Change and Hope

"Hope and change" was the message of our president-elect's political campaign, and it obviously worked for him. And although he may not realize this, hope and change did not originate with him. In fact, all during this eventful year of 2008 while he was promising change, our family was experiencing change in significant ways, as were millions of others around the world. Our changes were mostly positive. While many are pleased to see 2008 gasping its last breaths, our family will remember it as a time of great blessing. Some of our many changes:

*The biggest, of course, was Henry's and my marriage on July 11. We're pretty happy about that one.
*We all moved into a new home together.
*After being members of a church since 2000, Katie, Jonathan, and I changed to Henry's church.
*Henry began a new job this fall.
*Katie started her senior year and has been considering her next big change: college. She also became a licensed driver in 2008.
*Jonathan graduated from eighth grade and started attending West Michigan Lutheran High School this fall.

The truth is, no matter who we are or what our life circumstances, we all experienced some type of change this year--some good, some not so good. Which brings me to the next concept: hope.

It's fairly easy to have hope in a year like the one we've just experienced, when everything is going well. There have been years past when it hasn't been so easy to have hope, and we've stood by friends and family members this year who have endured some difficult changes: they've lost spouses, children, jobs, their health.

Yet if change is a certainty, so is hope. Not hope in a government bailout, or in a new president, or in the positive results of a war that has gone on for a long time. We'll always have the poor with us; there will always be wars and rumors of wars. And let's just say that I can't seem to muster up much hope that this president will perform better than I'm anticipating.

This is the hope that is every bit as certain as change: "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you" (1 Peter 1:3, emphasis mine).

This is hope that will not change.

A blessed 2009 to you.

Lord, through all the generations of the children of our race,
In our fears and tribulations, thou hast been our dwelling place.
Ere the vast and wide creation by thy word was caused to be,
Or the mountains held their station, thou art God eternally.

Christmas Past

Since Christmas is past, it seemed only right to re-visit a Christmas that is really, really past. This picture was taken probably about thirty-five Christmases ago, and it was clearly one of those last-minute, let's-get-a-shot-of-the-kids-quick-so-we-can-get-the-Christmas-cards-out Kodak moments. I'm thinking this was an impulse thing, because nobody who planned to take a picture for a Christmas card would have intentionally dressed us like this. Pictured here are, from left to right, myself at about 9, my younger sister Kristi (2), and my brother Tim (6).

Some observations:

1. The card, ironically, says "Greetings from our home to yours." This was not our home. We spent a lot of time here, and we loved being here--but this is Grandma Walborn's house. So now I'm wondering how many people who received this either thought it was our house or, if they recognized the setting, just thought--for some reason--we were living with my grandparents.

2. The piece of furniture we are sitting on is not a couch and it is not a sofa. It is a davenport. I really don't know how a davenport is different from a couch or sofa, but in all my life I don't remember Grandma saying the word "couch" or "sofa." This was a davenport.

3. Those drapes behind the davenport made a great hiding place in a pinch--when the person who was "it" was getting close to the designated number and you hadn't been able to think of someplace more creative.

4. Based on my outfit, you might think that I attended an all-girls' Catholic grade school, but this was my Bluebirds uniform, and the Bluebirds uniform was something we took very seriously. Bluebirds, of course, was the precursor to Campfire Girls. Other thoughts on my ensemble: You know--if you had glasses--yours looked just about like mine, so don't laugh. I've pretty much always been a short-hair girl; this is about the longest my hair has ever been. And this is my natural color, of course.

5. I really wish I could remember what we were having such a good time looking at. We three normally didn't get along that well, particularly if we were made to sit together in one place, so I'm sure we're not reflecting the joy of sibling togetherness here.

6. Why did the photographer not tell my brother to put his arms down for the shot?

The Irony of Christmas

Christmas is a day of beautiful ironies--most quite familiar to those of us who know the true Christmas story. The sheer poetry of Christmas alone has inspired some of the greatest music, literature, ballet--and in more recent years, theater and cinema. Some of the ironies are obvious: the one through whom all things were made enters his creation by way of human birth--a process he created. But the world that was made by him did not know him. The Word, born as a baby, had to learn to speak. The one who upholds the universe by the word of his power crawled on the ground, eventually learned to walk, and actually needed to be educated in the ways necessary for functioning on this earth. The heir of all things was born in a manger in a small town, entrusted to earthly parents of modest means, at best. And--the greatest irony of all--"Born that man no more may die: Born to raise the sons of earth, Born to give them second birth." To say it in a less poetic way, He was born to die.

And then there were those characters surrounding the birth. His arrival was not reported in Israel Today, The Jerusalem Times,or on any local network. Instead, angels appeared to shepherds, not the most respected, highest paid workers of the day. And those attending His first visit to the temple were not well-known rulers or celebrities of any sort. The attendees were just an old man and an old woman, one who had been waiting his whole life for the consolation of Israel and one who had worshiped and fasted night and day, who immediately recognized this baby as the one who would bring redemption to Israel.

And there are the modern ironies. The world that does not know Him still wishes to celebrate something this time of year--a sort of secular peace and joy, a feel-good season, where lesbian pop singers record Christmas CDs, singing songs co-written by Muslims to the glory of . . . unity/diversity/peace [pick one--certainly not glory to the One about whom the first Christmas singers sang]. The very event that gives life, that provides peace for those on whom His favor rests, has turned into a frenzy of wide-screen, HD TVs, iPhones, video game systems, and front yards decorated with penguins, snowmen, manger scenes, reindeer--the things that drain life from us and often drive us away from him.

This poem by G. K. Chesterton captures the exquisite ironies of Christmas in an incredibly beautiful way. May you know the wonders of the ironies of Christmas: that the one who knew no sin came to earth to be sin for you so that you may be clothed in his righteousness; that he was born to die, and in doing so, triumph over death so that with him, you might share in the victory; that the one for whom there was no room in the inn is now preparing a place for you so that in a real, tangible way, he might be Immanuel--God with us and us with him for eternity.

Gloria in Profundis

There has fallen on earth for a token
A god too great for the sky.
He has burst out of all things and broken
The bounds of eternity:
Into time and the terminal land
He has strayed like a thief or a lover,
For the wine of the world brims over,
Its splendour is spilt on the sand.

Who is proud when the heavens are humble,
Who mounts if the mountains fall,
If the fixed stars topple and tumble
And a deluge of love drowns all—
Who rears up his head for a crown,
Who holds up his will for a warrant,
Who strives with the starry torrent,
When all that is good goes down?

For in dread of such falling and failing
The fallen angels fell
Inverted in insolence, scaling
The hanging mountain of hell:
But unmeasured of plummet and rod
Too deep for their sight to scan,
Outrushing the fall of man
Is the height of the fall of God.

Glory to God in the Lowest
The spout of the stars in spate—
Where thunderbolt thinks to be slowest
And the lightning fears to be late:
As men dive for sunken gem
Pursuing, we hunt and hound it,
The fallen star has found it
In the cavern of Bethlehem.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

*photo by Katie Selden

Top Ten of 2008: Part 2

As promised, I return to the top ten most surreal moments of 2008. Rounding out the list are the following, again, in no particular order:

1. Part of the fun of moving into a new house with Henry was buying new furniture to fill it up. We bought most of the new stuff from Talsma Furniture. We had purchased a nightstand that had been delivered in early July, but the rest of the furniture didn't come until after the wedding in August. I was at work on furniture delivery day when Henry called, asking if we had ordered two nightstands because Talsma was attempting to deliver a second one. I told him it was a mistake, that they had already delivered a nightstand, and went on with my day. Later when I came home from work, I went to the family room to see our new end tables and coffee table. I was surprised to see that things looked a little crowded and realized that they had given us an extra end table--there were three instead of two. When I called the store to clear up the mistake with Susan, our salesperson, a man answered and said that Susan wasn't working but that he could probably help me. I explained what had happened, and he offered to come pick up the extra table when it was convenient for us. We were going to be home that evening, so he offered to come that night after the store closed. It was just getting dark when the doorbell rang later that evening, and Henry answered the door. We had both forgotten that someone was coming, and as I came down the steps, I heard the man saying, "I'm Richard Talsma. I spoke with your wife earlier, and I'm here to pick up the end table." I thought that voice had sounded a little familiar on the phone. While Richard Talsma isn't exactly a celebrity, I didn't expect the commercial guy who obviously owns the store to come pick up end tables mistakenly delivered. He came in, literally picked up the end table, and thanked us for our honesty. As he was leaving, he told us that when he had come in, he had seen a big hawk sitting up on our roof. It was just one of those times when we found ourselves asking, "Was Richard Talsma here to pick up an end table? Did he say he saw a hawk on our roof?" It was just a little bit weird.

2. Our honeymoon was a wonderful week. We had decided soon after we were engaged that we really didn't want to travel far--definitely didn't want to gamble our honeymoon fate with the airlines--and decided that since Michigan is such a great vacation spot, we'd just honeymoon in state, especially since there were some places in the UP that neither of us had visited. We did spend most of our week in the civilized part of Michigan, but for a couple of days we hit the UP hot spots. The UP is truly beautiful, one of those nice places to visit but we wouldn't want to live there. Our first night was at a hotel near Tahquamenon Falls that literally was only a few feet from the lake. It was beautiful! We walked down to the small beach early in the evening before we went to dinner--but only stayed a short time because the flies started biting us. The next day, at Whitefish Point, same problem. After wading for a few minutes in Lake Superior, we retreated. The plague hit its peak at Pictured Rock the next day. We took a boat tour, and since we were a little late, the upper deck was filled up. We decided it would be fine to ride on the lower deck since it was a little bit cool. As the boat got out on the lake, we suddenly were attacked by the flies. The crew members were out with fly swatters, encouraging passengers to go up higher because it would be better. I don't ever think I've bled before from a fly bite, but I guess there's a first time for everything.

3. It was a definite scene from a chick flick. On wedding day, a hair styling crisis and some miscommunication about ride arrangements over to the Postma Center for pre-wedding pictures left us running behind and meant that all of us girls--wedding and bridesmaid dresses on--piled into my little white Subaru for a crazy ride. I could barely breathe or sit in my dress, so my matron of honor, Julie, was the only person who could drive us there. She's from Columbus, Ohio, where flashing red lights to turn left don't exist, and found herself driving a car she had never driven to a place she had never been in her matron-of-honor dress, with Katie and Elizabeth in the backseat. You probably had to be there to fully appreciate the scene, but we somehow made it and managed to get a few pictures in once we got there.

4. Apparently, the wedding caused more drama than I realized as I reflect on the surreal of '08. The whole postage-for-the-invitations, which I wrote about last May, definitely makes the list.

5. Last spring, I took Katie on a college visit to Trinity College in Palos Heights, Illinois. Leaving her on campus with a sleeping bag and a smiling young student who would see that she found her way to the dorm and cafeteria while I made my way to a lonely hotel in Tinley Park was a little more surreal than I liked as I realized that she really was going to go to college. Hearing an explanation of costs the next day shot it over the top. But I was glad to see Katie's searching face looking (relieved, perhaps?) when I arrived the next day to meet her for the campus tour. At least she's probably a little hesitant about leaving home.

And that's just a sampling from 2008. Things like the catering bill for the reception, the fact that I'm now Mrs. Gysen and say things like, "I'll have to check with my husband," and buying clothes for Jonathan in the men's section because he goes through about a size a month also make the list. So a merry Christmas to you, and blessed new year--and, of course, many surreal moments of your own.

Top Ten of 2008

It's that time of year: the top ten lists. Top ten books. Top ten movies. Top ten sports moments. Top ten rehab attempts by sleazy celebrity tarts. Top ten Obama gaffes. So what is left for someone who wants to create her own top ten list? While I've probably read more than ten books this year (it's my job), everybody does top ten books. I don't think I've seen ten new movies, and . . . sports moments . . . Was this an Olympics year? I'm definitely tired of tarts and politics. So that leaves me with only one natural choice: top ten personal surreal moments of 2008.

In a year filled with a middle-aged bride and groom, a bachelor (now married) merging with two teenagers, and a new house, there were more surreal moments than any one person deserves to dream about. So because I don't want you, dear readers, to be overwhelmed, I will give you five to start, and five more on Monday (hopefully). Here they are, as surreal moments should appear, in no particular order:

1. So many of my top ten surreal moments were, not surprisingly, wedding related. And so something that normally brings great joy--a shopping-type activity--ended up being not so pleasant. I had finally managed to convince my dear fiance to come with me to the mall to begin a gift registry. For some reason, I believed that Kohl's would be a good choice. It seems I always find things I want at Kohl's; in fact, I rarely walk out of that store without buying something. So we went to the counter and handed over my driver's license in exchange for a scanner. After a brief explanation about how to use the scanner, we headed over to housewares to decide just what we needed to make our new home complete. This was not such an easy task since we both had pretty much everything we needed to manage a household. We would look at an item like steak knives, discuss whether one of us had a sufficient set, and, if not, check them all out to decide which one was best, and then scan. (H is at the opposite end of the spectrum from impulse shopping, which is probably why he doesn't often go to malls. It's just too much work, and he needs something more to make a decision than just that something is a great color.)This was a rather lengthy process, and probably after an hour and a half of this, we headed back to the counter with a scanner filled with our hopes and dreams for kitchen utensils and small electronic devices. I handed the scanner off to a college-age young man, who carried it over to the kiosk and appeared to be doing what you have to do to transfer information from a scanner to a kiosk. However, the expression on his face lacked confidence as he looked at us and said, "You're not going to be happy about this." "Did you lose her license?" my ever-practical H asked. But it was far worse than that. A lost license would only require waiting several hours at the DMV on a Saturday morning and a replacement fee. He had somehow lost the gift registry list that had taken us so long to compile. He offered us nothing more than my license back and a mumbled sorry. The next day I called the store manager, hoping that there would be some sort of compensation for the incompetence of counter guy. After talking with a young lady from Kohl's IT who promised that this would not happen again if we came back and gave another piece of our life to the process, the manager offered us a whopping 15 percent off coupon. As a Most Valued Customer, I get better deals than that in the mail every week. Surreal. We registered at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, where we should have just gone in the first place.

2. We opened a gift registry because several generous friends and family members hosted showers for us. The first was from the women of the Gysen family: Henry's sister, nieces, mom, an aunt, several cousins, and my mom. It was my first time meeting most of them, and it was such a nice morning. My sister-in-law, Diane, had done a fantastic job. I noticed that as I began opening one gift in particular, one of the cousins made sure her camera was aimed and ready to fire. I opened the box to discover a very teeny crocheted lingerie set--perhaps only a little too large for a Barbie. It was hilarious, but a little surreal, to see my future mother-in-law carefully looking over my gift. Better yet was when H's cousin asked, "Want me to make you one, Aunt Sylvia?"

3. Katie passing her driver's test and getting her license. Enough said.

4. Jonathan's eighth-grade class trip in early June was to Cedar Point, and H and I (not married yet) decided to go along. I asked him if he liked amusement parks, and he said not particularly--something we shared in common. I'm not much of a ride person; a surreal Tilt-a-Whirl moment in high school where I lost my lunch on my friend sitting next to me kind of made me not so excited about rides. But--for Jonathan--we sucked it up and went. And what did I learn about my soon-to-be-husband that day? He is a roller coaster fiend. He'll ride any roller coaster any number of times and like it. And for those of you out there who are scratching your heads saying, "She's married to Henry Gysen, right?" all I can say is . . . it's surreal. And I do have Raptor video footage of H and J to prove all of this.

5. And now an explanation of the pictures, another surreal moment from this summer. In August, we decided a little family vacation to Mackinac Island was in order. When you think of Mackinac, you think of romance, lilacs, boats, quaint bed and breakfasts, horses and carriages, the majestic fort overlooking the lake, beautiful trails through the woods and onto the beach. Yet for our family, Mackinac has come to mean something even more: bats. As we started to enter the shop with the hand buzzers, trick dice, and funny sunglasses, we noticed this little black creature, who was not quite sure what to do. Maybe he'd had too much caffeine or couldn't find a spot beside one of his bat friends (also pictured, doing what bats should do in the daylight), or had too much to drink, but the lady working in the shop decided to rescue him and was carrying him around (ewwww!). And then the phone rang. That is a bat in her left hand. I do think in all my years I've never seen a person holding a bat in one hand and a phone in the other. This was worthy of a Poe short story. And interesting that her shirt says, "magic?" Photos by the talented Katie Selden.

Come back next week for part two of the top ten surreal moments of 2008.

Senior Pictures . . . Then and Now

If I were back in my Freshman Composition teaching days, these two pictures could be a study in contrasts: a senior picture from 2008 and a senior picture from . . . not 2008. (I'm cringing as I type this and for the first time realize that my daughter is graduating from high school almost thirty years after I did. No wonder these pictures look so dang different! I'm feeling incredibly ancient at the moment.)

Anyway, the experiences themselves were incredibly different, in the following ways. Homeschooling friends, feel free to use this as a writing exercise; here's the outline:

1. Location, location, location: Back in the Mesozoic era in Wauseon, Ohio, there really weren't a lot of options for photographers. Most of us drove about three miles west, to the booming town of Pettisville, and were photographed at the studio of Dick and Dee. There were a few props, maybe a mirror, a desk as you see here. It was all very contained. On the other hand, Katie's senior pics (or should I say photo shoot) were all over downtown Grand Rapids, but mostly in places where drug addicts and alcoholics hang out, except early Saturday mornings when we were there. Truly--at one site, we had to kick gin bottles out of the way, and at one spot, Leda, our fearless photographer, warned Katie to stay out of the poison ivy (which I would have thought we wouldn't need to worry about downtown, but the grassy areas around some of those falling-down buildings--the best backdrop for a photo shoot--are not well tended. My photographer did not risk his life in any way to capture me; indeed, he did not break a sweat. Leda, however, stood in the turn lane at the corner of Fulton and Division to get this picture of Katie. And at one point, both Leda and Katie were lying on their stomachs in a parking lot, facing each other. Frostbite and pneumonia were definitely realities for both of them at that point.

2. Wardrobe: I wore a nice church dress, as you can see. To be honest, this was my second attempt at getting decent senior pics. In the first, I had a couple of wardrobe changes (two other nice dresses), but the end result was not good, and so I went back for round 2. Katie started out wearing jeans and a sweater, then changed to a jumper and top--complete with tights and heels--in the middle of the sidewalk on a brisk November Saturday morning. At some point she changed again--back to the jeans and a black sweater, with two different scarves as accessories.

3. Final product: I had some proofs to choose from, with the end result being this nice, old-fashioned photo of a demure young lady headed for Christian college in the fall. Katie's photographer, Leda, first posted several of her favorite pictures of Katie on her blog only a few hours after the photo shoot here (scroll down to the November 1 post for Katie). This past weekend, Leda finished all of her editing and left us with no fewer than 119 poses to choose from. Please note the caption under this particular photo of Katie on the blog: S.M.O.K.I.N. In another HUGE contrast, I have never been described as "smokin."

And there you have it: senior pics of mother and daughter from a very long time ago and 2008. If that doesn't produce at least a 500-word comparison/contrast essay, I'm not sure what will.

A Pilgrim Thanksgiving

I've really been looking forward to celebrating this Thanksgiving. It's been a good year, and there are many things for our family to be thankful for. A new marriage that all parties are adjusting to nicely, good performances by both Katie and Jonathan in school, a beautiful new home, a new church family that has embraced Katie, Jonathan, and me--more than I could ever write here. And we'll be hosting Thanksgiving dinner for family in our new home, using our new dining room furniture. Could things be better?

But it's a strange juxtaposition of events for some families in our congregation this week. We received word on Sunday morning that one couple's 48-year-old son, a godly Christian husband and father, died after a ten-year battle with cancer. And this afternoon, a dear friend who has been an elder in our church and has served faithfully on the board of Reformed Fellowship with Henry, finally was taken home to heaven, also after a long, trying battle with cancer.

And so the thought occurred to me: What will Thanksgiving look like for these families? In a time of intense suffering and the pain of loss, how will they celebrate Thanksgiving?

Probably for the same reasons and in the same ways the Pilgrims who celebrated the first Thanksgiving did it. During the previous winter, the Pilgrims' first in this cold new world, the townspeople Pilgrims, who knew little of hunting and fishing, ate five kernels of Indian corn a day per person. They read their Bibles and sang Psalms and huddled together in their little ship in blankets to keep warm. When their numbers began to succumb to cold and disease and started dying, they buried the dead in unmarked graves at night so that the Indians wouldn't know how many of their number had been lost. By the end of the winter only 57 Pilgrims and half the crew remained. Half of their party were gone. Probably every person who lived had been touched by death.

And yet months later, those that had continued living, planting, harvesting, worshiping, and laying the foundations for what would become the greatest nation on the earth--in spite of tremendous loss--established a holiday of thanksgiving to God that would continue to this day. A children's book we have says that the Pilgrims thanked God for carrying them across the sea, for keeping them through the winter, for their Indian friends, for their harvest, for living in a place where they were free to worship according to their consciences. And I'm sure those godly Pilgrims were truly thankful to God for all of those things, because they recognized them as His good and perfect gifts--gifts that enabled them to live and prosper. And yet the fact remains that most of them had not even been separated a year from loved ones who lay in unmarked graves--husbands, wives, children--leaving broken hearts that surely could not have been healed in such a short time.

And that's where these modern Pilgrims have something in common with those Plymouth Pilgrims in facing a Thanksgiving that is less than what they would have liked it to be. In spite of their loss, they know that there is something to be far more thankful for than simply the creature comforts the Lord provides, as wonderful as they are. They can be thankful that death does not have the final word, that one day they will enjoy eternal Thanksgiving with the Pilgrims who have gone on before. They can say in their hearts, "Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits--who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's" (Psalm 103:1-5).

Perhaps the truest, most meaningful Thanksgiving comes when we know just what we have been delivered from, when we realize that even gratitude itself is a gift from the One who is the giver of all good gifts, the One who provides hope in suffering and the promise that one day our suffering will be a distant memory, as all of us Pilgrims join in a forever feast.

O God, our help in ages past,
Our help for years to come,
Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.

The Library

A conversation last night with Henry led us down a path of nostalgia and back to the places I remember so fondly. I was descriptively walking him down the main street of my hometown, Wauseon, Ohio, and landed on a spot that I'm reluctant to leave, even an evening later when nostalgia is no longer the topic of conversation and the demands of a new week call for my attention.

We were actually talking about grocery stores when I recalled my childhood nirvana, that place that was better than any other. Growing up in a small town in northwestern Ohio in the sixties and seventies meant that small children could do things that mothers would never think of letting them do now. Across the street from the A&P and town post office, just a block from Main Street, was the library--a place so amazing, so quiet, so lovely--so full of books. And when I was still very small, when my mom would shop for groceries at the A&P, she would let me cross the street and visit the library, all by myself.

How could you not love a building in a small town with stained glass like this? And that was just the icing on the cake. Past the card catalog, up the creaky stairway were the children's books, protectively covered in stiff cellophane, some with scotch-taped pages, repaired by a horrified mother who hoped that the librarian wouldn't notice.

Bookshelves just my height contained favorites like Dandelion and Corduroy. And then--as I got a little older--I discovered those neglected books over against the wall, easily overlooked by children who wanted the shallow entertainment of the Bobbsey Twins and Nancy Drew: the plain, burnt-orange colored Childhood of Famous Americans books, with their simple titles in a drab brown type. A girl would definitely have to look beneath the surface to find the treasures inside, and while mom was over at the A&P picking up the bread, meat, milk, and other essentials, I was deciding which famous American heroine I would read about this week: Molly Pitcher, Clara Barton, Helen Keller, or Louisa May Alcott. Sometimes I'd even set my young feminist prejudices aside and read about Abraham Lincoln or Thomas Edison.

And then there was the day that I graduated to the adult section downstairs. In what at the time seemed an enormous room, I made my way through the stacks to my first grown-up book: Jane Eyre. Then high school made me aware of the two front rooms that contained the periodicals, where I was introduced to literary treasures like Teen and Seventeen magazines.

What a marvelous place, this old building that smelled of scotch tape, probably a little dust, ink pens, rubber stamps, and--well, if you've never enjoyed the pleasures of a small-town library, you won't understand--books.

And so I miss my little library, which is still where it was on Elm Street all those years ago, but now with additions, computers, stuffed Arthurs--and no card catalogs. I never would have dreamed back then that I would only visit it here --now a page on the Internet, with only my memories to remind me that it was a real place where a little girl learned to love books and grew up and became an editor, someone who puts books together. And even though I don't think there were any biographies of the childhoods of famous American editors, those books wouldn't have been there if there hadn't been an editor. Even Louisa May Alcott needed an editor, after all.

Creative Blogger

My sweet friend Alicia at Gavin's Voice has passed along a creative blogger award. Thanks, Alicia! If I had gotten it first, I would have sent it to you. And if you haven't checked out Gavin's Voice, get ready for cuteness. Gavin is an adorable two-year-old with gorgeous red hair. His two years of life have not been easy ones; Gavin was born with Down Syndrome and has all kinds of serious health problems and surgeries. Alicia shares the ups and downs of her experience on her blog.

But the terms of the award are these:

1. I must pass the award along to my favorite blogs.
2. I must share six things about myself that people don't know.

And so here are those six riveting details that have you on the edge of your seat:

1. I have an unhealthy need to make the bed before I leave the house in the morning. I don't even want to think about what my day would be like if I left the house with the bed unmade. I'm trying to imagine even now what circumstance might occur that would make me leave the house, bed unmade. Maybe if Henry had a really high fever and just couldn't get up. But I could always just help him move to the couch . . .

2. My first trip by air was to New Orleans probably about 1985 or 1986 when I was a graduate student at the University of Dayton. The English Department sent me to a conference on teaching English. It was quite a heady experience for this small-town Ohio girl.

3. The greatest tragedy of my grade school career occurred in third grade, when we were required to tear a piece of black construction paper into the shape of a tree. An overachiever, I hated art in elementary school because I just plain wasn't good at it. And scissors were not allowed for this particular project. I cried through recess when everyone else who was finished was allowed to go outside, and I was not because my stupid tree wasn't done. I still think it was a silly assignment. Never in my adult life have I needed to rip a shape out of a piece of paper.

4. I fantasize about being Scarlett O'Hara (mainly for the dresses). In my fantasy, the Civil War never happens, and Tara stays as it is at the beginning of Gone with the Wind pretty much as long as I want it to.

5. I'm really tired of hearing people say, "Even though I'm disappointed in the election, I'm really proud of America for voting in an African American president." The Thirsty Theologian blogger finally said out loud what I've been thinking all along in response to this:

I am not the least bit excited that Obama is black. I couldn’t care less. I don’t think this is a wonderful day in American history because we have elected a black President. This in no way indicates any improvement in “race” relations. The very fact that people are making a big deal about it proves that. The fact that vast numbers of people, by their own admission, voted for Obama because of his color, and that others who could not vote for him wish that they could have because of his color tells me that color holds a place of significance that it should not. When the day comes when people no longer speak of “race” at all, especially as a factor in making choices between individuals, then I will recognize that something important has happened. I do not think of Obama as a black man. I think of him as an extraordinarily evil man. There’s nothing exciting about that.


It probably doesn't come as a great surprise to those who know me that I'm not an Obama fan, but since you didn't know I was thinking this particular thought, I think it qualifies here.

6. And, to go out on more of a lighthearted note, my favorite local restaurant is
Rose's . . . or maybe it's Great Lakes Shipping Company . . . and I really like Mangiamo.

7. Henry and I first kissed . . . Oops! I already gave you six. Never mind!

And my creative blog awards go out to:

Julia at Kingdom Jewels for her stunning photography, witty takes on family life, her cat Leo, and because she, like me, is from Ohio

Leah at Rondo Street for her intelligent, artsy, quirky--and often humorous--ability to create interesting blog posts about things as basic as an F key that doesn't work. And because, like me, she reads theology. (It's not just for guys!)

Congratulations, girlfriends! I'm looking forward to learning six new things about each of you!

An Open Letter . . .

To Mr. Obama:

The people have spoken, and you have been chosen to be the next president of the United States. You should know that I did not vote for you, and I am disappointed that you have won this election. My disappointment has nothing to do with your race. I didn't not vote for you because you are black. My choice transcends issues of race and heritage.

I am a white, middle-class woman who is about your age. I'm well-educated, with a master's degree in English that I earned from the University of Dayton in Dayton, Ohio. I grew up in a small town in Ohio, where we left the doors to our houses and cars unlocked when we left them. We were that safe. At my high school graduation from the town's public high school, a local pastor led in prayer and then gave the address to the graduates. One Easter, in a public school assembly, I was asked to sing a solo. I sang a song called "The Day He Wore My Crown," a song about Christ dying on the cross for my sin and all that means for me and other Christians. You may wonder what any of this has to do with anything, but these are the things that shaped me, and our nation has moved far away from the things that have shaped my life. Your administration promises to move this country even farther away from the things that have shaped me, and while many would see this as progress, I see it as a loss of freedom, and this concerns me, since I am a citizen of the "land of the free and the home of the brave."

But most importantly, what shapes me is my Christianity. Before I am an American, before I am even a wife, mother, or book editor, I am a Christian, a follower of Christ. And this shapes everything that I think or do. I abhor many of the principles that you stand for. I believe that the blood of the millions of infants that are killed each year because they are an inconvenience to the mothers who have conceived them cries out to God from the ground, and He is offended. I believe that it is wrong to take money from those who prosper to give it to those who don't have as much so that they can experience "fairness." You call this taxing the rich. God calls it stealing. I believe that God has established marriage to be between a man and a woman. God tells us in His Word that same-sex relationships are unnatural, shameful, and degrading. You have told us that you want to enact legislation that would, in essence, thumb its nose at God and His requirements for our lives. It isn't a good way to start off a new presidency.

What you need to understand, Mr. Obama, is that in the end, you are simply God's instrument. All men are like grass, God tells us, and that includes you. "The authorities that exist have been established by God," the apostle Paul tells us under the direction of the Holy Spirit. Whether you believe it or not, you will become the president of the United States because God has placed you in that position. I have prayed throughout this campaign, as have many I know, that this would not be the end result, but we have to add, "God's will be done."

But now that we know that this is the will of God for the United States of America, I and my family will pray for you as God would have us to--that you will lead wisely, justly, and in what is truly the best interests of our country. We will also be praying that God will change your heart. You say that you are a Christian, and yet many of us remain unconvinced because of the values you hold, the associations you have. So we will pray that you will truly know the power of the gospel, because there is no greater power. It is the power of salvation for all who believe. And if you do know that power, you will lead with true justice, power, and compassion.

There will be a day when the unborn will no longer be killed, when men will not relate unnaturally to other men and women to women, when poverty and hunger and disease will be eliminated. But the Messiah who will bring these eventualities to pass has already accomplished this. He is the only One who could--there is no other. You are not a messiah, Mr. Obama, and yet you have encouraged your supporters to believe that under your leadership the government will make them happy, pay their mortgages, and put gas in their tanks. The environment will be perfected, and all will experience equity and prosperity as you redistribute the wealth of the nation.

You've made some large promises, and there will undoubtedly be many who will be disappointed when you don't succeed. Perhaps that disappointment will make them realize that hope placed in change, in a person, in a government and its policies--is misplaced hope. The hope that is never misplaced is hope that is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness. I pray that you will cling to that hope as you lead our nation.

So although I am disappointed today that you will be our next president, I am not defeated. More than being a citizen of the United States, I am a citizen of the kingdom that is forever. God's truth abideth still, whether you promote it or seek to squelch it. Just a bit of advice, though, from an average citizen--those earthly leaders and nations that seek to promote God's truth generally fare better than those who seek to squelch it. You might want to use the time before now and January to consider and study that. A good place to start is with the rulers Saul and David in 1 and 2 Samuel in the Old Testament. They illustrate these principles well.

I have my doubts about you, Mr. Obama. I have not been impressed by your charisma, your rhetorical skills, or what I have perceived as a general lack of integrity in your character. But my trust is not in chariots, horses, or princes (there's that conservative Christian Bible stuff again). I trust in the name of the Lord our God, and He will accomplish His purposes. For reasons that are far wiser than I could even begin to understand, He has chosen to accomplish them through you. It will be an exciting ride watching how God uses you to accomplish His will on earth, as it is accomplished in heaven.

I will leave you with this, Mr. Obama. Psalm 1 tells us that the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners is blessed. The one who delights in the law of the Lord is like a healthy tree planted by a river that produces fruit and does not wither. You might want to read Psalm 2 to see what God thinks about rulers who take their stand against Him. In that psalm, God warns the rulers of the earth to serve the Lord with fear. May we all serve that Lord with fear that we may be blessed by taking refuge in Him.

Sincerely,
A Concerned Christian American

The Birthday Guy

~wedding photo by LVL Photography


This is Jonathan a few birthdays ago, and the striking young man pictured here is Jonathan as well at nearly age 15. In one picture, Jonathan was considerably shorter than I am. In the other picture--and he's grown since then--he's several inches taller (a good thing). In honor of Jonathan and his birthday, here are a few interesting things about him:

~Jonathan's birth date is surrounded by some very interesting events. He was actually born ten days past his due date. Every day that he was late, I would pray, "Please, God, let him come today," except for one--October 31. On that day, I said, "God, he's already this late. Let's hold off for Halloween." I didn't like the looks of a future of juggling trick or treat and happy birthday. And Jonathan--ever cooperative and fairly inattentive to time--held off till November 3 at 1:23 am, lover of order that he is. Another significant event is Reformation Day, also on October 31. So while our thoughts turn to Martin Luther, John Calvin, and the blessings of the Reformation, those thoughts are quickly followed by thoughts of Jonathan's birthday. And, of course, election day sometimes falls on Jonathan's birthday. Interestingly, Jonathan has a great interest in candy, history, and politics, maybe because of the timing of his birth?

~Jonathan's favorite food is a cheeseburger (plain), his favorite candy is Butterfingers, and his favorite color is green. His favorite fast food, however, is not a place where he can get his favorite food. When Jonathan and his grandpa (one of his favorite people) need a junk food fix, they head south of the border--Taco Bell.

~Jonathan's favorite activities involve electronics--mainly his grandparents' Wii and things computer related.

~Jonathan has definite right-wing leanings, politically speaking. If he were old enough to vote, he'd be voting for McCain/Palin. Along with his favorite political commentator, Rush Limbaugh, Jonathan frequently asks questions like, "Why would anyone want to raise taxes?" He is often listening to Hannity's radio program while doing his homework when I arrive home from work. He also wonders how anyone could be supportive of a candidate who promotes abortion rights. Me too.

~Jonathan's favorite subjects in school are history and Bible history. Name an obscure Old Testament personality or event, and he'll tell you all about it. He can also converse at length on World War II.

~Jonathan's favorite movies are the Star Wars sagas. His favorite sport is NASCAR. And if you want to argue that NASCAR is not a sport, take it up with him. I dare you.

And just to prove how mature Jonathan is at 15, he's doing his homework, right now, at 9:45 pm on his birthday, even though a new Wii game sits quietly on the coffee table, just waiting to be tried out. He has celebrated this evening with family at a restaurant of his choosing, and he's opened his gifts and put together the new Star Wars Lego droid battleship he received, but he's learning--as we all do--that age is accompanied by responsibilities. He has been given a special dispensation, though, to stay up a little late to try out the Wii game--when his homework is done.

Happy birthday, Jonathan!

Through the Storm: A Book Review

"Tell me again why you're doing this?" my husband asked after I just read to him yet another passage of a book he has absolutely no interest in. Doing what? Reading Through the Storm by Lynne Spears, mother of Britney and Jamie Lynn. The answer to that question goes back to late September, when Thomas Nelson CEO Mike Hyatt announced on his blog that the first 200 bloggers to respond would receive a free copy of the newly released book.In return for the complimentary copy, bloggers would agree to read and review the book on their blogs. It was a project that involved a free book, reading, and writing. How could I resist? I have to admit that as someone, too, who works in Christian publishing, I'm curious about how campaigns like this one work for big publishers like Nelson and how we might be able to adapt a similar strategy at our own house. So it just seemed like a good thing to do.

Honestly, I have very little interest in Britney Spears. I'm familiar with only two of her songs, and I know something of the drama of her life from the past couple of years because when I check my AOL email account, the headlines and pictures flash before me. I first learned about Britney Spears from my daughter Katie, who was probably about junior high age the first and last time we discussed Britney together. I think there was probably a sound byte on TV, and I asked my little girl if she knew anything about this teenager who had become such a sensation. "I don't like her, Mom," Katie said. "She's not nice."

So this was my introduction to Britney Spears. And I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't just a little bit curious to find out what Lynne had to say. In the introduction to the book, which Lynne wrote with Grand Rapids writer Lorilee Craker, she tells the reader: "It's the story of one simple, Southern woman whose family got caught in a tornado called fame and the aftermath. It's who I am, warts and all, with some true confessions that took a long time to get up the nerve to discuss." She doesn't share any "dirt" on her kids--and she doesn't--and her other purpose is to let us regular people peek into the lives of the rich and famous for a reality check, so that we can see that the other half doesn't necessarily have it made.

I knew that already.

We get the background on Lynne, who grew up in rural Louisiana, the daughter of a WWII veteran/dairy farmer and the lovely war bride that he brought home from London after the war. There really isn't anything remarkable about Lynne's upbringing that would foreshadow the chaos of her future famous life. She married the local basketball star, Jamie Spears, who had already been married. Her parents weren't happy with her choice, and she ended up eloping. Perhaps the future apples didn't fall far from the tree?

Lynne became pregnant almost immediately with Brian, the oldest of the Spears siblings and probably the least well known. It was in her accounting of the events surrounding her pregnancy with Brian that Lynne first gives a hint of what is to come in her discussion of any of the problems that occur down the road. In the grand scheme of things, what she describes seems to be a minor event, and yet I found her description interesting and telling.

Her brother had been working on the farm and was badly injured. The pregnant Lynne was the one who drove her bleeding, moaning brother to the emergency room. It was raining, the roads were slick, and as Lynne rounded a curve, an oncoming car was coming in the left lane. She could also see two boys riding their bikes in the road, and she sensed that she would hit one of them, that it would be impossible not to: "One boy managed to get his bike out of the way, but his friend, a twelve-year-old boy whose house was right by the scene of the accident, was hit." The boy died.

What I find interesting is the passivity of Lynne's description, and this reactionary thinking seems to be her approach as her marriage ends in divorce, Britney's career spirals out of control, Britney emotionally and psychologically falls apart, and teenager Jamie Lynn gets pregnant. In the margin of the book where I was reading, I wrote, "Did she hit him?" I can't imagine the horror of being responsible--certainly accidentally--for a child's death. And that seems to be what has happened here. But the odd sentence construction--the boy was hit--seems to suggest that even after all these years, Lynne still can't bring herself to say, "I hit him."

And life for Lynne and her family goes on, and the book does with it. Jamie starts drinking, and his alcoholism, of course, has a bad effect on the family and the marriage. One of the big questions I had coming into this book was how in the world Britney--or any child--becomes a rock star. I especially anticipated the chapter, "Why Did I Say Yes?" And the answer is very simple. Lynne tells us she said yes because "I wanted to help my daughter make her dream come true." And here I don't see Lynne as that different from other parents I see around me who drive their children from one sports event to another, from one music lesson to another, activity after activity until family life becomes a distant memory--because it makes them happy. But I think that if my little girl had come to me and said, "Mom, I want to be a pop star like Madonna or Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston," I probably would have said, "Sweetie, you're a smart girl. Why don't you go to college, get a degree, and then we'll revisit the whole pop star thing." Or I might have sat her down and had a big long talk with her about the emptiness of fame, money, and celebrity and how that particular goal doesn't line up well with my hopes of her becoming a faithful Christian woman.

But Lynne chose another option: entering Britney in local competitions and taking her to try out for the Mickey Mouse Club and Star Search. And it sounds like while Lynne was helping pursue Britney's dream, her oldest teenage son was motherless at home with his alcoholic father, and I'm guessing her lengthy absences probably didn't do much to buttress their failing marriage.

It's quite believable to me that Lynne Spears has not been a stage mom, one of the misconceptions that she seeks to clear up in her memoir. It's definitely not her style. Again, it sounds like she reacts rather than taking control, and this led to bad situation after bad situation. How did 17-year-old Britney end up scantily clad in Victoria's Secret type underwear on the cover of Rolling Stone? The photographer showed up at the house to take pictures, and before anybody knew it, he was in Britney's bedroom with the door shut. Lynne figured he was in there taking pictures of Britney with her stuffed animals and posters, but when the agent finally insisted on going in, they all found Britney sitting on her bed in a bra and hot pants. Remember--this is Rolling Stone magazine, not Seventeen.

And on it goes. Lynne is similarly shocked and devastated years later when teenager Jamie Lynn comes home pregnant. One more episode showed for me what seems to be the cluelessness of Lynne Spears. Around the time of Britney's famous breakdown, a nasty character named Sam Lutfi appeared out of nowhere. His first encounter with the family was when he called Lynne to tell her that Britney's ex, Kevin, and Britney's assistant were conspiring and had planted drugs at Britney's house. In a panic, Lynne and the assistant search the house but find no drugs. A while later, when Sam calls again, instead of hanging up, Lynne tells him that they found no drugs. Then Sam offers her a job selling cubic zirconia jewelry on TV. When that falls through for ambiguous reasons, she still considers getting involved with him when he tells her he has a shoe endorsement deal for her daughter, Jamie Lynn. That one, not surprisingly, falls through as well. Lynne and a friend still remain connected with this character when he tells her that he can connect them with an agent for the friend's son, which--surprise!--doesn't work out. Eventually Sam gets his tendrils around Britney, and it ends up taking a court order to get him out of her life. I 'll just let this incident speak for itself.

There are some nice moments. I'm moved by Lynne's relationship with her sister, Sandra, who died of cancer about a year before the book released. They obviously had a loving relationship, and Lynne writes of her sister in a way that is tender and sweet. And I was glad to see at the end of the book that Lynne talks about the things that she wishes she had done differently, mistakes she personally feels she has made. One of the things she wishes she had done differently was she wishes she had taught her children the importance of living a daily, consistent Christian life style.

The book is interesting in the sense that People magazine is interesting to me for a brief time while I'm getting my hair highlighted and am sitting under the dryer. The voice of Lynne comes through, and so congratulations to Ms. Craker for not overstepping as a co-writer. At times the chronology of events gets lost in Lynne's ranbling reflections, and I wonder what order events actually happened in. The history student in me would like a few more dates. It seems that there is an assumption on the part of the writers that all of us have followed Britney's career and the lives of the Spears so closely that we know exactly what they are talking about at any point with little or no explanation.

While I think there are valuable things we as a culture could learn from this family's experience, I don't think we'll learn it from reading this book. I really didn't need to read a cautionary tale to realize the emptiness of the modern celebrity lifestyle. But the problems are far deeper than Lynne realizes, more than an aggressive force of papparazzi or greedy people who take advantage of the vulnerability of celebs. So I'll keep waiting for that celebrity memoir that will tell us that we'd all be better off serving others with our talents rather than seeking the momentary adulation and shallow successes that seem to be the goal of so many in twenty-first-century American culture.

Suffering: A Gift?

While suffering is ever present on this earth, sometimes we're more aware of it than at other times because it touches us a little more closely. Right now, two families in our church are going through some especially difficult trials involving cancer. One couple's adult son has relapsed with a cancer that was initially diagnosed nine years ago, and a risky surgery has not produced the results they had hoped for. Another man, a dear friend of Henry's that he went to high school with, is now on hospice care; he's been battling cancer for some time now, and it seems that the cancer has become more aggressive in recent months. He's suffered horrible pain. While a recent surgery seems to have helped with the problem of the pain for the moment, his doctor offers him little hope that his life will last much longer.

Recently, I was talking with the mother of the adult man who has had such a disappointing relapse, and she was telling me about her son's great faith and how he had been encouraging her to trust in God's providence. She shared with me that in spite of all the difficulties, good things were happening for their family, too. I told her that when my first husband had been diagnosed with leukemia, a minister friend of ours had made what seemed, at the time, a startling statement. In fact, it made me angry. He told us that suffering was God's gift to the church.

At the time, I couldn't see how any suffering could possibly be a gift. I had just buried my 20-year-old sister in 1990, and now, in 1995, my husband was being treated for leukemia. I was facing the possibility of being a 33-year-old widow with two babies to raise alone. For me, suffering was a curse; there could be no possible value in suffering.

And that is one choice we can make when suffering enters our lives: We can allow it to drive a wedge between ourselves and God, to distance ourselves from Him, the One who has provided an ultimate solution for suffering. We forget that there is One who has suffered a far greater agony than we could ever know so that one day our suffering will be completely, finally ended . . . forever. I know about this choice because it is the one I made, sadly, for a long time. It doesn't result in peace or contentment. Thankfully, God did not leave me wallowing in that abysmal choice.

This recent brush with suffering has made me think again about how suffering is a gift to the church. Of course it affects us as individuals, and if the Holy Spirit is using suffering in our lives to produce fruit, we will come to the place of the first beatitude in Matthew 5: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." The poor in spirit are those who recognize their inability to do anything for themselves; they understand their complete dependence on God. And when suffering does its work, you come to a point when you realize that all you have that can be counted on is God's presence. But you also come to realize that His presence is truly all that you need and that without it, nothing else would really matter.

Isaiah 43:2-4 speaks beautifully of this gift of God's presence: "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned . . . For I am the Lord your God . . . You are precious and honored in my sight." And why is all of this true? Verse 1 tells us why: "I have summoned you by name; you are mine."

I came to a greater grasp of these truths after walking a path of suffering. And because I've been through the waters and the fire (and will undoubtedly experience them again someday), I know they won't destroy me because God is with me. That is the realization that God's gift of suffering produces. And the other result I hope it produces in me is that now I can serve the church in a better, more mature way. I know the importance of weeping with those who weep, of praying for God's strength and comfort for them, of encouraging them to keep on going, even though the waters are deep and the fire is hot.

Suffering is certainly not a gift that I wish for--for myself or for others. And yet it is necessary for our refinement, for our understanding of who God is and who we are--that we are not our own and could never find the way out of our suffering by ourselves. The conclusion of it all for Job is this: "My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you." And having seen Him, we see ourselves and our utter weakness and inability to help ourselves. Then we can come to a beginning of our eternal thankfulness for our Immanuel, "God with us." And in gratitude, we join with our brothers and sisters in their suffering, so even though God is with them, they have the earthly comfort that we are as well.

When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient,shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.

Heirlooms

Since earlier this spring, I've been devoting some time to emptying a house--a task that is tiring, emotional, and even rewarding at times. It needs to be done. I'm afraid that while I haven't wanted to be a pack rat, single parenting and working at jobs outside my home left me little time for doing anything beyond what absolutely needed to be done, so doll houses, train sets, Christmas ornaments, outgrown clothes, books, and ever so many other things seemed to accumulate in the basement of what we now fondly refer to as the Coleman house.

As I sort through the stuff of four people's lives, deciding what is important enough to keep and what can be discarded, I find myself thinking about an old Amy Grant song from her first Christmas CD (one of my favorite Christmas CDs):

Up in the attic (for me--down in the basement)
Down on my knees
Lifetimes of boxes
Timeless to me
Letters and photographs
Yellowed with years
Some bringing laughter
Some bringing tears

Time never changes
The memories, the faces
Of loved ones, who bring to me
All that I come from
And all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious family
Is more than an heirloom to me

These lyrics sum up the experience well. I've found many letters and cards from people that I haven't thought about in years; sometimes I have to reach way back in my memory to remember who they were, what they looked like, and why they sent a card or letter. Cards and notes written in my sister's and grandma's hand bring quick tears and a realization that no matter how many years pass, I still miss them terribly. I even found a note I had typed to my best friend, Julie, when I was in typing class in high school; she had sent it back to me in a letter at some point.

And then, just last week, I found a box full of high school memorabilia--pictures, newspaper clippings, judges' sheets from music competitions, and even the certification that I passed driver's training. But perhaps this picture represents the biggest high school memory of all--my starring role my senior year in the Wizard of Oz.

People in small towns like Wauseon, Ohio, where I grew up, get pretty excited about local high school sports events, choir and band concerts, and the annual musicals. A person rising to the spotlight in one of those venues quickly gets an inflated sense of her own importance when everyone in town recognizes that she, Ted Walborn's daughter, is Dorothy and her picture appears with the rest of the cast on the front page of the local paper.

But there's always something to bring even small-town celebs back to earth. A couple of days before opening night, the cast gave a practice performance for the elementary school students. I woke up that morning feeling kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West after Dorothy threw water on her or the Tin Man before he was oiled--you get the idea--a combination of late nights, not eating well, and nerves, most likely. When the curtain opened to reveal Dorothy's house relocated in Oz, Dorothy didn't appear. She was in the bathroom, backstage, throwing up. It was not a shining moment.

The good news is that I went home, went to bed, rested, and recovered for opening night. If I hadn't already been receiving enough attention, this bout with sickness put it over the top. I got more well wishes and bouquets than most small-town high school lead actresses ever get. My fame was probably extended an extra five minutes because of the sympathy factor. It was quite an experience, quite a time--my twenty minutes of small-town fame.

And as I place this event in the context of my life, I say, with Dorothy, "People come and go so quickly here!"

Just a Nice Story

If you're at all like me (and some of you may be--just a little), you're tired of campaign '08 news. You've probably read enough stories about the failed economy, caused by the Republicans/Democrats/George Bush/global warming/Britney Spears/__________ (fill in the blank). Maybe you're sick of the shallowness of a culture that evaluates nearly everything on the surface, and if you hear the word "poll" one more time, you just might scream.

This is your lucky moment. If you just want to smile and feel good for a few minutes (I've actually smiled several times today as I've thought about this story), then read this story about Kristin Pass, a special homecoming queen in Dallas, Texas. Trust me--while I'm not normally a fan of the whole homecoming queen scene, this is good. I guarantee that you will smile, and some of you might just want to have a tissue handy to wipe away the happy tears. Thank you to Tim Challies at Challies dot com for linking to this story on his blog. It made my day!

The Wedding Picture Display

One of the goals I hoped to achieve in wedding planning was to retain certain traditional elements of the wedding ceremony while throwing in a few twists. I wanted people to walk away saying, "That was different, but I liked it."

The wedding picture display was not an entirely original idea, but it was one of those things I hoped would set our reception decor apart a little. I had heard of a wedding where the bride asked guests to send in a picture from their own wedding. She turned the pictures into posters and hung them up in the reception hall. I hadn't actually thought about doing something like that until I met with Sharon, who manages the Postma Center, where we had our reception. She encouraged me to have something in the foyer that would let everyone know as they arrived that they were in the right place: the Selden/Gysen wedding.

I love pictures as a decoration, so it occurred to me that I could ask some close friends and family members to lend me pictures of their weddings, nicely framed, to put on display on a table in the foyer. The result was more beautiful than I could imagine, thanks to the creative skill of my extraordinary reception coordinator, my sister-in-law, Zella, whose lovely wedding picture with my brother as groom was on the table.

Among the display photos was this one of Henry's parents. I also had a picture of another Dutch couple, the Postmas, from the Netherlands in the 1940s, I'm guessing. Of course my parents' and grandparents' pictures were there, along with good friends' pictures from the sixties, seventies, eighties, and nineties.

And it couldn't have been easier to coordinate. I asked participants to bring their pictures to me at work or church, framed (the more variety, the better), and then told them to take them with them as they left the reception. An easy idea that worked out well, and hopefully gave my guests something to enjoy as they wandered through the foyer. Thanks again to everyone who helped me out by letting us decorate our wedding with pictures of theirs. It turned out to be a great tribute to love, weddings, and brides and grooms!

Joy of the Father

It would seem that one of the many important questions that has emerged from this whole 2008 political campaign is how can and should a woman serve? Can she retain her femininity and be a strong player in the decisions and brokering that go on in the White House or the Senate chambers? Can we appreciate a woman who breaks the barriers and enters the arena of what traditionally, and especially in conservative Christian circles, has been the domain of men? What exactly does God call women to do, and how does He use them in history to accomplish His purposes? Where may they serve, and where may they not?

Two weeks ago, I rediscovered Abigail. I'd heard her story when I was a child and would see her name as I read through the Old Testament in later years, but it isn't one of those "big" Old Testament stories like Adam and Eve, Noah and the ark, David and Goliath, and Daniel and the lion's den, that gets much air time in the Sunday school curriculum. But our pastor, who is preaching through the life of David (and as someone who develops book ideas for a living, I can't help but think there's a great book in this sermon series), explained her role in such a beautiful way, that I've now come to admire her as one of my favorite women--even better than Sarah Palin and right up there with Ruth.

Abigail is one of those great women who affected lives and history--and yes, politics--not by being pushy or fighting for equal pay or even using her looks to get ahead. She rose to the fore by serving, by being wise, and just by being what God called her to be. Quietly tucked away in 1 Samuel 25, Abigail, whose name means "joy of the Father," is married to Nabal, a rich and powerful man whose name means "fool." Samuel has just died, and all Israel mourns his death. David, pursued by Saul, has moved into the Desert of Maon.

In the previous chapter, David had had an opportunity to kill Saul, and yet he spared his life. He's tired of being on the run, cut off from family and from corporate worship, literally fleeing for his life from a madman whose main purpose--despite the fact that he is king--seems to be destroying David. Into this story enters Abigail, who is described as intelligent and beautiful (my favorite feminine combination), and Nabal, who is "surly and mean in his dealings."

In his desperate, emotionally weakened state, David sends some of his men to provide protection for Nabal and his shepherds, hoping that Nabal will then provide a reward. When David's men propose this arrangement, Nabal shows his surliness, insults David and his men, and refuses them food and drink.

David is angry immediately, and he gathers his men and their swords and sets off to have his revenge. Bear in mind that this is the same man, who in the last chapter, has shown great strength in refusing to take revenge against Saul, a man who has made it his life's work to destroy David. Now he is ready to risk his reputation on Nabal, a fool, for simply refusing to meet David's demands for supplies.

From Nabal's servants Abigail learns of what her foolish husband has done. We're told that she loses no time in secretly pulling together a generous amount of food for David and his men. As she travels up the mountain, she meets David coming down, who has sworn not to leave any of Nabal's men alive. Abigail knows the importance of her mission. She believes that David is the Lord's anointed, that he will one day rule over the nation as king. She even makes reference to David's encounter with Goliath, when she reminds David that the lives of his enemies God "will hurl away as from the pocket of a sling." (Note: she's familiar with political and military history. And she's also aware of the Lord's promise to David, and she believes in its eventuality.) She knows that she has just prevented David from doing something foolish and rash, from damaging his reputation. She understands that she is God's instrument as she tells David, "the Lord has kept you from bloodshed and from avenging yourself."

David recognizes Abigail's wisdom. He immediately praises God for her good judgment, that she has kept him from bloodshed and vengeance. This future king understands that this woman has affected his life in a significant way: she has kept him from doing something wrong, something that would call his judgment and reputation into question; as our pastor pointed out, Abigail, in this sense, has become David's savior.

And the story ends well. It's hard to imagine that a smart woman like Abigail could have been happy and fulfilled being married to Nabal, a fool. Abigail bravely tells her husband what she has done, he has a heart attack, and ten days later "the Lord struck Nabal and he died."

And you probably know the rest. The fool's wife, who is anything but a fool and has saved David from becoming one, becomes David's wife. And to those who would claim that women in Old Testament culture were simply insignificant, unimportant, of little regard, would do well to look at how God used a beautiful, intelligent woman to counsel the man after His own heart, to preserve his reputation so that he could become a successful king who would lead his people to prosperity and would be the ancestor of the greatest King of all.

Wedding Moments: The License

So many bloggable topics--the economy, politics, King David's wife Abigail (a future post)--but we just got the CD and rights to all of our wedding photos last week, so for me, this is definitely much more interesting than either the economy or politics and less time consuming than Abigail for now.

This is one of my favorite shots, because when I see it, all of the memories of that moment come back to me. I had come up with the brilliant idea of having our guests greet us out on the lawn of the church rather than have a traditional receiving line, and I had encouraged my wedding party and some of my guests that I knew well to head on over to the reception rather than stand around outside. But it ended up being a beautiful evening to be outside, so guests did linger.

After they had all headed over to the reception, someone reminded us that we needed to sign the license. Julie, my matron of honor, had already gone to the reception, but my minister, his wife, our best man, our photographer, and Henry and me, of course, remained behind to go into the council room and sign the license. While our guests were enjoying punch, fruit and vegetables, cheese and crackers, and, apparently, some of the warm food, we waited as my pastor's wife filled out--by hand--three copies of the marriage license, which Henry and I and our best man then signed.

We were excited, tired, hot, hungry, and giddy with happiness while we waited for Bev to finish writing. At one point, Henry reached over and grabbed my hand, and our photographer, Leda, quickly snapped this shot. Most of the pictures that feature my hands don't look very nice; we had just moved the week before, and my knuckles were scraped. This black and white shot doesn't show the scrapes, and it captures one of the happy moments of the day.

New Scenes from the Next Act

Scene 1: A mom, dad, and son are taking a walk through the neighborhood on a beautiful evening in late summer. The three clearly enjoy each others' company--talk, teasing, and laughter ring out in the crisp evening air. The question of speed arises; both the dad and the son want to increase the pace, while the mom lags behind at her leisure. The combination of teasing, laughter, and testosterone results in a foot race, with the dad and the son speeding down the street toward the corner at the end of the block, laughing all the way as they urge each other on. The two reach the corner and put their arms around each other in an embrace--father and son in a fellowship of maleness that the mom can only watch appreciatively from the wings, where she's actually happy to be.

Scene 2: Mom and Dad are working together in the home office, he at his desk and she at hers. It's dark now, well into the evening, and the mom realizes that the daughter, who just got her driver's license, should be home soon from Madrigals practice. Almost as soon as Mom has this realization--as she checks her watch--she hears Daughter come in from the garage; she runs up the stairs and bursts into the office. "You should see this piece of music! It's amazing! Have you ever sung this in choir?" Even though the mom has some past choir experience herself, she knows this question is not addressed to her; it is addressed to Dad, across the room. Mom looks over her shoulder as Daughter and Dad together look at the music. Dad recognizes the composer and pulls out a CD with a performance of that very piece. Mom joins the two--Dad and Daughter--yet remains in the wings as they listen together to the amazing piece of music.

Scene 3: Mom comes in from work. It's been a long day. Dad greets her at the door with a hug and kiss and then tells her the son's principal has called. It's only the second week of school, and already there has been an issue. Dad describes the conversation he had with the principal and then the subsequent conversation he has had with the son. He believes the son has heard and understood and will work on doing better. While the mom is concerned for her son--that he get off to a good start, that he behave in an appropriate way, that he make new friends in his new school--she is reassured that Dad has managed the problem well, that things will improve. And she realizes that all of this happened while she was offstage, unaware of the developing plot line, uninvolved in this particular scene at all.

Scene 4: For several days now, the mom has stood in the background--preparing dinner, doing dishes, taking care of the laundry--while Daughter and Dad have made plans for her driver's license test. Since Dad is available, he will take her to the appointment. Some time passes, and it is the day before the test; Mom hears Dad and Daughter making final arrangements: what time he will meet her at school, at which door he should pick her up, whether the non-functioning wiper on the rear window will disqualify her from her test. The next day arrives, and Mom realizes that at this moment, a short while before lunch, Daughter is taking her test with Dad seated in the backseat. Mom returns from lunch and opens an email from Dad, telling her that Daughter has, in fact, passed. Later Daughter tells her that when she learned that she passed, Dad gave her a hug, told her that she'd done a good job--"you know--the dad thing," she explains.

And while for most audiences, this doesn't sound like very exciting drama, this stuff of everyday life, these are the scenes that thrill a mom's heart. This mom, who has always been right at center stage, playing both Mom and Dad, now at times actually gets to observe, from the wings, the development of characters as they interact with one another, playing off one another's strengths, seeking to improve points of weakness. She happily relinquishes her role as Dad to one who isn't just playing one but one who is one, as though he had been all along, one who carries off his role seamlessly, with great skill. It's hard to remember a time when Dad wasn't part of the cast, even though he's only been introduced recently in this next act. And Mom enjoys having the scenes that have been played out in her absence reenacted, retold, relived. It's nice to know the plot can continue to unfold, even without her direct involvement. It is hard to always be "on," at center stage, in the heat of the spotlight. And while she would never give up her integral part in this sometimes drama, sometimes tragedy, often comedy, it is with great relief and with thankfulness to the Master Director of this story that Mom welcomes this new cast member, with all her heart, to this new act.

All the Days

You created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well . . . All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. ~Psalm 139:13, 16

One of the issues that has come to the forefront since Sarah Palin's nomination is the huge percentage of Down syndrome children that are aborted. I read today the heartbreaking statistic that 90 percent are aborted. Of course Baby Trig Palin has shown the world how beautiful he is and how much his family--and all of us--would have missed had his parents made that awful choice.

But before Trig, I knew how beautiful Down syndrome children are because of Gavin. He was born with Down syndrome and serious heart defects. Since birth, he has had five surgeries, numerous hospitalizations for months at a time, and a stroke that has made his future development a big question mark for his family. His parents did not know before he was born that Gavin had Down syndrome, and I know that they are faithful Christians who would never have considered ending Gavin's life, but they have galliantly risen to this surprising challenge and cared for and loved him with faith in and thankfulness to God. They see Gavin as a blessing, in spite of the difficulties they have all faced in his little life.

Our church family has cheered as Gavin first simply lived. And from there we have rejoiced as the seizures that once frequently troubled him have stopped. He hasn't been hospitalized in nearly a year. And he has learned to smile. What a gift from God!

Gavin is two today, a birthday celebration his family hasn't always known they would be able to celebrate. So celebrate life; the unique way God creates each one of us; the ways He uses to teach us gratitude and love for one another; brave parents like Gavin's mom and dad and the Palins, who hold tightly to their little ones with one hand while clinging to God with the other; and celebrate Gavin and his smiles and the way God shows us His strength in our weakness. Happy birthday, Gavin!

And if you want to see just how cute Gavin is, and just how much progress he has made, check out his mom's photo show here.

Are We Feminists?

Lots of interesting discussions and even debates have emerged among Christians with Sarah Palin's nomination to the vice-presidency. It is difficult to not be engaged in the conversation, whether at church, the office, or my mom's birthday dinner celebration. But the tension that many conservative Christians are feeling over all of this was most clearly verbalized at a dinner party we attended Saturday evening with several couples from our church.

We had finished dinner, and our hostess asked if we would like to watch a Fox News special about Palin that was airing right then. We agreed that we would, and we gathered around the huge screen to see what new information we would learn about our heroine, Sarah. A little background on the couples: The hosts are two working professionals with no children; the wives of two of the couples are work-at-home, homeschooling moms with several children each whose husbands work outside the home; and us--with me holding down a full-time job outside our home, Henry expecting to do the same in the near future, and two teens.

Everyone in the party was expressing excitement and enthusiasm over Sarah, with her conservative, no-nonsense approach to politics. We watched the special, which gave background on Palin, her upbringing, her early experiences in politics, and her interactions with her family (the next installment Sunday night would cover everything up to the nomination). After the program was over, one of the work-at-home moms asked the big question: Have we become feminists? If the Democrats had nominated a mother of five with a special-needs child to be vice-president, would we be more critical?

And I'll answer as I did that night: I hope not. For me, a woman who works outside her home forty hours a week, it would be hypocritical to answer otherwise. And I suspect that the question really being asked is how can we be supportive--even enthusiastic--about a woman with young children at home, one of whom has special needs--who accepts such huge responsibilities that presumably take her out of the home for a number of hours of the day. Shouldn't women with children be working at home--regardless of circumstances? Isn't Palin's greatest responsibility--indeed, obligation--to be at home tending immediately to the needs of her husband and children?

These are the questions I had to deal with when I was, in a sense, forced out of my work-at-home role when, as a widow, I became the sole financial provider for our family. And I found a meaningful and, I believe, biblical answer to this problem when I read When Life and Beliefs Collide by Susan Custis James. Her understanding of roles for women is based on her study of the word used for helper in Genesis 2. The Hebrew word that is used, ezer, most frequently refers in the Old Testament to God, as the helper of his people. In some instances it refers specifically to women, and in some uses, it has a military connotation, which suggests that the type of helper here is extraordinarily strong, one who fights alongside.

James points out that the word used here is generic; it defies coming up with some kind of official list of specific responsilities for women. And while James acknowledges that tasks such as companion to a husband, childbearer, mother, homemaker, and supplementer of family income certainly are important responsibilities that fall under the idea of being a helper, the word actually refers to much more. If these were the only legitimate responsibilities for women, many women wouldn't be able to fulfill the calling of woman: single women, women who are unable to bear children, women who are disabled, women whose children have grown up and left the nest. The other thing that James observes about the Hebrew word for helper is that it is often associated with military might.

James comments, "Working [outside the home] women . . . are condemned for having skewed priorities, for having turned their backs on their home for selfishness and greed. Some have even blamed them for the moral decline of the country. Recently, an advertisement for a book on Christian parenting listed indicators that our culture has 'rejected biblical standards of morality.' It named 'working mothers' first on that list . . . Such statements devastate godly working mothers who . . . are pouring themselves out for the sake of their families. We forget that historically women have always worked alongside the men and that selfishness, greed, and poor parenting are pitfalls for either sex, no matter where we spend our time."

So I don't see myself as a feminist because I work outside my home and because I applaud Sarah Palin and hope that she will be this country's next vice-president. I would agree that in many instances, families are best served when mothers take seriously their tasks at home as wives and mothers and when their life circumstances allow them to serve in this way--but working at home doesn't guarantee a mother will do her job well any more than a mother working outside her home guarantees that she is neglecting her family. And even though the vast majority of this culture (even many Christians) would not understand this, I would not be supportive of Palin's (or any woman's) becoming an elder or deacon in her church. (That's a place where God has specifically spelled out roles and functions, and we must not play fast and free there.) But if Sarah Palin and her husband have agreed that they can together meet the needs of their children and she can serve her country in this way with the obviously extraordinary talents, abilities, and qualities that God has blessed her with, then who are we to question? We Christians must be on guard not to create moral tensions that don't exist. We can be wholeheartedly thankful that God is still calling people like Sarah Palin to serve her country with integrity and strength without feeling like we are compromising moral principle.