I have seen the look on many women’s faces, the pain and emptiness of wanting children but not being able to have any.  Tonight, I can’t sleep, wanting to yell to the Lovely Lady, the Bride of Christ:  This is true barrnenness, to have not made disciples.  Just the other day, I heard another new mom say to me, “I never could have understood what it meant, until I actually had her (the new baby)…”  The power of that transformation is forever and undeniable, and nothing could ever take that new mommy and daddy back to childlessness without utterly wracking their souls.  They probably would rather die than be childless again.

For more than 25 years of my Christian life, I was utterly disconnected from this command of the Savior, to go and make disciples.  The crazy thing is, I had no idea that I was.  Strangely. it never occurred to me to ask myself if I had ever made a disciple.  It wasn’t that I meant to miss the fundamental purpose for my being on the earth.  Once again, STRANGELY, it just didn’t occur to me.  Even looking back I can’t explain it.  I don’t know that I ever thought about it, but if I did, I guess I thought that somehow that was the function of the church, to disciple people.  You know, like evangelism equals inviting people to an evangelistic event, discipleship must equal inviting people to attend church.  No, make that a small group.

Just as no parent in their right mind would think a school could substitute for his and her love and discipline, hoping the message on Sunday applies directly to Johnny Appleseed’s life and that he will somehow achieve sanctification and maturity without any intentional development is just plain bonkers.

This is a painful story to share, but it displays just how disconnected I was.  In college, while overseas, I led a roommate to the Lord.  Well, I invited her to church with me, and there she (I thought) received the Lord.  I cannot remember now how clearly I ever articulated the entirety of the gospel, giving her a chance to believe and repent.  I don’t remember if I explained how to be born again to her clearly enough that she could articulate it to someone else.  I shared much with her, in bits and pieces.  I shared scriptures with her, as things came up.  I was extremely attentive to her, and I loved her with all my heart.  I took her to church.  I was a devoted friend, and I did the best I knew how.

Fundamentally, I also abdicated the commands of the Lord to a body who was never supposed to carry them.  The little branch of a branch of a church plant with 20 or so excited young believers that represented “where I went to church.”  I think she did begin to follow the Lord, but I never took responsibility for the newborn baby who’d been placed in my care.  I was reactive to her, like a friend to an orphan, but I did not take her in.  I did not consider the foundation that needed to be laid, oversee her development, pray her through to the other side, or even know that I should consider doing any of those things.  I thought that the church did that.  She was utterly unprepared to return to her spiritually dead home after our year overseas together and no longer follows the Lord at all, as far as I know.  I still cry out for mercy on her behalf, that God would send someone to do what I did not.

As I said above, discipleship is like parenting, in many ways.  One, there is a joy in it that will change you forever, and an empty barrenness in a life devoid of it, whether that is recognized or not.  Secondly, it is the filling up of your spiritual home, the lines of your eternal generations, your inheritance forever and ever that will go on to bear fruit long after your body is dead.  It is fundamentally what we are made for, and life without it is a dull form of misery.  There is no thrill like discipling someone hungry for truth, nothing like speaking the faithful words of scripture and seeing confusion turn to clarity, despair to hope, brokenness to wholeness.  When you disciple a woman whose never known a loving family, you may have changed the future of her children from agony to health.  And her children’s children, and so on, and so on.  When you rescue a young person from secular social justice and teach them the gospel, you may have just opened a gateway for thousands to come to salvation for all eternity, rather than getting fed for a few years.  Discipleship is true ministry.  Every other form is a shadow or facet of it.

Discipleship is what Jesus did.  It cannot be done by a church or by a small group.  It is person to person, requiring sacrificial love and faithful truth pouring out from the discipler and some humility and hunger from the disciple.  It is utterly simple in concept, and utterly impossible in practice except by the empowerment of the Spirit.  It has a bad reputation for having been done so often in the flesh.  It cannot be done by a teacher from the podium.  That is nice, but it is not discipleship.  It is a shadow, because it requires little love from the teacher, and little humility from the student.

Just like that new mom who “didn’t know” until she did it herself, I didn’t know who I was until I began discipling.  Ladies who’ve run with me know that the joy it fills me with literally makes it impossible for me to sit down while I share the Word.  They may not know that I find it impossible to pray for their wounds without weeping, impossible to speak hard truths without shaking, impossible to watch them fall without aching, impossible to stop loving them.  Discipleship is hard, for sure, like parenting.  I have been resented, resisted, and at times, totally rejected.  AND I do not regret one minute of it.  Probably most of the occasion was given by my own (blundering) mistakes made along the way.  Either way, I could not stop wanting any one of those ladies to win, no matter what.

I’m telling you the truth, you don’t know who you (in a good way!) are until you are discipling. It’s what we are made for.  I’m so addicted that I have to get up in the middle of the night and try to disciple the cyberworld through a blog.  Maybe I’ll be able to sleep now that I’ve had a heart to heart with the Beautiful Bride here on ojandsuz.com.  :)  So go make some disciples, teaching them everything He commanded us (Mat. 28:19).  I guarantee your prayer life will go through the roof, your maturity and sanctification will accelerate, your humility will skyrocket, and your joy will be full.

Finally–I’m SO THANKFUL to those who have discipled me!  Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

Next time some erring evangelical caught in scandalous sin pulls the “David and Bathsheba” card, take a moment to clarify that David paid for his sin with the death of his child.  Though he was ultimately atoned for and forgiven, God’s judgement for David’s outrages still came down, and his son died.  David’s reaction:  to rise up, wash, and worship God.  David considered God merciful, knowing he deserved much worse.  He deserved to lose everything, and was thankful for his light sentence.

Also, David’s repentance followed his sin being revealed to him in private, not to the public.  That’s just called “getting caught.”  This is in contrast to folks who, upon getting exposed, compare themselves to David to explain why  they should not lose standing almost in the same breath as they express their regret.  This is not repentance.

There is no self-pity or self-preservation in true repentance.  Only worship at the mercy of God for not giving out the full measure of wrath that is deserved.  So when you hear someone grasping for their kingdom with one side of their mouth as their druel and self-pity drips from the other, please release King David from this posthumous association.

Hey, church.  Let’s acquaint ourselves with biblical repentance.  Our salvation depends on it. 

And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord. Luke 1:17

When I was in college , I sung an oratorio by Mendehlssohn called Elijah. Three hundred plus singers, a jawdropping baritone in the lead, and a full orchestra (I was just one of the three hundred, definitely.)  We only performed it 2 or 3 times, but I wept every time.  Rehearsals preceded it for months.  Three hours of scripture pinned to staff and bar by a rare genius.  I can still come to tears just mulling over some of its moments in my heart.  Like when the whole frantic choir cries out full volume to Baal, to be met with total silence.  Or when we sang through the earthquake, the tornado, and the fire, only to finally hear His voice in the still quiet.  Or when Elijah shoots back with the authority of God at King Ahab after his whiny accusation that the prophet is a pest to Israel, NOT I, AHAB, BUT YOU… YOU TROUBLE ISRAEL.  Your sin, your compromise, your false peace and promiscuity leading these blind and foolish people down to death.  YOU TROUBLE ISRAEL.  Moments of pure triumph, even though he was one against hundreds of thousands.

Just memorizing the songs (scripture verses), God would confront me.  When the children of Israel cried out to Baal, I was shaken up at the fortissimo infidelity, and wondered about singing the words myself when it dawned on me that they were truly supplicating a demon.  (I determined this was okay as I would not myself be speaking to said demon.)  I remember sharing my consideration with a friend, who looked at me with a mocking look, and said, “Or maybe they were just talking to a carving?”  This friend was, as were most of the students at my excellent Christian college, mostly unfamiliar with the Bible.  But I was too immature to realize that and just felt stupid at the time.

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom…  Ps. 111:10 I guess I could probably think of a lot of times that fearing God has made me feel very stupid in company.  Anyone who fears God can.  But God does not have an agenda of rescuing us from that situation.  On the contrary, He’ll let them come to drive out the fear of man.  Fear of man and fear of God are like oil and vinegar.  They don’t mix.  I tried really, really hard to do it, especially in college.  Picture your hand on the bottle of House Italian about to drench your salad.  I shook that hard, but it still didn’t last.  The question for that friend and most of the church is simple, “Why do you put forth opinions about anything when you don’t know what God says?” It’s an honest question, not a rude one.  “Doesn’t that scare you?” Back in college I couldn’t have asked the question, because it presents a test that I was failing at the time.  I loved the Lord, but my fear of God level was looking low next to my “love His grace” and “thankful for His blessing” gauges.  Saved, but frequently stupid.

Note:  fearing God is not the same thing as fearing breaking the rules.  This is why folks sometimes known in our culture as “fundamentalists,” can be so extraordinarily unwise, as can folks who work the hardest, strive the most, or seem the most ardent for God.  But immature people will often defend their compromise by pointing to the religious as if they’re proof of the foolishness of zeal.  God’s equations always prove true.   Don’t worry about how hard someone seems to serve God.  If they truly fear Him, there will be wisdom.  If there’s a lack of wisdom, there’s a lack somewhere of the fear of God.

“Doesn’t that scare you?” I recently overheard a man postulating about homosexuality and the church at my gym.  While I worked out, I read Ps. 119.  Ps 119 is super repetitive, just perfect for a born fool like me.  Or didn’t you know?  Folly is bound up in the heart of a child… Prov 22:15a.  One thing you can be sure of every person you meet, they were born a fool.  And they still are, except where the discipline of the Lord has driven it from them.  This is something you already know if you’ve read Proverbs.  I may sing, shout, sway and pray, but if I hate the discipline of God and ignore His precepts, I’m just a fool gonna live foolish.  This explains a whole lot of church (the wise amongst us will say to ourselves, “This explains a whole lot of my life.”).

Here is the other thing that explains a lot of church.  The rest of Ps.  111:10:  “…a good understanding have all those who do His commandments.“  This is why many students at excellent Christian colleges can be so unfamiliar with their familiar Bibles, and why seminary can be so wholly unproductive.  You don’t gain wisdom by merely reading or even studying the Bible, but by doing it.  In other words, if you don’t come to it already bowed low in your heart, fearing God and forcefully subjecting your thinking to His, you won’t get much out of it.  You can faithfully read it for years, but still be as foolish as when you found it.

Back to my story.  I was reading Ps. 119, thinking about this guy’s personal thoughts on gay church-goers which he was making public, and shaking inwardly for him.  I had a picture of a Bible, dusty on a shelf in His house, in a version he couldn’t understand.  “Isn’t he scared to spout opinions with no idea what God says?” He was not scared.  Not at all.  I was grappling.   How could he not be scared?  My heart was broken for him.  About my age, and already a failed marriage and a toddler girl he and his ex throw back and forth, and still spouting ungodly opinions like he had something to say.  And the perfect answer sitting unconsulted on His shelf.  This is the plight of the fool.

Lest anyone be concerned that I somehow think myself better, I have to tell you the truth.  I majored in foolishness.  No, literally.  If we could define foolishness (or one glaring aspect of it) as thinking you have something to say while willfully ignorant of what God’s said, then I really did major in foolishness.  I was a philosophy major, and even in my immature state of shaking the salad dressing, even I picked up on a few problems during my time in that esteemed department.

Number one problem:  it was understood that only stupid people accepted authority of scripture as establishing anything as true.  Sure, that was fine for a catechism, but we are thinkers and this is not sunday school.

Number two problem:  most of the people in the department were personally obnoxious to some degree due to their superiority complexes or social ineptitude, or became so with every year advanced in study.

Number three problem:  in the esteemed intellectual laboratory, all faith was placed in our own human abilities to lead us to the right conclusions.  The concept is that if the thinking is challenged rigorously enough, this must work.  Except that once again, we are just our own human standard.  Just as the alpha male monkey who struts his stuff inside the cage is still only comparing himself to other monkeys, while two year olds make fun of him just outside the glass.  Augustine and a few other Christians on the shelf knew our minds were not supreme, but as students we were not taught this, but to study them and then determine if they were right.  See the conundrum?  Why not just wear t-shirts saying, “I am God, except while I’m in church”?  If only the Philosophy department had one foundational class that explains the Biblical concept that pride equals foolishness, maybe people wouldn’t waste their lives searching after something their own heart condition guarantees they will not find.  But then maybe there wouldn’t be a Phil department left; I don’t know.

AAAAAAAAuuuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  The tragedy of spending hours, months, years reading, studying, poring over the thoughts of ungodly, unsanctified, (many of them) God-hating fools (Ps. 53:1, Ps. 14:1), and neglecting the WORD HIMSELF.  It stirs me to, well, to cry out for wisdom.

³¹ The ear that hears the rebukes of life
Will abide among the wise.
³² He who disdains instruction despises his own soul,
But he who heeds rebuke gets understanding.  Prov.15

Oh, God, send the righteous rebukes my way!  I long for your wisdom.  I long to obey, but my thoughts are futile apart from your instruction.  Send me truthspeakers, send me wise leadership, open up your secrets to me!  And then clarify my mind, in the Spirit of Elijah, to tell the truth in the face of the compromised, undiscerning, confused Christianity that proclaims peace without obedience and forgiveness without fear of God…

¹⁶ But to the wicked God says:
“What right have you to declare My statutes,
Or take My covenant in your mouth,
¹⁷ Seeing you hate instruction
And cast My words behind you?
¹⁸ When you saw a thief, you consented^[a] with him,
And have been a partaker with adulterers.
¹⁹ You give your mouth to evil,
And your tongue frames deceit.
²⁰ You sit and speak against your brother;
You slander your own mother’s son.
²¹ These things you have done, and I kept silent;
You thought that I was altogether like you;
But I will rebuke you,
And set them in order before your eyes.  Ps. 50

My son, if you receive my words,
And treasure my commands within you,
² So that you incline your ear to wisdom,
And apply your heart to understanding;
³ Yes, if you cry out for discernment,
And lift up your voice for understanding,
⁴ If you seek her as silver,
And search for her as for hidden treasures;
⁵ Then you will understand the fear of the LORD,
And find the knowledge of God.
⁶ For the LORD gives wisdom;
From His mouth come knowledge and understanding…  Prov 2:1-6

“Judah is a lion’s whelp.”  –Jacob, Jewish father

We can relate.  Jacob had 11 other sons to take care of, which is something for us to keep in mind in our particularly tired moments.  Judah David is like several tons of explosive force packed into a 35 lb. body.  He’s the only person I know with a barrel chest and chubby cheeks.  He was born ripped and ready to go.  The adventure does not stop from the moment he wakes up and yells, “Daddy, get me BREAKFAST!!!”  Don’t think we haven’t worked with him on the bossiness factor, we have.  And he’s doing great at getting it.  But giving orders comes as naturally to this guy as breathing.  If we had his DNA analyzed, I think it would come back X-Y-B-O-S-S.  We have conversations about “Who’s in charge?” at least four times a day.  For years now.

It’s a trip to spend the day with someone who cannot verbalize even the smallest detail without speaking emphatically and throwing in a few extra decibals, but also needs tons of hugs and kisses.  “Mama, when I’m BIG I’m gonna go to PRESCHOOL and be with ARIEL???”  Yes, and we might have to give the other kids some earplugs.

Parenting him has been more educational than I could have imagined.  We’re committed to keeping his force intact, while equipping him to submit to authority as forcefully as he can lead others.  I understand many dynamics we’ve come across in prayer for people so much better.  For instance, for many young men we have prayed for, rejection from dad and manipulation from mom were major forces for distorting the design God had for them.  I have more understanding for how that happens.  Trying to shape his force is intensely challenging. (As I write this, Judah has brought over a little lawn chair and set it up on the couch to watch the truck video I have playing on the computer screen.  “No, Judah, that is not safe.”  He has tried to play drums on my head.  “No, Judah, we don’t drum on Mama’s head.”  Followed by kisses on my head.  He tried to watch the movie a little longer, then experimented with barrelling his head into my side to see if he is strong enough to push me to the side.  “Hey, Judah, let’s pause the movie.  I need you to push those big wooden chairs across the room.  Thanks, Buddy!!”)  It requires me being more forceful than him, without any loss of tenderness.  Not more forceful in volume or selfishness, but in certainty and authority.  It doesn’t come naturally to me, and hugely stretches me.

Note:  From the time Samuel came home from the hospital, Judah has called him “BAMuel.”  Why?  Probably for the same reason he calls himself “BEEF.”  You can say it loud and strong.

And the truth is, while I get stretched to walk in my authority, it’s ultimately simply not enough for this young man.  Shaping him requires the big guns…he needs DAD.  He needs Dad to be intensely interested in him, insistent on his obedience, devoted to his cause, and consistently disciplining without any anger.  Last night, we had a freedom class in our house with some amazing people of God.  OJ asked the question of the men in class, “Which of you had someone, a father or discipler, who said to you, ‘I see who you are, the unique greatness of your design, and I am going to walk alongside of you and fight everything that would block it, to make sure that you walk into it fully?’”  I don’t think we’ve ever asked that and received an a confidently affirmative answer.  Most parents (great parents!) are just trying to keep their little warriors from burning things down, so the parenting emphasizes reigning in, reigning in, reigning in, rather than harnessing and empowering.  Even though many men have had wonderful Dads, this fullness requires such wholeness from Dad, it is rare on the earth.  It’s something that has to be received first, in order to be given.  So the lack of it is a self-perpetuating cycle.  But this is what God will restore to those who are hungry for it.  Mal 4

Before Judah was born, the Lord told us that he would be extremely forceful, drawn to power, and very driven.  I remember at seven months telling our pastor, “He seems so mild.  Maybe we heard wrongly.”  They wisely said to wait a few more months because you often don’t see the personality until age one or two.  And sure enough…wow.  We also heard that he would have a hero’s heart and want to follow his daddy everywhere.  Now, I know that’s true of all boys to some extent, but I have never seen anything like this little guy for needing his Daddy.  In the night, I can’t comfort him.  Since he was a small baby,  it has had to be Daddy.  He doesn’t speak about “Daddy,” but about “MY Daddy.”  “Where’s MY Daddy?”

For me, this has brought single parenting into a whole new light.  (Update: In the last paragraph, I told Judah not to jump in the crib while Samuel is laying in it, not to to “pat” Samuel’s head that hard, and not to throw the rubber blocks at him, as 8 month olds cannot catch.)  What would I do with Judah without DAD?  What would Judah do without DAD?  The thought instantly clarifies the horror of the injustice.  A Judah without a Daddy is like a pistol without a safety.  What would a single mommy do?  Only one choice:  disarm that thng.  The same effect can be in place in a two parent family, if Dad’s walking in passivity (which, having prayed for hundreds of people now, I can confidently say is a CHRONIC problem).

Sometimes I am completely at a loss.  Panic approaches.  I’d better reign him in now, lest the grumpy lady at the grocery store say, “Can’t you keep that kid quiet?”  How can I possibly contain this little force?  Without the wisdom of God, I would turn to what sometimes seems like the only option.  Even the strongest little guy has a God-given “weakness” for the women in his life.  Think of Samson.  Women manipulate their men and/or little men because it works.  It sneaks into discipline so easily.   “Think of how that makes Mommy feel.  Look at how exasperated I am.  Look at how hard you just made my life.  Can’t you just…???  You had better do that now, or else I will…”  I confess, I have done it.  Ick.  But it distorts the little developing soul, and creates an iceberg of buried anger that is not easily melted in the rebellious teenager, numb young man, or insensitive young husband who is passed to his new wife to sort out…  Thank you, Jesus, that it is so easy at two to say, “Judah, Mommy is SO sorry.  Will you forgive me?”  Bye-bye, iceberg.

Excuse me for a moment.  “Judah, don’t lay on Samuel.”

Sometimes, well-meaning folks get frustrated with Judah.  Sometimes even on our behalf.  They see his force and misinterpret it.  Or they see his sin and rightly interpret it, without eyes to see what he will become with careful discipleship.  Or they think our discipline should have made more progress by now, and they could do it better.  This is a very simple way to bring out the lionness in mommy, although she is old enough to gulp down her growls.  Sometimes I just want to ask, What do you think Winston Churchill was like as a child?  Or Abraham Lincoln?  What about Simon Peter?  Great men always make a stir, and it’s gonna be a pretty messy stir when said great man is two.  And yes, we could do better.   But God is faithful to people who are desperate, and cry out for his help.  We are not joking when we talk about “carpet time.”  Prayer life with a lion cub is very, very real, and the fruit or lack thereof is no mystery.

But God has been faithful to hear our noisy cries.  While we often have dark circles under our eyes, inside you’ll see a bright sparkle.  Having a boy?  Without hesitation, we’ll spill all over ourselves to tell you from our experience with a lion cub…”THEY’RE SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!!!”

Judah at 18 months - a video from the vault.

This may be a cheesy name for it, but I’ve been thinking for the past couple days about this assignment, which I take with the utmost seriousness:

⁴ “Listen, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. ⁵ And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. ⁶ And you must commit yourselves wholeheartedly to these commands that I am giving you today. ⁷ Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.  Deut 6:4-7  (NLT)

So…my job is to figure out how to get As Much Scripture As Possible into my kiddos.  Thus, “Mission: AMSAP.”  At home, on the road, going to bed, and getting up.  That pretty much covers it.

Someday I’d like to write more deeply about this, about the hope of raising godly children and the promises of God over our kids; it’s a deep passion of mine.  But tonight, I’m just going to ask for help on a very practical level.  I know I’ve got some mommy friends out there (Hi, Kates and Carrie!), and we’re all searching for ways to write the word of God on their little hearts.  I heard a woman speak so practically a few weeks ago, with a bunch of materials displayed at the front of the room.  But get this!  She wasn’t a ’speaker’ or a ‘presenter,’ she was a mom who had done it, raised fiery kids brimming over with the Word, and her “display” was the dogeared books that she’d read her kids for years, CD’s and movies from her home collection.  And I took notes like MAD!  That wasn’t just valuable to me, it was a goldmine.  One of her ideas was to put on CD’s of the scripture (starting with the adventure stories of the OT historical books) for her boys every nap and nighttime, when they were little. So simple!  She used a production read by actors using the New LIving Translation called Bible Alive. So Ariel got a CD player for Christmas!

The point is, the practical stuff is gold.  So I’ll share what I find, and please share with me what you find!!!  I’ll provide updates on Mission:AMSAP periodically if there’s something worth sharing.

If you began to read this blog hoping for wild adventures in travel and evangelism, and feel tricked into reading a preschool periodical, I apologize.  This is currently my main mission field, although not our only mission field.  Three little disciples who share our last name and penchant for verbosity…  This will not be the only adventures in travel and evangelism we have to share, but in this season, it’s our forte. But if you’ve ever met Judah, you’ll agree that the adventures are still pretty wild.

On that note, I was trying to find some new music today.  Scripture songs.  You know you love ‘em!  I’ll bet most of you will start humming the same tune I am as I write these words:

“This is the day, (this is the day) that the Lord has made (that the Lord has made), I will rejoice…

Okay, so maybe that little ditty doesn’t bring back the remembrance of transformational encounters with the living God, but His word never returns void, so even if you learned that in the basement of a veteran’s hall with sheets hung on clotheslines to separate the sunday school classes by age (a window into one of my childhood church facitilities), that truth will never ever die for all eternity.  And any day we actually choose to believe it immediately is instantly transformed.  How about that for a nursery rhyme?

So today I was searching for nice (free, I’ll admit it) downloads of scripture songs for kids.  It didn’t go so well!  Here’s a sample of what I found:  01_behold_a_virgin_shall_be_with_child_mathew_1-23.

Umm…didn’t go over real well with the munchkins.  In fact, I couldn’t get them to even listen.

But then there’s the Bentley brothers.  I can’t peel the kids away from this, and it cracks me up, too:

They’re on a fabulous site called jellytelly.com, produced by Phil Vischer of Veggie Tales fame.  The Fabulous Bentley Brothers are making songs for every book of the Bible, and they always start by listing the previous books, as you’ll see at the beginning of the clip.  My niece Glorie’s been watching these for a while, and now recites effortlessly the book order.  And she’s two.  Once again, GOLD!

So I’m searching for gold, friends.  I’ll throw out one more thing that I love, and then leave you to hit the comment form or shoot me an email with your finds.  Here’s my favorite children’s book.

I cry every time I read the kids Blind Bartimaeus’ story out of this book.  Getting emotional right now, just thinking of it.  in fact, I can’t think of a better source for a closing line.
“…But best of all, Bartimaeus saw Jesus.”

Nighty-night!

OJ let me have a nap today, and so I’m up late.  So I thought I would relieve some of you who still have “What’s the Name of that Song?” stuck in your head by replacing it with something better.  I started looking at some videos of a hero of ours, Keith Green.  Here’s one that I loved.

Themes in the videos?

1.  Crowds of young people with joy on their faces.

2.  An artist at the piano.

3.  An artless preacher.

4.  Power.

5.  Did I mention the crowds of young people?

I was watching, nearly druelling…how, how, how can we reach thousands of young people?  How can we reach them?  How do we get them rushing to worship together in every city in America?  How can the gospel go out like that?

I had to laugh at this interview.  The poor host…he can’t seem to engage in what KG actually says.  He seems to want to talk about everything but what Keith keeps talking about–the Gospel and obedience to Jesus Christ.  It’s funny, but also not.  (poor paraphrase follows)

KG:  “I preach the Lordship of Jesus Christ.  People are going to church not even realizing they’re not saved.”

Host: “I just love that you’re back in town!  It sure is fun how you communicate!”

KG:  “So we’re supposed to little Christs…the show is easy.  But whether I preach Jesus on streets and live it out at home is the bottom line.”

Host:  “So…you’re Jewish, eh?”

It struck me while watching these videos (as someone who longs for a radical revival among youth in America and around the world) how simple it was.  I was only just born for most of Keith’s ministry, so these videos are precious windows into that time.  With all our crazy efforts, here’s what struck me about Keith from these videos.  He was dead long before his plane went down.  Dead to himself.  The music was an extension of a pure life laid down for Jesus.  The power flowed and the young people came.

When Keith died, he was on the verge of doing a tour around the West coast, recruiting for world missions.  He had personally asked the Lord for 100,000 missionaries to go into all the world.  He died right before the tour started, but Loren Cunningham and Keith’s wife Melody decided to go ahead with it, playing a video of Keith’s last concert, in which he called the missionaries to go.  I once heard Loren say that many more than 100,000 ended up going.

Lord Jesus, where’s the Keith of our generation???  Final thought:

The bad news keeps rolling in.  There’s enough bad news to depress me and a hundred Richard Simmons look-alikes for years.  It’s true.  Has anyone else noticed?  I shudder to be detailed, but consider the previous three posts to be just the beginning.  I won’t comment on a bailout that has yet to be fully read by…anybody? though already voted in.  Worldwide economic crisis.  What’s an economic crisis if you’re already…well, here’s an eye-opening video.  I read a statement by Britain’s minister of conservation (may have that title wrong, but the guy in charge of the government’s ecology department) on the responsibility we have to reduce global population, basically calling it criminal to have more than two children per family.  That’s our old pal Britain, folks, not China.  Ms. Pelosi aligned us squarely with that sort of thinking repeating “NO apologies!” to G. Stephs about using the stimulus package to reduce federal costs (of healthcare and education) through funding abortion.  Less children, less healthcare and education, she says.  My hometown, Chicago, is breaking ground by opening the first public high school specifically for gay and lesbian students. Obama’s election was the first time I heard the media openly act offended at a preacher with mainstream values being invited to the inaugural.  There’s a lot more, but I’ll stop there.  For the first time in my life, I stuttered over the Pledge of Allegiance when I visited Ariel’s preschool the other day.  I will always love America.  But…something much better is coming.  I have joy.  Here’s why…

In the midst of crying out to God over the injustice (described in part in the previous post), I saw a picture that has stuck in my Spirit.  In it, was a small cave with a beautiful woman hunched over inside, unable to stand fully.  It was a simple picture.  She was getting attacked and pestered within the cave, and finally had to come out into the open.  When she did, the sunlight hurt her eyes for a moment, but she finally stretched out and stood tall in the sunshine.  She was stunning, and much, much stronger out in the danger zone that she had been while in hiding.  It was a picture of the church (I took it to be the American church), and the cave was friendship with the world.  For so many years, the church has thought that it is a good fit with society at large.  Lots of church folks’ idea of “reaching out” is to befriend the world so very, very nicely that they might think church is kinda cool.  You know, sneak attack.  “I think like you, I look like you, I talk like you, I’m concerned about your issues, I even watch the same stank on TV you watch.  On weekends, I pay $9.75 for it!  See, if I can do this Christian thing, you can, too!  Not as hard as you thought!”  But God’s committed to His Son’s bride.  So if she won’t kick the bedbugs out of her bed, God’s going to let ‘em bite!

It’s a bit circular.  The church keeps trying to befriend the world, she’s chasing favor, chasing favor, chasing favor from man.  She forgot that God said that friendship with the world is enmity with God.  Obviously, He can’t hand His power over to enemies.  No power, no converts.  No converts, more befriending.  More befriending, more enmity.  What will end the cycle?  When no matter how nice we play, we are abused, ridiculed, and offended, when they finally kick out the believing remnant from friendly society…well, the church will have to stand up.  And see how lovely she is.  Tall, overt, unapologetic, loving, truthful.

Powerful.  Not political.  At that point, she’ll be so unwelcome in politics, silly arguments will be outdated fast.  She’ll have money for the poor, because she’ll probably be mostly poor.  She’ll seek justice like crazy, because the oppressed will be…her.  She won’t be throwing change into the starbucks AIDS fund, she’ll be laying hands on the sick and seeing them healed.  She won’t be arguing with other believers about God’s power, because He’ll have settled those issues with some obvious displays, and every other believer will be so precious, she’ll long for their company.

She won’t be showy, rude, or ugly, because the shoes of the gospel are peaceful.  Someone who tells the gospel STRAIGHT is a lover.  A people lover, dying to make peace.  She won’t sell a soft gospel, talking about causes, races, or finding a place to be accepted, because she’ll have been humbled by waking up with the smell of the world on her and crying out for mercy.  All that stuff just comes out of a personal disassociation with the need for the Cross, anyway.  But she won’t have that anymore; because the Cross will save her (from titles, and compromise, and powerlessness, and glitzy self-promotion, and theological wranglings, and fleshy bandstands, and personal impurity, and widespread hypocrisy, and just plain confusion), and so she’ll take it up and bear it.  She’ll love much, because she’ll have been forgiven much.  Her kids won’t leave her out of boredom and weakness in their high school years  or for social justice and intellectualism in their college years, having found no deliverance from their sin.  They’ll grow up in the fire of God, and have no taste for the world.  Wow, good times are coming…I’m sure of it.

This blog is dedicated to all the Daddies who have laid aside their machismo for the thrill of mastering the bulb syringe, explaining proper potty procedure, and finding the white leotard in time for somebody’s wee ballet class.  You are the best of the best.  Happy early Valentine’s Day.

OJ is a master of literally millions of things…you name it, he’s probably good at it.  Preaching, computers, games, OT trivia, painting cars, discipling kiddos, poetry (although it’s been awhile since he had leisure time for that…), and to top it off, he is a whiz in the kitchen!!!  Ask anyone who made the best fwamburger they ever had, and hands down it will be OJ, if they’ve ever had a fwamburger made by OJ.  Yep, there aren’t many things that OJ can’t master, but if I had to pick one, it might be best termed suave, pronounced with an “ay” sound at the end. OJ’s not super-duper suave.  He’s a man’s man.  He will never (thank God) be accused of being a metrosexual, asked to recommend a great dj, or given the Cosmo design award (if there is one).

Case in point:  I have bought OJ cologne in the past.  By “in the past” I mean, during our marriage.  I liked it okay, and it was not a big investment.  That would have been dumb.  To make a big investment, I mean.  Either because he might not have liked it, or because spending alot of money on men’s cologne is just dumb.  I do have an opinion on that, but I’ll respect your right to disagree.  Anyway, he never wore it.  I don’t think he ever thought to.  It just didn’t occur to him.

But having three kids by the age of thirty does funny things to you.  You realize, in your few coherent moments of non-child reality, that the aging process is going about 43 times faster than you think it’s supposed to.  This may happen while you are walking through the drug store.  Perhaps your youth flashes before your eyes as you accidentally catch a glimpse of yourself in the little reading glasses mirror.  And you think, “Who is that bedraggled person?  They need some sleep.”  Then you realize that it is you.  And you may quickly return to the task at hand (”Now where do they keep the pedialyte?”), or you may stand in front of the reading glasses display and think for a moment.  As you think, you may be singing along to the Classics playing over the radio.  Hopefully, not enough synapses are firing for you to realize that your high school songs are now on the “classics” station, and that is why you are singing along.  It would just be too much at one time.

Or, it could be that at that fateful moment, you catch a glimpse of a sporty yet mature figure beckoning to you to share in some of his manly magnetism from the nearby Old Spice kiosk.  I think that may be what happened to OJ.  Anyway, he came home that night with, you guessed it, that masculine equivalent of Jean Nate, that “Is that your grandpa that just walked by?” mysterious scent, the clean, classic Old Spice.

Now, I’m generally of the attitude that if my hubby likes it, then I like it.  Because I just like him…that much.  But I knew in that moment the whiff hit my brain, that if I acted excited about the Old Spice, it would be a downright farce, and totally immoral.  It was a marriage tester, that moment.  The stuff hit the fan, as it were.  I had to be honest.  “Is that Old Spice I smell?”  I won’t relate the painful moments after that.  I felt awful.  I wanted to like it, just for the sake of this manliest of men, my husband, a king in a world of guys…testing out the concept of cologne.  I wanted to encourage, bolster, and support, but I couldn’t.  I sought for words to heal his wounds.  But there were none.  Eventually, we just held each other.

This is getting kind of long.  The end of the funny story is that Ariel came into our bathroom this morning while I was getting ready for church.  She knocked some stuff over (it’s a tiny bathroom), and came across the O.S. in picking it up.  “Mmm…” she said.  “This smells good.”  Wow!  A chance to encourage OJ!  I was so glad someone could genuinely endorse his choice, in the innocence of youth!  I sent her off,  saying,

“That’s Daddy’s cologne!  Go tell him you like it!”    And listened to hear it go down.

“Daddy, your colon smells good!” I heard her yell as she hunts him down.  It was enough for OJ.  A minute later, he appeared…  “See?  Did you hear what Ariel said?”  He then offered some to her, for her special church toilette, at which I had to draw the line.  She was readily accepting, when I intervened.  “Please do not put Old Spice on my little girl.”  Words I never thought I would have to say, and hope to never say again.

All that to say, I think I may have a bead on the perfect gift for Valentine’s Day, for the most wonderful, handsome, extraordinary husband in the world.  I’ll be keeping my eyes peeled for the right sporty yet mature figure, advertising a scent that leaves a lasting impression.  Something that says, “If you like Football, you’ll love Pigskin.”  Or, “If you like Hot Wings, you’ll love Sizzlin’ Stix.”  Something that just yells, OJ!!! BUT NOT SIMPSON!!!  Yep, it’s out there, and I’m gonna find it.

…my little children, for whom I am again in the anguish of childbirth until Christ is formed in you!  Gal 4:9

What does it really take to parent?  What does it mean to offer consecrated children unto the Lord?  Is it a baby dedication service with our best outfits?  I believe those are powerful and meaningful, but they’re like a wedding.  The vows are not a completion, but a prediction, a prescription, a statement of intention.  They are not just lost if they’re not followed through on, but actually become a sore source of anguish.  In other words, on that joyful day, the work is just beginning.  Birth is the same.  What toil, what joy…what a picture of what is to come daily thereafter.  Until when?  Until the character of Christ is formed in them…”I have no great joy than to know that my children are walking in truth…”

Right now, the boys are both asleep and Ariel is taking a rest.  I’m listening to her sing, “Jesus loves little ones, through and through, like me and you…”  She takes a break every couple minutes to yell, “Is my quiet rest done yet?”  Oh, the irony of the moment, as I yell back, “No!”  How many years will I labor to form the concept of “quiet” in their little brains?  Feel free to leave a comment on that one if you are an experienced parent.  :)  The sweetness of her song makes up for it all, but I know this peaceful moment will be brief, and if I am not ready for the next one, it will find me disgruntled.  This verse has to be forefront; I have to expect to labor.  

Sometimes it’s just in the natural.  Like yesterday.  My memories of the morning are blurry, but something like this.  Woke up with joy to realize the older ones were climbing into my bed, waking me for the first time, instead of the baby’s cries.  He slept through the night???  I should feel alive and alert and fantastic!  Hooray!  Everybody needs breakfast, and so the bowls of cereal go on the table while baby wakes up and wails…maybe it was all eating at the same time that caused the simultaneous poops that came a little later.  The oldest on the potty, yelling, “Wipe my bu-unns!”  That little phrase was funny when we first taught it to her, having been informed by grandpa that children are not physiologically capable of reaching far enough to clean themselves until a much later age.  Not so funny anymore.  The second was walking around in denial, claiming the far-reaching stench was not from him…and the third, announcing without words his urgent need for freedom…  All at the same time.  

Shortly thereafter,  I remember sitting in my nursing chair, calling #2 over to me.  He’s potty training, a notion that is reinforced every time we have to change one of those bombs, and so running around in training pants.  I thought maybe the pants were wet…confirmed when he came near.  I tell him we’ll change them as soon as I’m done.  He tells me they’re not wet.  Next thing I know, I’m waking up seated in the nursing chair, saying, “Oh…gotta change the training pants…”  I don’t know how much time had passed.  So much for feeling alert and fantastic.  Coffee anyone?  I’ll stop there.  I would call that labor.  

But all the while there’s a much deeper labor going on my heart, through the exhaustion, exhilaration, hysteria (our kids are so funny, I cannot begin to describe it…), there’s a groaning deep in my spirit, constantly crying out to the Lord…Oh, God.  How?  Oh, God.  Let the character of Christ be formed in my children.  Oh, God, my hope is in you.  You said you would give wisdom liberally to anyone who asks.  Oh, God.  Pierce their hearts with this little verse.  Oh, God, make this spanking effective to yield the peaceable fruit of righteousness.  Oh, God, forgive me for my exasperation.  Oh, God, they are yours, yours, yours.  I can’t do this.  But you said whatever is done for the least of these, I do for you.  So here goes, my act of worship.  This diaper change for You, this meal for You, this biting of my tongue for You, this sleepless night for You.  Be magnified, Holy One.  You are worth it.  Them, transformed to your image, is worth it.  I can do this through Christ who strengthens me!  Your power is real, or else I would still be in bed.  

Well, now there’s a little redhead on my left, and a little blue-eyed boy on my right, reading out loud.  Yes, two different books.  Can I concentrate?  No, but how precious they are!  How He must love us to come as a wee babe and labor among us for thirty-three years, finishing with the gruesome work of the cross.  How loved we are, to be called the children of God.

Click here:  Mike Huckabee speech on America

This non-political speech starts out funny, but stick with it to hear him inadvertantly give a due north for navigating the current political mess. 

What will we say when they ask us, “Why didn’t you do something?”

Samuel Eisenhower…

When we first arrived in Kansas City, and were just beginning to be directed to move here, OJ and I visited the prayer room together.  When we walked in and sat down, the Lord began to speak about the baby I was carrying.  It was a little confusing to me, because at the time, I was sure I had a little girl inside!  But I heard the Lord call him a “Samuel,” because this little one would be set apart at a young age to hear and speak the Word of the Lord clearly.  Later, a dear friend sent me this verse she’d read as she prayed for us…

Acts 3:24 (New International Version)

I don’t think Scotland believes in summer.  Spring, yes.  You know, April showers and May flowers and all that sort of thing.  They’re down with that.  But summer?  No.  Sunblock?  Air conditioning?  Swimming suits?  Who needs it?  Wasteful, very, very wasteful.  Leave all that to the Spanish.  We prefer sheep and all the wool that comes with them.

I apologize if that sounded harsh or judgemental in any way.  It’s actually so lovely here, I just don’t want to make anybody jealous by describing it, especially any of you who might be currently experiencing the kind of humid heat that only American midwesterners understand…  It really is lovely, but it’s just not hot.  Nor does it intend to be.  The beach is here, the tank tops are in stores, the people are poised for fun and games, it’s just not hot.  And for intensely pregnant people, that’s a good thing.  Those aforementioned pregnant people should learn not to complain, eh? 

Actually, we just returned from two weeks in Germany, and it was quite hot.  We were just outside of a town called Herrnhut  in Eastern Germany, and to get to town we had to climb a hill nicknamed “Slow Death” in honor of all the farmers who died pulling their wares up it.  That’ll teach pregnant people not to complain.  Or to complain.  One or the other.  

There’s so much to say about our trip to Herrnhut, many long and intensely insightful blogs are in order.  But me and my belly are still at the stage of falling asleep every time I get near any piece of furniture soft and larger than me, so instead of those nice, inspirational blogs, for now I’m just holding off the “blog-guilt” (a term I just stole from my sister) with some comedy at the expense of pregnant people and Scots.  My apologies if you fall into either of those categories. 

Speaking of the belly, an update is in order.  “Angel baby,” who is due some attention, is currently almost 25 weeks old, and according to extensive research on the web, about a foot long and weighing about 1 1/2 lbs.  She (maybe?) is kicking up a storm, and is moving all over the place.  She has an aversion to doctors, and so we haven’t been able to convince her to go yet.  She says she wants to wait til she’s in America, where the price is right, and I quite agree.  On a serious note, a healthy pregnancy is not something to take for granted, as I’ve seen how very hard it is when friends have had difficult ones.  I am so, so thankful to God for the health of this pregnancy that allows me to be so relaxed about it.  It really is a gift, and all those related to Angel Baby can rest assured that if there were any concerns, it would be very easy to address them immediately.  So…there’s the update.  We don’t know if baby’s a boy or girl, and we don’t have a name yet either way.  All reasonable suggestions welcome!

OJ’s dad, Duncan, just celebrated his 60th birthday, and it was so fun to take some time to think about how much we love him and Patty, and to honor him…it got me thinking about my parents, too… so here’s a little blog to you, Mom and Dad!

1) Constant encouragement…one of the most common injustices we find as we pray for folks is the witholding of verbal blessing and encouragement from parents.  My parents let it pour out on me, all through the years!

2) Raising us in the city of Chicago.  My parents are from the part of America everyone wants to go to, not leave, namely California.  Instead of making millions in real estate like everybody who stayed, they left to raise us in the absence of everything that made sense, just out of obedience to the Lord.  They taught us not to figure out the nicest plan, but to obey the Lord.  And in turn, God’s shown their kids more of this beautiful globe than they probably could have imagined!

3)  Mom’s neverending ideas.  My mom’s so filled with passion and ideas, I don’t know anybody who can keep up with her.

 4)  Dad’s joy over his kids/grandkids.  I can’t wait for the look on his face next time he sees Ariel and Judah!!!

5)  Remembering Dad singing, “Trust and obey, there is no other way, to be happy in Jesus, than to trust and obey…”

6)  Remembering Mom’s tall corn, fruit trees, and tomato plants growing in that tiny yard in the middle of the city

7)  Dad preaching the Word.

8)  Mom’s cooking better in 15 min than most people in a half day…

9)  Annie’s driving now, and it reminds me of how normal my parents thought it was to be completely inconvenienced and expensed for our mobility…

10)  Mom’s taste for finer music and pulling out the china and Dad’s Ivy League education, and the flip side…Mom’s tupperware collection of cool whip containers, and Dad licking his plate!  HA!  We certainly must be the whitest folks to find ourselves in that famous work of literature and hallmark of our home library, Sckraight from the Ghetto.  Love you, Mom and Dad!

 P.S.  Sckraight from the Ghetto is a book by Bertice Berry that helps to identify certain traits common to people reared in the American inner city, and explains much of my childhood, and the paradoxes of the Petersons.  It is available on Amazon, and I do not recommend it at all, except for a little bit. 

The Wee Ones

Scots are so kind to kids.  We noticed as soon as we got there that instead of receiving annoyed glares, the kids were smiled at and enjoyed.  A friend here told me that they have a custom of putting money into the prams of strangers as they stroll their babies around.  I think Judah is a little too manly with his broad vocabulary, massive volume, and tendency to announce that he is in charge (literally—“I in charge!”) to attract any funds this way, but I try to use the stroller just in case.  

We have had personal experience of the pro-child climate, though.  For instance, we stopped at a gas station, and I ran a sleepy Ariel in for a potty stop.  I could tell from the moment I asked the question that there was no public bathroom at this station, but the ladies just looked at each other and said, “Is it for the wee one?  Oh, well, let me get the key…” and then led me back through a bunch of doors and storage.  And of course, we exited with several sweet comments and verbal caresses for my little redhead, most of which I couldn’t quite catch. You can drive ten miles down the road and suddenly find the accents totally incomprehensible.  I don’t know why the differences arise so suddenly.

Another time, Judah was losing it after a “day off” in the city of Ayr.  We were trying to take a fun day with the team, but it turns out the Ayr is for shoppers and café goers, which Judah and Ariel are not, and so Judah was in a high chair causing a ruckus at a coffee shop.  A lovely lady just walked right over to him from her nearby seat, and began to talk to him her sweet Scottish talk, mixing some general pleasantries with nonsense with gentle scolding, and utterly holding his attention.  “Tha’s right,” she said.  “Sometimes et just takes a defferent voice, and ma funny accent, and so you must be good, wee lad…” She smiled at us once he was calm and went back to her seat.  I sometimes think that even if for no other reason, God’s got a special blessing for Scotland.