Seven

As single people and as a married couple, we have spent a good amount of the last few years with people who live on less than $2 a day. We feel in alot of ways that we have too much, we live too extravagantly, we are wasteful and do and have so much that isn't necessary. It's the American way - we know that it's all we know and it's what we've grown up it. But we don't necessarily want to live the American dream, we want to live globally; to consume less and give more. We have to live counter-culturally and that won't be easy, but we want to try. We feel compelled to do some fasting so that God will meet us here, teach us, grow us and reveal to us more of his globe and how we can be part of that story.

Here we go... Jarred and I have decided to embark on this journey - we're scared, we want to curse, we want to laugh at the thought of us actually being able to do this for seven months, but we're in.

This is basically the gig:
"A seven-month experimental mutiny against excess, tackling seven areas of overconsumption in the spirit of a fast; a fast from greed, irresponsibility, apathy, and insatiability. Each area boiled down to just seven choices for a month:

Food.
Clothes.
Possessions.
Media.
Waste.
Spending.
Stress."

read the rest here - http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2011/12/26/an-experimental-mutiny-against-excess

Jen Hatmaker wrote this book called Seven. When she talks about herself, I see myself in her and I think that maybe, just maybe, we can do this. So we'll do our best. Ask us how we're doing, keep us accountable, basically what I'm saying is HELP! Ha.

I'll be blogging about it (and other things) here (yes, even during media month - I can write blogs but not read them). So follow along on our journey! It'll be a shitshow to be sure, nothing new around here, but we can't wait to see how God changes us.

For Posterity...

I don't have children, but I hope someday we will. And if we have them and there happens to be a boy or two in there, they will read this letter. I'm posting it so you'll read it too, but more than that, so that I have it kept in place where I'll remember to have my sons read it when they need to. Good gracious, that's good stuff.

http://themattwalshblog.com/2013/08/28/dear-son-dont-let-robin-thicke-be-a-lesson-to-you/

Bravo

Friends, there is a milestone here this week... these are the last few days of this job I've had for almost four years. Four long years where I've learned more than a blog post could ever summarize. I will do my best to debrief it here later so that you can have the gift of seeing all that God has done and is doing in my life. It's been ugly and beautiful, frustrating and gratifying, convicting and redeeming, but one of the biggest things this job has been for me is healing. A healing that began in my years on Young Life staff when I was young and fresh out of Texas. A healing that continued in graduate school where the most incredible professors spoke amazing truth over my life and told me I could... A healing that has continued to grow and plopped me in a place of confidence I never thought I'd have - one that's still growing, but one that I definitely didn't think was possible for me.

It's best described here... thank you Jen for speaking my feelings so well:
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/08/wherever-it-rises

Thank you to the pastors I've interacted with, the friends I've made and mostly the incredible boss I've been given the chance to work under - you have all changed me for the better and given me a gift no one can ever take back from me... confidence to know that I can be used and I have a voice. Thank you, from the bottom of this Texas girl's heart.

Bravo, Jesus, Bravo.

Small... FMF

Picture this: a 32 year old professional woman with a graduate level education not being able to speak not even a word, losing feeling in her extremities and being so dizzy she falls over.

This is something that's happening to me during migraine episodes as of late. You know how it makes me feel? Small. Incapable. Scared. Frustrated. Anxious.

But here's the thing I'm learning. I think that's exactly where God wants me. By nature I am a Type A, take on loads of projects, fill my schedule, got it all under control kind of gal. I get it from both of my parents. It's all I've ever seen or known. These last few weeks, I think my stress level and my life's circumstances are demanding that I learn to slow down. But to me, that feels weak - like I need help (and I do), like I need to let go of my work responsibilities (and I do), like I am back in a place of dependency and in turn like I'm not contributing to society.

In all of this I feel like God is calling me back to him. He is jealous for his time with me. He knows what will fill me back up. This has sunk me on my butt on the couch, dependent on the community around me in this new little town we live in. And I think he's smiling - he's healing me while I rest.

He's making me whole again starting with the inside of me. His word has become the air I breathe in and out; I'm living on these words, "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." - Exodus 14:14. I've needed his presence to calm my soul and remember to be thankful for each moment I don't have a migraine with whacky symptoms and to ask for more.

I feel so small, so useless, so over it, but then I look at who God likes to use - he used the tiniest soldier to defeat a giant, he used nimrod disciples to spread his name, he used harlots and liars and cheaters and murderers to bring people to him. And then I'm thankful that even in this yucky season where I feel useless, I am not a misfit, I belong to him and Jesus is using my life, possibly even more so because I'm small and broken.

Lonely...FMF

As I woke her up at 1:00 am to tell her that my Opa had just breathed is last in the living room, I saw the anguish on her face. The anguish of knowing what her life now was - lonely.

I helped her out of bed, put her robe on her and we walked into the living room where the hospice nurses, my sister-in-law, my aunt and uncle were standing around him, secretly hoping he'd start breathing again. My Oma calmly walked over to his bed side and sat next to him the chair, holding his hand as other family members that were staying down the street walked in the door. Soon after, she crawled onto the bed with him and started weeping softly. We all knew without a doubt that this was the most horrific day of her life. As we all wept, I sat in the corner and wept for her because I knew that the next week, all of us would go home with spouses, siblings, parents, significant others and she would be left in that house alone - with just 58 years of memories.

But in some strange way, I knew I could feel it deeper than anyone else in the room - I had just gotten out of a relationship that did not end well. I was 30 and so ready to be married, because I too (on a much smaller scale) had my fair share of lonely years. Of the 32 family members there, I was the only one with no one to go home to that night, my single cousins had yet to get to town. So after we finished having a family toast with buttermilk (gross, I know, but it was Opa's favorite), singing worship songs, reading scripture, recounting memories and praying for this beautiful widowed woman, I decided to stay with Oma. We laid there and held hands and wept. Neither of us slept much.

For the next 5 nights, I stayed with Oma - we found a way to peace and at least a bit of companionship, even if we still felt alone. Because of those hard weeks: my night in the hospital with Opa where I prayed with him, sang with him and listened to him cry out for Jesus to take him home while I sobbed on my little hospital couch and my hard nights with Oma, my eyes have been opened to what lonely really means. My compassion for the suffering, the broken and the lonely has been a gift.

Love someone who's lonely this week - bless them with the gift of your presence and a listening ear.