Just a Little Off

I got a phone call from one of my daycare dads the other day. During the course of our conversation, he mentioned that his son (Joshua) had been singing the song 'Joshua Fought the Battle of Cherry Coke'. I had to admit- that was my fault. Sometimes I change the words a bit in my attempt to be the 'fun mom'. My daughter declared that in order to be the 'fun mom', I really needed to try harder, and that she considered me the 'embarassing mom' more often than not! Some may percieve my lyrical morphing as sacriligious. I also like to sing, 'God of Grace and God of Lori' (It makes me feel like He's my God alone!)

Okay- maybe its not right. Maybe I should be more serious about my faith. I tend to be a little silly. I've been caught dancing in the kitchen in my Happy Feet Slippers, radio full blast once or twice by a daycare parent who then seriously questions my sanity or whether or not the dosage of any medication I might be on has been messed with. I've been known to make faces at my husband over a candelight dinner- complete with beaded gown and tuxedoes. John was less than appreciative. I thought he should be grateful I hadn't shoved anything up my nose, and that the cross eyes were for his viewing only.

Despite my lack of reverence for such things, I DO take my faith seriously. I do believe with all of my heart. I do know that I am saved by grace, and not by works. I do believe that God sacrificed His most precious gift as an offering for us....the most undeserving lot of characters to exist. I DON'T take that lightly. I revel in my relationship with Jesus Christ, and I guess that joy just bubbles out of me in inappropriate ways at times.

I know my faith is a journey. When I look at my footprints in the sand at the end of my time, I hope they seem a little crooked here and there to indicate that I was hopping and skipping and dancing with Jesus. My Savior can lead, and I will be wearing my Happy Feet Slippers.

*I recommend everyone get a pair at www.buyhappyfeet.com. I don't know how to add links- so you may have to cut and paste it! Sorry. I claim to be fun- not smart!

Emily Rose

As an avid movie goer, I hardly ever choose the genre of horror. When a Christian friend invited me to see 'The Exorcism of Emily Rose', I reluctantly went. She didn't seem the type to enjoy horror either, and she assured me that it was supposed to be good. Since I knew nothing about the movie, and I trusted her judgment, my choice was to join her. I was not disappointed.

Now don't get me wrong....I'm going to have nightmares. There was an awful lot of screaming and face melting and such. It would be hard to produce a movie about demonic possession without that, but the storyline was good. It seems a certain innocent, God-fearing girl became a home for a multitude of demons. She was mis-diagnosed with epilepsy, but medication didn't seem to evict the violent episodes she was having. In the end she died, and the priest who tried to exorcise the demons was put on trial. He stood fast with his attorney that he wanted to take the stand. He wanted to tell her story, even though he knew to do so would secure his fate behind bars.

This man faced a long prison term in order to convey the testimony of Emily. It seems that in her final days, after the exorcism had failed, she was visited by Mary herself and was given the divine choice to be released from her pain and enter the gates of heaven, or to suffer to the end. Her sufferings would mean that many would be brought to Christ. She chose to suffer. She knew that in her pain, others would find healing. In her darkness, others would find the light. In her torture, others would find solace.

How many of us are willing to make that sacrifice? If you had seen the Hollywood depicted pain of this woman writhing on the floor in anguish, would you choose to soldier on? Could you lay awake at night wondering if you'd be pinned to your bed and attack those you loved without provocation? Could you stand to walk down the street never knowing if the next person you see would start screaming in your face at the volume of an AC/DC rock concert? Can you stand to endure the suffering you are going through right now in order to use it as a testimony and a witness to those who have endured similar crisises in their lives? If given the choice, would you walk away?

God calls us to suffer for Him on occasion. His son surely suffered a far greater pain for us, and we are much less deserving of that sacrifice. So the next time PMS grips your interior, or you feel like spouting pea green soup, think of Emily Rose and the choice that she made.

A Joyful Noise

At a church retreat, a woman once asked me how I knew all of the songs that we were singing since many of them were so new to her. I remarked, "Oh- many of them are new to me too!" She raised her eyebrows and said, "Well you sing them loud enough!"


Sometimes things just smack you right upside the head. Apparently, my singing voice was not melodious. It was just LOUD. I've never claimed to be able to carry a tune in a bucket. I love to sing. I just don't do it well.

My husband did tell me one time that , "You could be good someday if you'd practice." Thank you honey. I practice all of the time. I sing in the kitchen when I drink my morning coffee. The first thing I do is turn on my contemporary Christian station when I wake. I dance doing the dishes. I sing in the shower, and watch out if I'm actually in the car alone with the radio! I'm sure the people sitting next to me at the light wonder if I have some sort of nervous disorder that contorts my face in a rhythmic fashion.

I know my voice does not inspire angels. I'm not sure if I actually lulled my children to sleep when they were babies. I think their slumber came from a desire to escape the reality that they were not mobile and could not get away from me, so sleep was the only other clear option to save themselves.

Fortunately for my family and its pride, the other members are musical. My husband claims to have won some singing awards in his youth and I love to hear him harmonize as he stands next to me in church. My daughter is learning to play the piano. My son is taking guitar lessons at the ripe old age of 6 and my stepdaughter has inherited some musical ability from her mother and plays some instruments.

As I belt out the praise songs in church on Sunday mornings, I do so, NOT with skill, but with joy. When I close my eyes and lift my hands, it is not because I want to be the next American Idol. I want to worship my Lord with all my might. I lose myself in the music.

Over the years, I have thought about seeking the guiding council of a trained musician so I could make my tone and pitch more acceptable to the human ear (and the canines would probably appreciate it too!), but then I realize that Jesus doesn't care. All He requires of me is desire. All He wants is ALL of what I have. He doesn't ask for me to come to Him in perfection. He only asks that I come.

So- when I dance up to the gates of Heaven, belting out the music that is welling up inside of me, I will bring Him the gift of my love, the gift of my heart and I might even sneak Him in a set of earplugs!

Loving the Unloveable

(I'm back...)
It is my nature to love the unloveable. As a teenager, the TV series "Beauty and the Beast" was popular. Linda Hamilton (of Terminator fame) was a woman who fell in love with Ron Perlman who had the face of a lion. He lived in a subway and they carried on this tender romance and connection. At the time, my mother told me I was like her character and would love a man who others did not see as typical. As a teenager, I didn't understand, and I'm sure my mother was not prepared for the prophecy of her words when I called home at 22 to announce I was marrying a man who was in prison.


It was a hard call to make since I had been raised a 'good girl' and the choices in my life were usually well thought out and in line with what Mom and God wanted for me. I had begun corresponding with this man as an act of kindness. I was single and alone and living far from home. When I was asked if I would like to write to this man in prison, I thought, "Sure. I could take a little time to brighten someone's day." At this point, I had told my mom and she jokingly said, "Don't fall in love with him!"

Imagine her surprise when a mere 3 months later she was helping me plan a jailhouse wedding. I was able to invite 10 people, and my family was gracious. As weddings go- it wasn't typical. We had pictures taken with a Polaroid, our wedding cake was from a rotating vending machine, my flowers had to be searched and my 75 year old grandmother had to be frisked by a burly prison guard (she claims she didn't mind!)

The day was beautiful. If it hadn't been for the razor wire around the 'yard', you would never know we were in a minimum security facility on the west coast of Michigan. I was SO happy. I know I would have to wait for my groom for at least another year and a half to come home, but I didn't care. We were so in love. He was just a guy who made a mistake. I didn't excuse him for that. I loved him for the man he was at the moment. I loved the fact that he was taking college classes and getting a 4.0. I loved him for his knowledge of the Bible. I loved him for his work ethic. He worked full time in prison for a mere pennies an hour. He loved me and appreciated me. He wrote me volumes telling me so. He wrote me poetry and used his limited resources and imagination to surprise me with special gifts...like a ring woven from his own hair that fit my finger exactly because he had sneakily measured it on one of our almost daily visits. He made me feel like a princess.

When he finally DID come home, 2 1/2 years later, he was not that same man. He was scared of life. He was intimidated by the freedom he had so desperately desired. He couldn't cope. We were young and we were worldly. I didn't make wise choices and that hurt him. We hurt each other. We divorced.

I was asked many times after we split if I regretted my time with him. I always answered, "NO!" Without our circumstances, I would never have known how strong I could be. I wouldn't have a clue about commitment and dedication. I wouldn't have ever been loved like that. I wouldn't be able to sympathize with those in our society who were not raised in the privilege I had known (even though I didn't realize it when I was growing up!) I also know that I brought to his life a light and a hope that good people do exist. That had never been his experience. He was raised in a horribly dysfunctional family unit and had faced every imaginable horror that could befall a child. I hadn't ever had to live with those fears.

Society saw him as unloveable, much as we are viewed in that regard in the light of our sin. By those standards, we all fall short. We are all facing charges when it comes to our daily life. We all make unwise choices. Some of us make choices that seem more obviously wrong than others, but technically, they are all the same. All I can say is that I am glad that God chooses to love the unloveable!