks and could have been nominated for an award for the longest lasting umbilical cord ever? Where did five years go? Someone tell me!

I often joke with people when they comment on how much Simeon likes his momma that he thinks he is still attached to that umbilical cord. He just really likes me. He always has. If that child could crawl back up in my uterus, he would. That kid and his cord. I guess its been obvious from day one.

Thank you, God, for Simeon. Thank you for the joy that he brings to others. We named him after the Simeon in Luke 2 who Your Word says was "righteous and devout." May he be righteous and devout out of love for You. Thank you for giving him to us. Our family is better because he's in it.

Photo of Simeon on his first ever sleepover at his best buddy Declan's house.

The D Word

2010-06-10T10:03:00.000-07:00

I am beginning to think that today is the absolute worst of all days to share the number one reason (of many) that I choose to educate my kids at home. In regard to learning, today has been a day of frustration, impatience, and anger for my students. Unfortunately, they are only modeling what they see in their teacher. And maybe that's why today of all days is the best day to share why I homeschool.

Discipleship. Theirs, and unbeknownst to me when I started, mine.

When I made this long and arduous commitment to be solely responsible for the education of my children, I could never have envisioned how hard it would be. Yes, finding the time to plan lessons is hard. And trying to keep the little ones busy while I work with the big one is hard. My kids being quizzed by friends, family members, and sometimes strangers to see if they are learning anything is hard. Constantly being judged for the decision I made to do it is hard. And the fact that I will not likely be home alone until I am at least 52 years old is hard (and horrifying!) But none of these come close to how hard it is to have my children with me 24/7 watching every move I make and imitating many of the worst ones. It's like having your spiritual weaknesses under a magnifying glass. If ever I think I've arrived spiritually, I have three little people right there behind me reminding me that I still have so far to go.

In his book Sacred Parenting, Gary Thomas asks the questions, "Do you believe that parenting is a sacred enterprise? What if one of God's primary intentions for you as a parent isn't about successfully raising perfect children, but about your becoming more holy?" I think perhaps when God led me into homeschooling, He realized that His holiness in me was still so far off the mark that perhaps it would take this much effort to refine me. Either that or I'm a glutton for spiritual punishment. Perhaps a little of both.

As for educating my kids at home and what this has to do with their discipleship? Everything.

Here's where things get sticky. People who send their children to public or private schools immediately feel like I am saying that they do not disciple their children. That could not be further from the truth. Some of my closest and dearest friends, people whom I respect more than anyone else in this world, send their children to public or private school. And disciple them well. So if your fingers are poised to start pounding on the keys in defensiveness, would you hear me out? I am challenging us to shift our thinking about discipleship and how it relates to our children. And, yes, that might sometimes mean shifting our educational choices and our approaches toward our children's learning. But as with other topics this week, I am trying to get us to boil down some philosophy and apply it directly to our own families. I'm not talking about the kid down the street or the countless numbers of children whose parents could care less about this stuff or your child's school or teacher. I am talking about you. A parent who loves their child deeply and desires God's best for him or her and who has been entrusted with a very precious gift for a very short period of time.

Discipleship is not just about communicating one's thoughts and ideas and wisdom to a student. It's also about time. And lots of it. I think our society sells us the myth (and mostly to alleviate our guilt) that quality time is more important than quantity time. It's not. (Nor do I think the converse - there must be a balance.) I think we are so prone to believe that lie because in so many areas it makes us feel better about putting our work before our family. Or putting our families before God. Or putting the state before our children. Thinking that we can throw in some good quality spiritual conversations with our children or take them to church on Sundays for a quality program takes off some of the pressure. Discipleship, especially of children, is a commitment that is long and tedious and hard. It takes hours and hours of sometimes mundane and monotonous work.

As Christian parents, we need to be aware that if our children are under the educational instruction of a public or private school, they will spend more than 14,000 hours under the tutelage of someone else. 14,000 hours. 14,000 hours under the care of complete strangers who, if we're honest with ourselves, we know very little to nothing about and some we've never even met. 14,000 hours learning about the world and life from a culture that directly opposes God's wisdom as revealed in Scripture. 14,000 hours learning from people, the majority of whom do not care about their souls and their eternities. 14,000 hours in an environment where we are expecting them to be "salt and light" after we've only trained them at home for a mere five years (three of those during which they pooped in their pants and couldn't talk.) 14,000 hours.

If we examine our child's day closely, who spends more time discipling them - us or their teachers and peer group? Who gets the best of them and who they are as learners and people? For the majority of children whose parents are Christ-followers, the answer is not the loving and gifted parents that God has chosen for them and who He desires to teach them in a Deuteronomy 6:4-9 kind of way. Why are we willing to settle for less?

Jesus taught a parable in Luke 6 about the blind leading the blind right into a pit and ended with the statement, "A student is not above his teacher, but everyone who is fully trained will be like his teacher." There's no escaping it. Our children will be like who they are trained by. For me, I read that and think, "Oh, dear God, please don't let these children end up like me." But then I remember that I am pressing hard after my Savior. That I am passionate about who God made them to be and cultivating His heart in them. And while I am totally screwed up and sometimes horrible at it (like today), I am also learning and exhibiting grace. And if that's what they walk away with at the end of the day as my little disciples, that's enough for me.

Homeschooling dad, author, professor, and pastor Voddie Baucham writes some thought-provoking (and, be prepared, searing) truths on his blog about this topic. If you would like to read more:

http://web.me.com/voddieb/vbm/Blog/Entries/2009/6/25_Top_Five_REasons_Not_to_Send_Your_Kids_Back_to_Govt._School.html

or this:

http://web.me.com/voddieb/vbm/Blog/Entries/2008/2/14_Salt_and_Light.html

Institutionalized Education Can Be Baaaaaa-d for Children (sorry, I couldn't help myself)

2010-06-09T05:00:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, my husband and I went through a four-day psychological and abilities assessment (think "The Apprentice" for pastors) for people in ministry who plant churches that evaluated whether we should be doing just that. We were tested and interviewed and challenged on all things ministry and personality. On the final day, we knew we had to sit in an hour-long interview with an assessor who would fire questions at us about things that could be hot buttons for us or potentially damaging to our ministry or churches. I went into this thinking that since my husband was the actual pastor and he was the one that would actually be working for the church that it would mostly be about him and that I could just sit there listening.
I was wrong.
For fifty-five minutes of the interview, the assessor wanted to talk about my reasons and motivations for homeschooling. He quizzed me about whether I was trying to shelter my children, what I thought about the public education system, the "socialization" issue (insert eye-rolling here), and whether I actually knew what I was doing.
Let's just say that by the end of the interview, he was completely convinced that I knew what I was doing.
As we talked through all of those things, one of the points I kept hitting home with him and that is one of the biggest reasons I homeschool is this: I am not a fan of institutionalized education. Especially one in which the institution providing oversight and funding is the government.
Too many teachers, too many administrators, too many government bureaucrats have educational - not to mention social and political agendas - that are way far removed from my own. People often laugh when they hear my children spout off on something that they surely must have overheard from me (just tonight my very wise eight year-old was telling me how stupid it is that the government spends more money than it takes in and how concerned he is for the future of our government. Out of the mouths of babes...) I often joke with people that if I don't brainwash my children, someone else will. And I'm only half joking. If anyone is going to set their worldview, teach them about the sacredness of sex, and educate them with the end goal of preparing them to make a difference in this world for Christ, it's going to be me.
Not to mention that I cannot think of even one government agency that is run efficiently and effectively. Not one. So, why would I want an entity whose effectiveness is poor, whose production is meager at best, and who continues to waste money hand over fist to be in charge of educating my kids? Not a chance.
Wouldn't a private, religious school fix my problem then? While a fabulous alternative for many, not so much for me (gosh, it stinks being so picky) because of the other reason I'm not so hot on institutionalized education: I cringe at the idea of putting 25 children who are uniquely created by God in a classroom for seven hours a day to receive the exact same training and conditioning. It goes against everything their Creator celebrates about them. Just this week, my three very different learners have explored Abraham Lincoln and his role in ending the Civil War, practiced their multiplication tables, wandered through the botanical gardens "blindly" trying to imagine what it was like to be Helen Keller, read endlessly about the history of Nascar, watched videos of killer whales and dolphins giving birth, have been read to about dogs, hiked and looked for letters naturally made in nature, and discussed government spending and budget deficits...and it's only Wednesday! I love that their minds can explore and examine anything they are interested in and that their desire to learn isn't curtailed so that we can stay within the government's guidelines.
I hurt for students who are forced to follow one mold for learning and who are stripped of independent thinking, discouraged from having a more diverse worldview, and encouraged to follow the flock that is blindly leading them through the supposedly hallowed hallways. They are like sheep being led to and fro both academically and socially. They are conditioned to ingest information from textbooks that are questionable at best , oftentimes from teachers with agendas far different than our own, required to regurgitate said information, and then are often penalized if their ideas do not fit in with the mainstream. Been there. Done that. Been ostracized - not to mention penalized - for it. (And only made stronger because of it.)
Finally, I'll leave you with yet another wonderfully written piece by someone other than me that reflects my heart for kids and education:

"The School for the Animals"
An old story tells of the creation of a school for the animals. In this school, everybody took the same four courses: flying, swimming, climbing, and running. Among the students were a duck, a flying squirrel, a fox, and an elephant. These four were highly motivated, and wanted to get good grades, so they all tried very hard.

The duck did fantastically well in swimming and flying, but he lagged behind his classmates in climbing and running, so he focused special attention on those two subjects. However, his feet became so sore from trying to run and his wings were so bedraggled from trying to climb that by the end of the year he not only failed both those subjects, but made C’s in swimming and flying, which had once been his two best subjects.

At the beginning of the school year, the squirrel was first in his class in climbing and running and was second only to the duck at flying. But as the months wore on, he missed so much school from catching pneumonia in his swimming class that he failed everything.

To make matters even worse, because the squirrel constantly squirmed and chattered in class, and had difficulty paying attention, he was diagnosed with a learning disorder. The squirrel eventually was placed in remedial classes and had to be medicated in order to continue with his school work.

The fox was a natural in his running class and scored well in climbing and swimming, but became so frustrated at his inability to get good grades in flying that he began assaulting his classmates. He even tried to eat the duck. His behavior was so disruptive he was expelled from school. He fell in with a rough crowd and eventually wound up in a center for animal delinquents.

The elephant, meanwhile, developed low self-esteem because he couldn’t do well in any of the subjects. When he sank into clinical depression, his therapist persuaded him to try a different school that focused on subjects such as lifting and carrying. The elephant was disappointed, because careers in lifting and carrying were not as prestigious as careers in flying, swimming, climbing, or running. Even though he always felt inferior, he managed to make a decent living and support his family.
The point of this silly story about a school for the animals is that modern education sends every child through a program of study that is targeted toward a “generic” child. It expects every student to be able to follow the same course of study in the same sequence, without considering innate aptitudes or individual differences that are crucial to children’s abilities to learn. Schooling does not take into account differing personality types or temperaments.
Parents who understand learning differences can be more sympathetic with the frustrations their children face in school and more helpful in finding alternative approaches. The two major learning differences among children have to do with learning styles and learning readiness.
© Copyright 2006. Home School Marketplace, 1053 Eldridge Loop, Crossville, TN 38571.

Now go and separate those sheep (and ducks and squirrels and foxes and elephants) from the rest of the flock. By the grace of God and under the influence of the Holy Spirit, you will be a way better shepherd than anyone else ever could.

P.S. I
f you're interested in another homeschooling mama's fine words on this same topic, I think this mom does a great job explaining the hearts of many home-educators when it comes to this issue.

My Two-Headed, Garbling, Socially-Misfit Children

2010-06-06T10:46:00.000-07:00

I've decided my life doesn't have enough drama, so for the month of June I'm going to do a new series each week sharing about an area of my life and my sometimes controversial opinions about it. Let's just drop any thoughts that I'm here to argue with anyone or am crusading for anyone to adopt my ideas or that I think they are better than your own. I'm just trying to share more about who I am and what I think about some things that people frequently ask me about. Read on and be nice.

If I had a dollar for every time I had the following conversation, I would be wealthy. Very wealthy.

Well-meaning person: "Where do your kids go to school?"

Me: "I homeschool them."

Well-meaning person: "Really? Wow. That's nice. I would do that but I would be worried about socialization..."

At this point in the conversation, I smile politely, all the while wanting to smack them over the head with a whack-a-mole mallet from an old school arcade. Where on earth do people get this stuff? Not only did this person just make the assumption that my kids are/are going to be complete social misfits but they also somehow got the idea that homeschooling creates a problem with "socialization"? (Even hearing that word makes me cringe.) Where did we get the idea that for children to be "socialized properly" they need to be in a group of 25 children their exact same age, often their same socio-economic status, who all live in the same geographic area?

One of the things I LOVE about homeschooling - and what I think gives kids who are educated this way the upperhand in "socialization" - is that everyday my children have the opportunity to interact with people from all different races, age groups, and financial situations. They are just as comfortable talking to the elderly person at the grocery store as they are interacting with the kid down the street. They are not limited socially from the typical public or private school scenario of having been conditioned for seven hours each day to only relate to one type of person.

And to be very honest, when people ask me about socialization, I often would like to ask a question of my own: Why would I want my children socialized in today's public or private schools? Within the last two weeks, two separate Facebook friends posted the following as their status updates:

"5 fights in 10 minutes, threats of gunfire, and Samoans and Mexicans in a heated racial clash. All today at [my son's] High School." - A dad of a student at a public school in a major U.S. city

"Just got back from THE CRAZIEST lunch at [my son's] school! Man!!! Those kids were out of control!!! Under the table, spitting on each other, pulling shirts off of other kids, rubbing food on their faces. It was nuts!!!!!!" - A mom of a student in a public school in suburbia

And this in an email: "My school year sure ended on a very sad note. A student brought in obscene photographs and passed them around to the class. When we got to the bottom of everything, [we found out] he had brought in pictures before! Just to let you know what the next generation is into - he was just a first grader!" - An employee of a rural public school

If subjecting my children to any of the above scenarios means they won't be "properly socialized", I am 100% willing to have that be the case. They can be the biggest freakazoids on the block for all I care. Not because I want to shelter them, but because I am willing to protect them from joining the rest of the inmates who are running the asylum. As a parent, I believe it is my responsibility to provide them with a safe learning environment where they are not bullied, belittled, or will have their innocence stolen.

Finally, I'll leave you with a letter written to the editor of Fredericksburg, Virginia's Free Lance Star a few years ago:

"Home-schooled and Skipping the 'Joys' of Modern Education"

When my wife and I mention to our well-intentioned friends that we are strongly considering home-schooling our children, we are without fail asked, "But what about socialization?"

Fortunately, we found a proven method by which our kids can receive the same socialization that public schools provide.

On Mondays and Wednesdays, I will personally corner my son in the bathroom, give him a wedgie, and take his lunch money.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, my wife will make sure to tease our children for not being in the "in" crowd, taking special care to poke fun of any physical abnormalities.

Fridays will be "Fad and Peer Pressure Day", in which we will all compete to see who has the coolest toys, the most expensive clothes, and the loudest, fastest, and most dangerous car - all while dyeing our hair the same color and ripping our jeans.

However, every day, my wife and I will adhere to a routine of cursing and swearing in the hallways and mentioning our weekend exploits with alcohol and immorality.

If our kids attempt to use the bathroom without permission, we will punish them immediately; and we have asked them to hold us to a similar standard by reporting us to the authorities in the event we mention God or try to bring up morals and values.

And just think - all these benefits without a dime of taxpayers' money!

Alan Brymer
Stafford"

Well said, Alan. Thank you. I've kept your letter all these years because it continually encourages me on this journey that I am doing the right thing for my family.

P.S. If you are a homeschooling mom (or dad), feel free to tell me about your socially misfit children in the comments section below. I'm sure I would loooove them and will want to set up a playdate soon so we can all hang out being "improperly socialized" together.

It Sure Isn't Easy to Be Hated

2010-05-13T13:43:00.000-07:00

I am hated. Big time. There is someone, well-known to me, who wants my life. I face him multiple times a day. I have physically felt his hot, fiery breath down my neck in my worst - and even my best - moments. He never quits. He never tires of tormenting me. His energy knows no bounds.

Not long ago, I did an exegetical study on the book of Revelation. I have always subscribed to the amillenial viewpoint on eschatology but felt challenged to really shore up my foundations on that (Did I mention I am a big, fat nerd? Well, I am.) As I studied that often misunderstood and mysterious book, time and time again I came back to the relentless love of God for us and the relentless hatred of Satan toward we who are described by David in Psalm 17:8 as the apple of God's eye.

I am the apple of God's eye. You are the apple of God's eye. We are adored. Cherished. Cared for. Loved. And we are hated. Hated for no other reason than that we are precious to God. Since mankind's time in the Garden, Satan has been on an all-out unquenchable, murderous quest to be sure that we couldn't be reunited with God's heart. That we couldn't be restored. That we couldn't be made right with God once again. That we couldn't be redeemed. That though we were once lost, we could never be found. John 10 tells us that Satan lives to steal, kill, and destroy our lives. 1 Peter 5 likens him to a prowling lion looking for someone to devour. So as I was studying Revelation, it was like a movie was rewinding in my head of all the times throughout history that Satan has been bent on preventing us from encountering the person he has hated more than any other human in all of time: our Redeemer. And how, throughout Scripture his fury rose every time he thought - even for just a moment or a decade or a generation - that he had won, only to see God rise victorious again bringing us ever closer to our Redeemer.

In that same way, his fury rises when he thinks he has reduced a life to dependency and powerlessness through addiction, only to see us - through the power of Christ - rise from the ashes fully dependent on Jesus like never before. Or when he thinks has reduced a marriage to rubble through infidelity only to see us - through the power of Christ - rise from the ashes more united than ever. Or when he thinks that he has maimed and immobilized a precious soul through the terrors of childhood sexual abuse, only to see us - through the power of Christ - overcome that which has been done to us and use it to bring freedom to others. God's great power coupled with our heart's desire to let Him mold and shape us through the fiery pain of Satan's unleashed fury only serves to bring us closer to God's desired wholeness for us and to Satan's ultimate destruction for him on the last day.

They will make war against the Lamb, but the Lamb will overcome them because He is Lord of lords and King of kings - and with Him will be His called, chosen, and faithful followers. " Revelation 17:14

When it's all said and done, no matter your eschatological view of Revelation, it is clear that there is a winner and a loser. An ending. A reckoning. And certainly for us who know Him, no reason to fear. Now, my dear apples, go forth and continue to make him furious with how you live your lives. And fear not because the Lamb has already overcome him.

*And P.S., if you're interested in doing your own little study on the amillenial perspective on Revelation, two of the commentaries I used were, "The Lamb and His Enemies" by Rubel Shelly, and "More Than Conquerors" by William Hendriksen. And if you live near me, you can even borrow mine. I'm just nice like that.

Point C

2010-04-15T18:24:00.000-07:00

I was listening to a tape today of a homeschooling mom teaching about goal-setting and long-term planning. She described something she called "Bend in the Road Syndrome" which happens when you are at Point A and think you see God leading you toward Point B so you head that direction. All of a sudden, it is clear that the road is taking a sharp turn and you can see that Point C is your ultimate destination. Does this mean God changed His mind? Not at all. Instead, she surmised that God had Point C in His sights all along but knew that if He sent us directly from Point A to Point C, we wouldn't go.

And she's right.

As I sit here on the last night of this almost five-month journey of living on the road and having no idea where me and my three little ones would lay our heads from month to month (right now everyone's but mine is on a pillow in a Holiday Inn in Florence, SC), I know for sure that if God had suggested going from our last home directly to Richmond - a mere hour away - I wouldn't have gone. And, in fact, when it was first suggested to me, I absolutely refused to even consider it. I pitched a fit uglier than you can imagine.

And all along, He knew I would.

So the destination continued to appear to be Point B (Las Vegas) while all the while God was molding and changing and shaping my heart so that He could give me His best at Point C. Maybe someday I won't be so stubborn and hard to harness. But until then, I'll be thankful for the roadwork that occurred between Points A and C.

How about you? What have been your own Points A, B, and C? And how has God changed you in the process?

Three Minutes

2010-04-11T19:42:00.000-07:00

I was alone tonight from 8:17-8:20.

I know, right?

I actually got to drive in the car all by my little self for three whole minutes while my brother transported all the kiddos from the pool back to his house in his car.

Three minutes.

I got three whole minutes by myself. I'm still trying to recover from it. It was bliss, I tell ya. Bliss.

You see, I can count on one hand all the times I've been alone in the last five months. This journey of "living in between" has been full of adventure and fun and memories. But it has also been full of exhaustion and chaos and me being in charge of all three kids 24/7 without ever having a break. Ever. (Insert me giving a standing ovation to single mothers everywhere. I do not know how you do it.) You may be thinking, "Surely you get to go to the bathroom alone." And right now I'm thinking that if you asked that question, you likely don't have small children at home.

So those three minutes tonight were big time. Big. Time. And since it was so quiet, it made me think about God and wonder why He never wants to be alone.

I would think He gets tired of the constant barrage of requests from me. He doesn't.

I would think my whining might wear on His last nerve. It doesn't.

I would think the idiotic things I do that risk my safety and the safety of others would make Him shake His head and beg for a break. But they don't.

I would think the way I hurt people sometimes would make Him throw up His hands and give up. At least for a little while. But it doesn't.

I would think the fact that I completely and utterly need Him to survive each and every day would zap Him of all His energy and strength. I am, after all, pretty high maintenance. But, still, it doesn't.

In fact, just the opposite. God cannot wait to spend time with me. To hear me talking. To hear me sharing my heart and all that's in it. To watch me interacting with my fellow humans and taking (and missing) chances to love them. He just can't get enough of it. He's not sitting on His throne hoping that someone else would step in briefly and keep an eye on me so that He could have a break. And for that, I'm thankful. He's the only one who I would ever want watching over me.

As I followed Blake and the kids in my car tonight, delighting in the deliciousness of my three whole minutes, I couldn't help but flick on my high beams to see their little faces lighting up with joy at the treat of riding with Uncle B. As much as I am completely and utterly exhausted from these last five months, I sure do love those little faces and my heart is never far from them.

I would like to think that God feels the same way about me. And He does. He really, really does.

The Vagabond Life

2010-04-01T06:07:00.001-07:00

This blog post was originally written on a napkin while I sat in a McDonald's PlayPlace somewhere along I-81 North in Pennsylvania. I'm a vagabond these days. Having just left one friend's house and off to another, never knowing where the highway may take me and the kiddos next.

In the fall we felt like the time had come to put our house on the market. It was a decision we had been contemplating for most of the year but felt like God kept saying, "Wait." I had told my friends that I thought my house must be for a specific buyer and when it went up, it would be gone in a flash. And, boy, was I right. We had an asking price offer on the house within five days of it hitting the market (if you know the DC market, you can just get down on your knees right now and worship the Lord of All Creation for that) and the buyers wanted to close in three weeks. Oh my goodness. With the help of A TON of friends (we sure do love you) and a gracious God (we sure do love You too), we were able to pack up everything quickly and be on our way out by the end of November. Amazing!

We had every intention of going to Las Vegas to help our friends with a new church that they are planting near the Las Vegas strip. Every intention. So the kids and I headed to PA to stay with my family while Kevin remained in VA to work and try to hunt for a job in Vegas in his free time. The plan was to leave PA after the holidays and head west. My, how plans change.

November turned into December turned into January turned into February and still no job. We were bummed. We were wondering what God was up to. And we couldn't help but feel a little abandoned. What on earth was all of this for, God? We sell our house, we risk everything, we go into this crazy, temporary living situation? For what? Nothing? We were so confused.

I was talking to my friend Jen (the one who we were planning on joining in Vegas) about my frustration and she challenged me with this: "When I pray about your situation, I come up with two things. 1) If moving to Vegas is your calling, you are not embracing your calling, and, 2) If God is calling you to Vegas, you are not exhibiting the faith required to get yourself here. Wow. Talk about a whack upside the head. But talk about truth spoken gently and lovingly. It seemed that everything boiled down to that calling. Were we convinced that we were called to Vegas?

As Kevin and I discussed that question at length, we realized that we were willing and ready to go to Vegas but didn't have an overwhelming sense of God asking us to take a huge leap of faith and move there with no job and no house and just see what happens. Crazily enough, if we were sensing Him asking us to do that, we would. But, in fact, we were sensing that He was asking us to do just the opposite and stay put. Every fleece we laid out, every prayer we prayed seemed to lead back to Richmond. It was as if he wanted us to hang out in Richmond, buy a house closer to Kevin's job (which he LOVES but had been commuting an hour plus to from our last house), and let Him continue to unfold our story from there. In some ways, staying in Virginia was a much harder and humbling decision to accept. But we accepted it.

So, as of last week, we are now VA homeowners again. The kids and I have been on the road since November 30th and are getting excited about having a permanent home once again. We spent the first 2.5 months in PA staying with my parents and then headed off on a grand tour of the eastern seaboard (thank you BruMar, Gettigs, PCTC, Shores, Guilberts, Saufleys, Mim, and Uncle Blake for being so generous and hospitable to us!) over these last four (!) months. Right now we are in Florida staying with Blake and remodeling his home here while Kevin does major demolition and remodeling at our new home. When the worst of it is over (about another week or so), we will return. We can hardly wait to begin this new chapter and settle into what God is calling us to in Richmond.

Enough to Make You Puke - Part 2

2010-03-30T09:04:00.000-07:00

So yesterday I blogged about how my constant intake of junk food finally culminated with a puke-fest that reminded me of my sin and how even though it makes me sick, I keep on doing it. But that wasn't the only thing that made me want to puke. The example I am setting for my children is nauseating at best.

When I found myself grabbing a Mountain Dew and a Smore Pop Tart for breakfast after being so sick from my junk food indulgences the day before, I also found myself hiding what I was eating from my children. I didn't want them to see me eating that after the non-stop instructions I give them about eating healthy and making wise food choices and how food is fuel and how we need to take care of our bodies.

Basically, I didn't want them to see their mother being a hypocrite. As if they didn't know already.

So what did I do about it? What every self-respecting, Christian technophile would do: I confessed my sin through my Facebook status.

"Nikki Sampson Brungard It should be a hint to myself that I must change my eating habits when I find myself hiding what I'm eating for breakfast from my children (S'more Pop Tarts and Mountain Dew.) I am a hypocrite. :(

Does that mean I was convicted? No. Just because I announce something to the FB world doesn't mean I'm convicted about it. It was more like an easy attempt at appearing penitent and a great venue to hear others say, "Me too." Not a lick of conviction going on there.

But then I went to the fridge to finish off my Dew. As I grabbed the handle and whipped it open hankering for another fix of my liquid drug, I saw a verse that I posted there last week for my children to see. But God used it for me instead. It's from 1 John 3:18 and says,

"Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth."

And then the conviction came.

When I instruct my kids on healthy eating, I am loving them with words and tongue. When I confess my weakness to others, I am expressing love for my children with words and tongue. When I say I should be honoring God with what I put in my body, I am expressing love for Him with words and tongue. But if all I have is words and tongue and not actions or truth, then my love is empty. Worthless. Full of hypocrisy and selfishness.

So no more hiding what I eat from my kids. No more making myself think that I get to do what I want because I'm the mom. No more comparing myself to others and thinking that at least I'm not that bad (insert finger pointing here.) Because I've seen that list from yesterday. And I am that bad.

May my children look back and say, "My mom not only loved me with words and tongue but her love went deep enough to include actions and truth." May it be, Lord, may it be.

Now, do you think chocolate and raspberry rugula counts as a breakfast pastry? Because I just bought some at BJ's and I would hate for it to go to waste...

Enough to Make You Puke - Part 1

2010-03-29T18:00:00.000-07:00

I threw up in the middle of the night last night. After tossing and turning with horrible stomach pains for an hour, I finally relented and went in the bathroom and put my finger down my throat and let it all out. Did I have a virus? Nope. Food poisoning. Huh-uh. I just simply ate too much crap. And I mean crap.

Yesterday, at one point or another, various quantities of the following foods passed by my lips:

S'more Pop Tarts

Mountain Dew

Cheeseburger

Fries

Buffalo Popcorn

Starburst

Good 'n Plenty

Chocolate covered pretzels

Beef Lo Mein

Sesame Chicken

Rice

Sprite

More Mountain Dew

Ritz crackers

Whoppers

I'm sure you need to go and throw up now after reading that list. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Waiting...waiting...waiting...

Feel better don't you?

Yep, I did too after I puked it all up. And then I went back to bed promising that I would give up junk food and never eat like that again.

And then I woke up. And reached for a Mountain Dew and S'more Pop Tart for breakfast and thought, "What is wrong with me?! How can I be puking six hours ago and swearing I'll never eat this stuff again and here I am downing complete crap for breakfast? I need help!" I have the desire to eat salad, but I cannot carry it out because the Swiss Roll Cakes are calling to me. When I want to make a good food choice, Swedish Fish are right there with me.

And then it hit me. Romans 7:15-23

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.
So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God's law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members.

How many times have I resolved not to gossip again...and went right back to it? Not to lose my patience again...and yelled at my children? Not to judge someone again...and looked down on the "least" in society? My sin and my propensity for it make me want to puke. It makes my stomach knotted and hurts from the inside out. But, still, I keep doing it. Still I keep putting garbage in. And still garbage pukes itself on out.

Paul finishes this passage of Romans 7 with the following:

"Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord!"

Indeed, who will rescue me from this slow death I am dying from the amount of junk food I am ingesting? I am sorry to say it's going to have to be me. I already know what God wants for me so now it's about me changing my choices. Me hating this eating style enough to stop. Me realizing that more and more of my clothes do not fit. Me listening to God prompting my heart about the example I'm setting for my children. Me choosing wisely so I don't have to puke later.

And as for the sin in my life, I have no doubt about who will rescue me from this body of death. I join Paul in saying, "Thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord!" His grace alone rescues me. His willingness to die so I didn't have to rescues me. His conquering death so that I can live forever rescues me. He will rescue me. And I will respond by making choices that don't lead to death. But when I do (and He knows I will), thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord that His grace is still sufficient. And there's no puking required.

This IS Glamour, Baby!

2010-02-26T19:07:00.000-08:00

Why, hello! It's me...Nikki. You may not recognize me because for the better part of three weeks I've been covered in puke, snot, phlegm, poop, and most other kinds of bodily emissions. My dear sweet children have been sick, passed it around, picked it up again, passed it around, and are now - Glory to God! - well again.

The mothering life is full of glamour, isn't it? Cleaning up puke, cleaning up splatters of said puke five days later when you realized you missed it the first time, wiping noses, doing laundry, making beds, making meals, listening to whining about said meals, picking up toys, retrieving said toys from toilet, and the list goes on. Lather, rinse, repeat. Day in. Day out. Same thing. Over. And over. And over again. If only I had my own personal Alice from the Brady Bunch or had a nanny or two like I see those Hollywood starlets have (hello, Angelina Jolie has SIX nannies! What on earth?!), maybe my mothering life would seem more glamorous. Maybe I wouldn't be so completely exhausted. Maybe the scale wouldn't reflect a woman who had buffalo chicken dip and Mountain Dew for breakfast.

But maybe I wouldn't be the first person my children want when they're sick.

But maybe I wouldn't have mine be the name they call when they need help.

But maybe I wouldn't be the one they want to hold their hand and make everything better.

But maybe I wouldn't the one that makes them smile with my corny jokes.

But maybe I wouldn't know just the right blanket or stuffed animal to help them rest.

And if even one of those "maybes" were true, my heart would be broken and I would be missing out on what God has for me and what He wants to do in me. But none of those "maybes" are true. And as far as I'm concerned, that's pretty glamorous.

Delight!

2010-02-03T18:24:00.000-08:00

Tonight I went to the grocery store and brought home "The Princess and The Frog" fruit snacks for Cana. She squealed with delight and was so excited she could hardly stand it. Such a simple and cheap thing, but to her precious three year-old heart, it was like she hit the lottery. She realized she was special. She realized she was valued. She realized that her momma was thinking about just her. She couldn't have been more delighted. And neither could I.

Throughout the weekend of our Bethcation, Lara and I were just thrilled with all of the fun things that were transpiring. At one point, Lara and I were discussing how God loves to shower His kids with kindness (see Matthew 7:11) and she said, "I feel like God is up in heaven right now saying to Gabriel, 'Watch this! This is going to send those two over the top! This is so fun! Wait until they see what's next!'"

Psalm 18:19, "He brought me out into a spacious place, He rescued me because He delighted in me."

Psalm 149:4, "For the Lord takes delight in His people; he crowns the humble with salvation."

Zephaniah 3:17, "The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing."

You see, just like I delight in my own kids and seeing their faces light up, Scripture teaches us that God delights in us. He delights in us. Us. Broken, sin-filled us. Helpless little us. He really just can't help Himself. He adores what He's made. Each individual heart is valued so much. Every single one of us is precious. When each of us is born, we are new and wonderful and delightful to Him. And He is always looking for ways to show us He delights in us. He takes great pleasure in seeing His children in awe over His goodness. He's just sweet like that.

Throughout me and Lara's weekend, I just kept saying, "This is too much. It's just too much, Lord." From presidential suites to pictures with Beth to precious new friends and reunions with old friends, the way God was working was just too much. I felt so loved. So delighted in. So satisfied. I thought for sure that God was done. There really couldn't be anymore delight to be had. And then I got to Harrisburg.

My flight back got in pretty late so my dear mother offered to watch my children so I didn't have to drive the two hours back to her house that evening. My dad gets a zillion free hotel nights for his job and so he gave me some and I checked myself into a hotel in Harrisburg. (Even my earthly parents both love giving good gifts to their children, and can we all agree that a night alone in a hotel room is a good gift for a mother of three young children? Amen and amen.) As I was checking in and inquiring about the NFL playoff game that was on the TV, the clerk said, "Well, you'll have plenty of places to watch it in your room because there are four flat screens in there." I laughed, thinking he was joking and went on my merry way.

As I wheeled my luggage down the hall to my room, I stopped and nearly peed my pants (apparently this is a theme with me...) The sign on my door read: Presidential Suite. Seriously, God? Seriously?! You just can't help yourself, can You? Twice in one weekend? It's like you're sitting on the edge of Your throne just waiting to make me squeal in delight. And squeal I did when I called Lara to tell her about my flat screens in my two-bedroom suite with my free breakfast buffet and the hot tub that I had to swim seven strokes to get across. Delight!

How has God shown you His delight lately? Because He has. It might be you getting a good parking space. Or a clean mammogram. Or a hug from a four year-old. But there is delight in your life. It's there. Celebrate it. Smile about it. Squeal over it. And then don't forget to thank Him.

Thanks, God, for Your delight. I sure do love You. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a little girl who I'd like to watch eat some fruit snacks. Delight!

What He's Always About

2010-01-30T18:57:00.000-08:00

Oh my goodness, where on earth did my week go? Seriously? Did I just tell you to hold on for

the next part of my story and then completely not find an ounce of time to write it down? I did, I did. Forgive me and move on.

O.K., so...when Lara and I talked about going to Houston for the shindiggy, she said she had friends who lived not far from there and that I would absolutely love them and that we could stay with them when we weren't at the conference. If you know me and my extroverted self, it's a dream to walk into the home of complete strangers and get to hang out and make new friends (Hi Darren and Amanda!). I love, love, love it. Lara, who flew into a different airport on the opposite side of town, let me know that she and Amanda wouldn't be able to pick me up in time, but they were sending someone else for me (Hi Deborah!). Double bonus! Now I get to ride in a car for an hour with a complete stranger. Needless to say, me and Deborah were the best of friends by the time I got to my destination.

On the way, it hit me that I had NO idea where in Houston I was or where I was going. So in between Deborah and I catching up on life and careers and kids and the adventurous weekend to come, I said, "Where are we going anyway?" Deborah said that we were headed to Katy, Texas, a west Houston suburb. I was like, "No way! I just reconnected with a friend from college on Facebook and I think she lives in Katy! That's crazy!" Then I proceeded to tell her how Nicole Francis and I began a relationship my freshman year of college and how she had begun asking questions about God and we started studying the Bible and praying together. Eventually, I baptized her in the deep end (funny!) of our university's pool and life and school took us on separate paths and we lost touch. And how funny that now I'm going to be staying in the same Houston suburb as her.

Oh, you wait. It gets better.

So after the conference, I call sweet Nicole to see if we can get together the next day (Sunday). She suggested accompanying me to Darren and Amanda's church and reminded me how back in November she had had a dream that we went to church together again someday. I was totally psyched about seeing her again and suggested that we meet up at Starbucks to catch up before church. Well, the girl walks in to Starbucks not having aged a day in the fifteen+ years since I've seen her (not fair!) And we begin talking and she says, "Do the people you're staying with have a little girl named Caroline?"

Yes, why yes they do.

"Is this her?" and she holds up a picture of her daughter, Phoebe, with Amanda's daughter, Caroline.

Are you kidding me?!

Here the two little girls had become the best of friends in a dance class but Caroline had stopped going and they weren't sure how to reconnect. Amanda about peed her pants when I walked in to church with Nicole. And I about peed my pants when I saw what God could do to reunite so many hearts in an area with a population of more than 5.5 million people. You mean that of all the people I could have gone to this conference with, God chooses my friend Lara who happens to know people in Houston, who happen to live in the same town as someone else I know and who happens to have their daughter in the same dance class as that friend?

IS HE RIDICULOUS OR WHAT?

And that's when I learned what He's all about. He's all about things that are eternal. Things that last. Things that matter. I can sit under great teachers and I can have fun experiences and I can get presidential suites and I can laugh until my eyeballs fall out, but even among those experiences, God will still be working behind the scenes and guiding my heart and my life toward His will. Because it matters. And everything that comes in contact with it matters. Relationships matter. People matter. Decisions matter. Character matters. Eternal things matter.

Ecclesiastes 3 says that, "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end." I can truly not fathom from beginning to end what God did in orchestrating a meeting between me and Nicole. I do know this though: if God says that He has set eternity in my heart, it's because it was in His heart first.

Nicole and I are so thankful to have been able to rekindle our friendship live and in person. It was a gift to sit and catch up with her that day. I am sure that Nicole and Amanda will enjoy the new found friendship that they have. And beyond that, I am quite hopeful that two little girls whose hearts first became connected at a dance class will develop a friendship that leads them together toward the most important Relationship of all. Because He's always about eternity even in the midst of presidential suites and tutus.

Two Women, a Crazy Video, Tons of Laughs, and One Very Delight-Filled Bethcation

2010-01-25T17:55:00.000-08:00

I'm back from an absolutely crazy, fun time in Houston for the Siesta Scripture Memory Team Celebration (see previous post) and, oh my goodness, the biggest thing I have to report is that God is IN the details. He's IN them. In. Them. All up in them. Nose stuck in them. Messing around in them. Can't get enough of them. IN THEM. I'll do my best to recount the weekend and will leave out the details that will either embarrass or incriminate me or my dear friend, Lara. You know I'm kidding. Mostly. ;)

Can you stand reading a blog post this long? Oh my, you can. You really, really can. I promise it will be worth it.

Our Friday in Houston began with much laziness as we slept in and stayed in our warm, fuzzy pajamas until well past noon. As a mom of three small children, can I just say that the last time I did that was long about 2001? Seriously. I ate it up. I could hardly get off the couch. I checked email (Hi, Jess!), Lara watched "Sleepless in Seattle" for the 3,459,889th time, and our friend chided and encouraged us to live up our little "Bethcation" as it came to be called. And we did.

Lara and I headed to the event about 3:30 so that we could find where we were going, grab a bite to eat, and get in line in plenty of time to get a good seat for the evening's festivities. We found Houston's First Baptist Church without any trouble and also passed Houston's Second Baptist Church. (As an aside, not being a Baptist, I found that the most intriguing thing. Is there like a Fourteenth Baptist somewhere? Did they just run out of creative names? Is it a requirement that it have a number? I know not.) Anyway, we confirm the entrance and the parking area for the event, feel confident about our location and are heading out to go find food when who do we pass in her car arriving for the event but Beth Moore herself in all of her cuteness. Well, we supposed we were in the right place now.

After forty-five minutes of driving around and around and around and getting lost, loster, and lostest, we finally find a Subway, grab some food and head to the church to get in line for the event. If you have ever been to a Beth Moore event, you know that people are there early. Like hours early. And when the doors open, all lady-like inhibitions are gone and they run to the front like my four year-old runs toward a bag of M&Ms. It's the funnest thing you've ever seen. And I might say it's even a little crazy if I weren't one of them. So, no, it's not crazy. Not cuh-razy at all. (Denial...) Most of us are just dying for a word. But not so much a word from Beth. From God. And we want to be right up front to hear it.

Lara and I manage to get great seats for the Friday night festivities and have our voices ready to worship and our pens and notebooks ready to learn. The 507 women in attendance had read on the LPM blog to wear pink boas so that we could identify one another in the airport, restaurants, hotels, etc., and so the room was aflutter with stray, flamingo-colored feathers floating through the air. Fun! Soooo fun!

Our Siesta Mama (Beth's blog moniker) began her conference-long teaching on Psalm 119. Did you know that it has 176 verses? That it's a Hebrew alphabetical acrostic written in 22 sections of 8 and each verse in a section begins with the corresponding letter of the alphabet? That it includes 70 prayer requests? That it uses 8 different Hebrew words to describe how God reveals Himself and His will? That those words appear in 173 of the 176 verses? That it's a reflection of exactly what our life with God is like: up, down, up, further down, up, further up, down, down, up? Me either?! And, thus begins, God talking to me about details. Little details. Big details. He is in the details.

After the session wound down, we were served some delicious Texas Sheetcake (oh so good!) and were mingling when we noticed that a loooooong line was forming because Beth was doing a meet-and-greet with her blog sisters. We had both hoped for the opportunity to thank Beth for what she's meant to us and how she's invested in us so Lara and I hop in the line but are probably 150 people back and know that there is no earthly way we are going to get to talk to her and get a photo before she has to leave. Lara is gravely disappointed. And it is definitely a bummer. But, oh well, because we got what we came for: God and His teachings.

After things wound down on Friday night, Lara and I headed out to grab something to eat at Red Robin and go over our notes from the night and talk through what God had taught us. Did we need to eat? Um, probably not. But something about getting to dine without having to cut up anyone's food drew me in and I just couldn't help myself. We talked in depth about Psalm 119:105 that says,

"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path."

We talked about how when God is leading us and showing us His will, He doesn't throw on a floodlight so that we can see hundreds of steps down the journey, but, instead, holds a little lantern and shows us the very next step to take. Lara and I both lamented and shared our frustration with one another about how we feel like our lamp is having a little bit of an illumination problem and just won't light up the next step. We dug deeper into our notes and into the Word to see what was going on. I opened up the new journal that my husband, Kevin, gave to me especially for the weekend, and he had Holy Spirit-inspired inscribed that same verse, Psalm 119:105, on the very first page. I could hardly stand it. God was all over those details. All over them.

At about 11:30, Lara and I headed to the ridiculously beautiful hotel to settle down for the evening. On the way, she read in the email that she received from Living Proof that they would be hosting a hospitality suite for all of the ladies staying at our hotel. We were kicking ourselves the whole way for wasting our time at the Red Robin when we could have been at the Omni living it up and loving on our fellow "siestas". Drat, drat, drat. We check in at the front desk, and, after what was an abnormal amount of time and disappearances into the back room by the receptionist, we get our keys and head to our room.

As we are going down the hall, I am recounting a story to Lara about how my friend Shannon and I were at a women's conference one time and when we checked into our room, there was a man sleeping in the bed. Awkward! I no sooner slide me and Lara's key through the door, swing it wide open, and, you guessed it...it is someone else's room and there is all of his/her stuff just waiting to be pillaged by us. No joke. We slowly and quietly backed out (if you know Lara and I we do nothing slowly nor quietly so that part is a lie) and went to use the hall phone to clear up the mistake. On the way, we hear joy-filled female voices and laughter and fun coming from the penthouse suite and are assuming this must be the hospitality suite that we had missed out on. I let the front desk know of our dilemma and told them we'd hang out in the hospitality suite until they could figure out the mix-up.

Lara and I walked into the palatial hospitality suite adorned with ornate mirrors, a marble fireplace, a humungo dining table for eight lit up with a gorgeous chandlier, an inlaid chess table, wingback chairs, curtains that looked like they were straight from "Gone With the Wind", and a balcony overlooking the beautiful pool and the Houston skyline. We could not imagine anywhere more wonderful to sit and get to know some of our dear, precious Scripture-memorizing sisters including Beth's daughter Amanda, a mother of two sweet young ones herself.

The eight or so of us pulled up some chairs to get to know one another better when one of the gals in the circle ask how we knew each other. Lara and I shared that we had been acquaintances for some time but had really become friends at last year's pastor's wives conference in Nashville. Then comes the inevitable question with the painful answer for both of us: "So you're pastor's wives?" Well, not anymore. Lara's husband had been summarily fired last year by a lead pastor who decided he just didn't like him anymore :( and well, if you know my story, then you know my story. If you don't, it will likely be a blog post someday when I'm ready so hold on.

Hit pause.

Let me fill you in that earlier in the evening I had texted Kevin to pray for me. I was feeling very weird and insecure because a few weeks ago I had sent Beth a letter with a picture of our family thanking her for how she had unknowingly mentored me and invested in our lives. I told her my story and shared the deepest, darkest moments of it and shared with her where and how God was receiving the glory. All of a sudden as the conference was beginning, I felt this wave of shame and fear and insecurity (not feelings that are my norm) come over me about that letter and was thinking, "Oh crud, what if Beth recognizes me? I'm so embarrassed!" Definitely not from God. Kevin texted me back and instructed me not to let Satan steal an ounce of my joy or confidence and if there was anyone who would not judge me, it would be Beth Moore.

O.K., un-pause. Back to the presidential suite.

Lara briefly shared her story omitting the gory and painful details, not wanting to suck the life out of a fun party. The entire time she was talking I was praying, "O God, please don't let me be the one who sucks the life out of this party. Do you really want me to share my story here? Really? Remember how I was embarrassed before? Well, now I've got Beth's daughter sitting right next to me. Seriously?! If you want this, let someone ask me. If not, I will keep my mouth closed. Whatever brings You glory." I know sooner breathed that prayer and the dear girl across from me (Hi, Michelle!) says, "So why aren't you in ministry anymore?" O.K., God. I get it. You are in the details. Even the hard, painful ones. The ones I wish you weren't in. You are in them. You are after glory. In every last detail.

I finish my story and felt loved and encouraged by these dear ladies when we hear a knock on the door. We couldn't have imagined what was about to make it's way to us. In walked an imposing and official looking gentleman who asked for Lara and apologized for the mix-up with our room. He then said, "This is now your room. You are the new mistresses of this suite." ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! We squealed with delight as do all the others ladies with us and marveled at God's goodness after the stories we just told. Amanda declared that this was just God's favor on us and she couldn't imagine two women more deserving in that moment. We sure could, but we would take it!

Mr. Wonderful Hotel Gentleman then goes to open the adjoining room which is now our bedroom. All of us girls were thrilled to take a tour and check out our luxurious accommodations that the hotel had comped to us because of the mix-up (it rents for $2800 per night) and we were just beside ourselves checking out all of our flat-screens, our bidet, our multiple living areas, and our suite in all of its palatial-ness. There is just nothing you can do in a moment like that but say thanks to God for His kindness, His goodness, and now His sweetness (no pun intended.) He really didn't have to. But He did. He is in the details. He knew how happy Lara would be over the light in the closet that turned itself on. He knew how thrilled I would be to just stare in awe over the Houston skyline. I'm quite sure He laughed at my wonder over a shower so big that I could stand at one end and never have the water touch me. I know for sure He giggled and shook His head when I jokingly said, "Lara, take my picture using the bidet!" (which she didn't, by the way) He knew how much we needed this rest. This respite. This moment of feeling loved. Doted on. Precious. He just knew.

After some pictures, most of the ladies headed out but Michelle and Lisa stayed behind to encourage and love on us. (Thanks, new friends.) It turns out that Michelle's family is moving to San Antonio this week to start the adventure known as church-planting. How thrilled I was to return the gift of encouragement to her about my five years as a church-planting wife and promised to hook her up with some of the best cp wives I know. You see, God cares about the details of Michelle's life too. He was intentional about connecting her to someone who knew where she was headed. Who could encourage and cheer her on. Who knows how it feels to move your family like Abram and Sarah and think, "What on earth are we doing? We must be nuts!" Gosh, I just think He's the best for how He is so involved with us. He is not a far away God. He just doesn't know how to be.

Soon Michelle and Lisa left and apparently me and Lara's dignity left with them. We started hooting and hollering about our new palace like we were the Clampetts in Hollywood. I couldn't stop singing the Jefferson's theme song and Lara couldn't stop laughing as she recounted our story to her husband Rob. At about two a.m., we decided to make a video of our experience which you can view below. Try not to pee your pants. And try not to judge our spiritual maturity by this video. We just couldn't help ourselves.

We awoke the next morning with very little sleep (O.K., so I slept for maybe an hour if I'm lucky because even though you let a Clampett in a presidential suite, she stills snores. Love you, sister...) Were it not for our love for our Scripture-memorizing "siestas" and our "Siesta Mama", Lara and I are quite sure we would have hung around that suite all the day long! Alas, we headed to the church for the last of our teaching times and were excited about what was ahead. God proved to once again be right up in our business and spoke some of His great truths to us. We were blessed. We were changed. We were humbled.

Then came my favorite part of the weekend: we were released to go and say all of our memorized Scriptures to our partner. You canNOT imagine what it sounds like to hear 500 women reciting upwards of 20 Scriptures that they memorized throughout the last year all at the same time. One would think it was chaotic. One would think it was loud. One would think it was frenzied. It was not. It was beautiful. It was melodic. It was one of the most amazing sounds I've ever heard in my thirty-six years of life. I could not have loved it more. I can't even imagine how God felt about it.

Afterward, we headed back into the church for our farewell, send off, and commissioning from Beth and her daughters, Amanda and Melissa. It was just what we needed to hear. We worshipped, we cried, we knew that God could not have been any more in the details of our weekend. He had given us times of refreshing, times of revelation, times of rebirth, times of renewal. We were leaving way better than we came. We were thankful. So very thankful. Our hearts were full. It was time to go.

As we left, Lara was working through some of the things God was speaking to her heart and I suggested we have a seat in the church lobby. We talked and listened and shared and cried when all of a sudden there was a commotion behind Lara who was, at first, completely oblivious to it. I could see that it was Beth who had come out after a good portion of the women had left and was snapping photos with everyone. As any good and godly friend would do, I let Lara finish her story and didn't interrupt her for one second to get that prized photo-op. Are you kidding me? Ummm, no. The godliest of friends says: "Lara, hit pause on your story. Beth is standing right behind you and this is your chance to get that picture you wanted. So pull your sweet self together." :)

We got our pics taken with Bethie who was breezing down the line trying to love on as many of us as she could (I'll upload mine as soon as I can find the cord for my camera. Can I just say that it's clear that my hair had succumbed to the Houston humidity though I do believe it was God's way of keeping me humble b/c two minutes later I took another photo with some friends and my hair was fine. Alas, I am not sure Houston could be my permanent home because of this...) And we marveled at how God just thought this would be a sweet ending to our weekend. It was then that I shared with Lara what I believe were God's words coming through me to her heart and mine reflecting on all of the sweetness of the weekend mingled with the pain of the last year of our lives, "Lara, God is saying to us, 'Girls, if I can do amazing things with all of these little inconsequential details that really do not have an impact in the grand scheme of life, can you imagine what I can do with the things in your lives that really matter?"

Oh so true. God takes such joy in interacting with us. Such joy in intersecting His purposes with our lives. Such joy in bringing us delight by orchestrating the littlest blessings in our lives. Can you imagine the joy He gets when we submit to the kingdom-impacting things that He brings into our lives? When we give up our own will and our own agenda to participate with Him in things that change lives, not to mention eternities? The heavenlies have to be astir in those moments. And with the psalmist, I echo the words from that now-imprinted-on-my-heart psalm with the 176 verses, these words from verse 130:

"The unfolding of your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple."

Lord, I truly can't imagine two more simple women to have shared this weekend together. And I truly couldn't imagine two more thankful women who are grateful that you are in the details, big and small, and that you desire to unfold your words and give us light for our path. As Travis Cottrell said early in the weekend, "May the enthusiasm of our worship reflect the gratefulness of our hearts." Thank you. Thank you so, so much. We are truly grateful.

And if you think God is not in the details, you are not even going to BELIEVE my next blog post where I tell you about a reunion that was 20 years in the making and also how I scored my SECOND presidential suite of the weekend. You just won't be able to even stand how amazing He is so get ready.

P.S. The file is too big to post here so here's a link to it on my Facebook page. Enjoy!

Her Real Name is Wanda

2010-01-22T06:00:00.000-08:00

So today I'm in Houston, Texas, (I feel like I'm supposed to insert something like, "Hook 'em, Horns!" here but I have no idea what that means) for an amazing conference with my all-time favorite Bible teacher, one Beth Moore, and one of my all-time favorite people, one Lara Harris. Lara and I are avid readers of Beth's blog and took on the challenge she gave last January to memorize a new verse of Scripture every two weeks for the whole year. This weekend's celebration in Houston is the reward that Beth gave to everyone who made it through the year without giving up. Throughout the weekend, we have to recite our verses to our partner, we get to celebrate what God has done in our lives this last year, and we will be privileged to have God fill us up with His Word through our favorite teacher.

I am so psyched, you see, because Beth and I go waaaay back (O.K., so six years) when my mentor and I together read my first of her studies. Ever since then I've been hooked. Beth has walked with me through some of the best and worst days of my life. She has poured into me like so few others have. She has always had the right word from God at the right time in my life. She is wise, passionate, spirited, and gifted. She loves Jesus more than anything. She's a wife to Keith, a mother to Amanda and Melissa, and a grandmother to sweet Jackson and Little Annabeth. She has lost her own mother. She has been a victim of sexual abuse. She drives an SUV. She loves Mexican. She adores her dogs, Geli and Starr. And she just made her way through some pretty serious surgery.

Have I mentioned that I've never really met Beth Moore? Now mind you, the woman has been there as many of my tears have fallen upon the pages of her books, and I've been there to hear about many of her crazy antics and funny quirks, and I've even seen her live a couple times. But we've never actually met. (Let's hope this weekend changes that before the FBI adds me to their Most Wanted List for being a major stalker.) Seriously though, why do I know all these things about Beth Moore? Because she's real. And authentic. She shares her life openly; the good, the bad, and the ugly. She's honest about her shortcomings and her need for a Savior. She knows who she would be without Him. And she strives daily to know Him deeper so that she never has to know that place again.

I want to be the kind of person who is authentic. Who others feel like they know and are safe with right from the start. I want people to know that I love God's Word more than anything. That I adore that Richard Simmons. That I can't turn down a bag of peanut M&Ms. That I struggle with pride. That I eat when I'm not hungry. That I mess up. A lot. That I know who I am without Him. And that I desperately need Jesus to survive each day.

So, Auntie Beth, here I come! I'm bringing everything I've got this weekend to join you in worshipping the One who was the most authentic person to ever walk the planet. The All-Powerful One who took on human flesh. The One who spit in mud and made the blind see. The One who lifted the chin of a woman too ashamed to look up. The One who laughed and loved and raged and cried. The One who I hope to be accused of stalking one day.

Did I mention her real name is Wanda Beth? O.K., I might need an intervention.

Derailed

2010-01-19T20:19:00.000-08:00

My blog train had finally pulled into the station. It was fueled and ready to roll. It was steaming down the tracks. And then a sniffling, sneezing, coughing, stuffy-headed blonde girl derailed it. I had the best intention of blogging for today. Even knew what I was going to write about. And then a dear, sick, little girl who looks exactly like me had me awake for 2-3 hours last night because she couldn't stop coughing and the rest is history.

Isn't that how life is though? Don't we think that we have plans? I know I sure do. I planned to one day become a foreign service officer. Didn't happen. I planned to become a successful politician who changed how things were done in D.C. Nope, haven't heard my name spoken in the Senate chamber lately. I planned to have four children but found out that one's heart stopped beating before it made its way into the world. I planned to be a successful church-planting wife who could mentor and encourage others. I'm no longer in ministry. I planned to be the most organized homeschooling mother ever. Some days I barely keep my head above water and we're only doing second grade. I planned to sell my house and move to Las Vegas. The house sold two months ago, and I'm still sitting here waiting to go. I planned for life to be easy. I found out that it's not. In fact, it's very, very hard.

Sometimes in my darkest moments, I have lamented alongside Job when he says, "My days have passed, my plans are shattered, and so are the desires of my heart." (Job 17:10) I have had my plans shattered. From sick babies to careers to relationships to my fairytale-like existence. My plans are scattered all over the floor in a million tiny, little pieces with no hope for resurrection under my own power. But when I get up off the floor from trying to reassemble my itty-bitty, teeny-tiny, little plans and I look deeper into God's Word and I realize that I don't really want my plans. I want the plans of the One who writes,

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.'"

Oh, dear God, allow me to relinquish control of these plans I thought I had. Teach me how to avoid the foolishness of making plans apart from You. Let me seek Your heart - the heart that wants me to prosper and wants no harm for me, the heart that gives me hope and a future - with all I have. Listen to me, God. Be found by me. And while You're at it, derail every last plan I have. Thank you in advance for what You've got planned. My heart trusts Yours that it's going to be amazing.

Before We Begin...

2010-01-13T18:30:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am: an official blogger. Only a good ten years late on that little trend. After months and months of contemplation and the encouragement of many (interpret: procrastination), I've decided to start this new journey with the written word. Why on earth people care what I have to say is beyond me, but I'm constantly giving complete editorials on numerous topics in my head so it probably is best if I get them out on paper (or screen, rather) so that I can save my poor children from my rants. They'll thank you for reading one day.

Before you jump into this relationship with me, I thought maybe I should divulge a few things to you so that you know what you're getting into:

*I won't write with a pen that doesn't have a cap. I just can't. It's like it throws my hand off balance or something. Maybe even the world. If a pen is missing a cap, it goes directly to the garbage. I'm sorry, little pen.

*I alphabetize my spices. How am I supposed to know if I have marjoram or am just imagining it? What if I buy a jar of cumin and I already had one standing at attention in my cupboard just waiting to be used? Enough said.

*I've been in President Reagan's closet and tried on his clothes when no one was looking. If you are one of my Secret Service friends, could we keep this on the DL? Thanks so much.

*When I was little, my brother would tickle me until I peed my pants. If he tickles me now, I will still pee my pants. My poor, precious children have inherited the trait.

*I heart Richard Simmons. I mean, I really, really love the guy. Once you get past all the sparkly exterior (which I love as well!), you see a guy who genuinely loves people. I just can't get enough of that. Bring on the Disco Sweat!

*I don't have all the answers. Sometimes I think I do though. Please have mercy on me in those moments.

And, there you go. I'm sure I'll spill many more things about me that you really didn't need or want to know, but for now, that'll do. Now, you tell me, what do I need to know about you before we start this relationship?