Home Sanctuary

I'm Not Crying, I've Been Cutting Onions

"I'm making a lasagne......for one."

Oh, those guys from New Zealand, Bret and Jermaine, crack me up.  "I'm Not Crying" is one of those songs that goes straight to my soul because of all the denial. The excuses.  The sadness. It would be heartbreaking if my heart wasn't already liquid.

This silly song reminds me of the denial and excuses we tell ourselves when we don't want to face (or admit) the truth. 

• I don't count calories because I'm not good with numbers.  
• I don't implement my housekeeping schedule because I feel too boxed in.  
• I sleep in late because I have to search the web late at night.  
• I don't exercise because I'm too busy.  
• My poor tummy needs a milkshake because of the spicy food. 
• I'd be a patient mom if my kids weren't hyper.  
• If I didn't have so much to do I'd be willing to play hanky-panky with my man more often. 
• The Bible is boring so I don't need to read it.  
• I only watch soaps for the hairstyles. 
• I can't give to others because we won't have enough for ourselves. 
• My husband doesn't deserve my respect because he makes mistakes. 
• Smoking helps me keep my weight down.
• I'm not bitter, but I won't ever forget how I was wronged.
• This new purse will help me get a promotion.

What is your excuse today?  Are you avoiding the truth in some area of your life?  See, when we dance around reality, look the other way, or point fingers at someone else, we never get out the quagmire that holds us down.  We wonder why we don't experience freedom and joy in certain areas of our life, but we're never willing to go beyond our denials and "perfectly legitimate reasons" for being the way we are - to live life more fully.

Today's Small Thing is to call your own self out on an excuse.  Just for today, see how it feels to be free of that big old monkey on your back.  Say it like it is, recognize the truth, and find the strength to move forward.  Your excuse might be silly, or it might be something that calls for real repentance before God. It might feel risky, but oh! the joy you'll find afterward!

I've always said that our home sanctuary is founded on peace, order and beauty.  Peace comes when we make things right with our God, love the people around us and pay attention to the small things we do....and we'll never get around to those things as long as we deny that we need to change.

POINTS: 40 for a "no excuse" day!  Just pick one excuse and tell the truth.  Live free today!

That's not my donkey's name, so don't be thinkin he's gonna come when you call him that.

Flash is getting his own category, now that he has become a regular feature in my blog. I simply could not resist using the A-word, and although I worry that it may offend a reader or two, I humbly remind us all that the King James Version uses it all the time.

Our neighbors are very good friends of ours. We literally "share" the pasture where Flash resides. Although I do feel bad about the loud bellowing that takes place at all odd hours, I feel certain that he provides them with just enough entertainment to keep us on good terms.

Not long after Flash came to live with us, our neighbors stopped by to check out our new family member.

"And we thought of the PERFECT name for him!" they exclaimed excitedly. Before we could respond that we had already named our donkey, they blurted out, "HAY-soos! You know, Spanish for Jesus! Isn't that just perfect?"

Hay-soos? HAY-SOOS?

I mumbled something about how we thought "Flash" was kind of a funny name, you know, because he's not that fast and all. But apparently they didn't pay any attention to that part of the conversation, because they continue to use THEIR name for OUR donkey.

Hmph. I don't know why, but it's never occurred to me to re-name any of my friends' pets for them. I always thought that the person who owns the pet gets to name the pet. I mean, you can call my donkey anything you want, but that's not going to be his name. You can call him "Spot," or "Secretariat," or "Mr. Ed," but don't expect him to come running when you call him that, because I've told him he doesn't have to come unless he hears his actual given name. Yeah, that's right. By me. Given, by ME!

Boy, it annoys me when I see him trotting over whenever he hears "YOO-hoo! HAY-soos!"

Flash! You don't have to go over there! Have some self-respect!

And then one day it struck me just how much like Flash I am. I thought of MY owner, my Master. The One who has named me. He calls me:

Redeemed.
Bought with a Price.
Ransomed.
Healed.
Delivered.
Victorious.
Overcomer.
Beloved.
My Child.

Oh, there is a long list of sweet names He has given me. Because He owns me. Because I belong to Him.

Ya'll, I'm about to start preachin.

I SAID! OH YES, I SAID!!

HE'S NAMED ME!
REDEEMDED!
BOUGHT WITH A PRICE!
RANSOMED!
HEALED!
DELIVERED!
VICTORIOUS!
OVERCOMER!
BELOVED!
MY CHILD!

But then what do I do? I hear other names being called out to me and I respond by running toward those false names, like a foolish ass.

Sinner.
Defeated.
Loser.
Weak.
Unloved.
No Good.
Inadequate.
Failure.

What's worse is that I start acting like those names belong to me! Poor me, I'm such a failure. I'm no good. I'm just a loser, yeah that's me.

Like Flash, I need to remember Who I belong to and Who has named me. Those other names aren't MY names! Satan, the accuser, can call me anything he wants, but you know what? HE DON'T OWN ME! And I don't have to come running whenever I hear him call.

THAT'S RIGHT YA'LL!

I. don't. have. to. come. Because Satan's not my owner. I don't belong to him.

So I'm asking you. Who owns YOU? Who do you belong to?

Oh, my friend. Just come to the One who owns you. Because He's got a whole long list of sweet names for you, too. And He's calling YOUR name!

Isaiah 43:1,2 But now, thus says the LORD, who created you, O Jacob, And He who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are Mine."

My donkey's name is Flash. His name is Flash because I own him and I named him.

What names do YOU come running to?

Tender Mercies

Joby Thomas Rasmussen Dec. 1, 1986-Sept.9, 2007

Joby's funeral was Thursday. It was a day of deep, deep sadness and quiet celebration of a young life that touched so many people. There was standing room only in the chapel, as friends came to pay their respects to my nephew. I can't thank you all enough for all your prayers and emails and kind comments. It means so much to all of us.

My heart is overwhelmed with thoughts about this last week. So many of you have gone through your own tragedies, and know the feelings of shock, disbelief, anger, faith, love, and sorrow that seem to come in waves.  The feelings weave in and out of every waking moment and even invade my sleep.  Surely, we will all wake up and find that this has been a terrible dream.

And yet, through it all, we've felt uplifted and carried by our heavenly Father.  Even as we've asked the hard questions of life, His presence has been close.  He is truly near the broken-hearted, and how we have needed Him.  Oh, how Joby's parents need him every moment.

I've experienced one of the Lord's tender mercies in the middle of this heartache, and it has given me hope that Joby's parents will be comforted by His tender mercies toward them as well. It has come from the love poured out toward me and my family by 8 women I met by "chance" on the flight home from the Deeper Still conference in Nashville last Sunday.  I had sat down in the only empty seat I saw, and found myself surrounded by a group of ladies from Trinity Bible Church in Weatherford, Texas.  We immediately began to talk about the conference, and then our conversations moved on to every topic under the sun.  It was so fun and I felt an instant bond with these cute women. 

When we landed in Dallas and headed for Baggage Claim, my husband, Tom, met me and pulled me aside to give me the awful news about Joby.   We just clung to each other there on the bench at Love Field and wept in each others' arms.  Please, please tell me this isn't true.  God, no.  I couldn't believe it.

After several moments he left my side and went over to the ladies and told them.  They immediately flew across the room and covered me with their own tears, their prayers and their embraces.  I'll never forget being encircled by their concern.  These women, who had been complete strangers to me only hours before, now are forever etched in my heart as dear sisters.

Since then, they (along with so many of you) have emailed their prayers and words of comfort, and it has helped me come to understand the tender mercies of God's grace in the midst of deep sorrow.  Maybe it is a small thing, but the sweetness and comfort of that moment has washed over me again and again.  I am so grateful.

Joby's parents, brother and sister will need many tender mercies to strengthen them for years to come.  The other boys involved in the circumstances of the accident will need their own tender mercies as well.  Thank you all for your prayers for them, and for us.  We appreciate every thought, prayer and gesture of kindness on Joby's behalf.  I believe that the last chapter has not yet been written, and we will someday know the lasting effects of Joby's brief life here on earth.  He was such a sweet kid with a great heart.

My new "Southwest Airlines Sisters."  Thank you, sweet things.

 

Psalm 25:6 Remember, O LORD, thy tender mercies and thy lovingkindnesses; for they have been ever of old.

My 100th Post and My Worry List

I fully expect confetti to fall from the sky when I hit "publish" after this, my 100th post.

I know, I'm a foolish dreamer. Perhaps I will pull a party blower out of my hoard of leftover party supplies and celebrate. After all, I've managed to post 100 random thoughts in under a year, a feat pretty near miraculous for me. I deserve to toot my own kazoo!

That I've had well over 100 visitors is nothing short of miraculous, either. Thanks, ya'll, for continuing to stop in. I thoroughly enjoy you, you sweet kindred spirits, who frequent my corner of blogland.  Please keep on stopping in!!  I just love you.

So around 7:45 yesterday morning. I was brushing my teeth, listening to my husband tell me about what he was going to work on that day. We are in the middle of a really big bunch of projects and I am feeling very anxious about the deadlines.

"....and I'll take care of this and that detail," he was saying. "So you can take that off your worry list."

I gave him a nod and a "ha, that's funny," fake smile, and continued with the brushing.

I don't have a Worry List!

Me? A List? Of Worries?

But by the time I was tapping my toothbrush against the side of the sink, I was convicted. My husband had already moved on and was discussing a new topic from deep inside the closet. I looked at my tiny pin-head eyes (no mascara) in the mirror and knew I was nailed.

I DO have a list. A long list.

I won't bore you with the details, but the general topics include: the kids, the bills, the looming deadlines, the flooding, the war in Iraq, the check engine light, the groceries, the doctor/orthodontist/dentist/vet appointments I should make. Then there's G.T.'s camp and Em's leg surgery and the kids' mission trip to Russia...., you get my point.

Oh, how many scriptures there are that tell us not to worry! And yet I finger my worries as if I will find comfort in rehashing each anxious thought.

I've got to be honest with you. I did not immediately drop to my knees and give it all to Jesus. That would have been the spiritual thing to do. No, I managed to hang on to my list for pretty much the whole day.

Well, I got busy and distracted and sort of forgot that I was still carrying around a knapsack full of burdens. But when I got back in the car to go home at the end of a very long day, my mind immediately began reciting The Worry List. Fortunately it was a long drive home, so there was ample time to realize the foolishness and even the sin of my ways.

When I continue to worry, I am not trusting in the One who promises to carry my burdens. I'm saying that God is not able to take care of me. In a strange way, I'm saying that what I have to say about my problems is more important that what God has to say about them.

You know, when you put it THAT way, it sheds new light on things.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I find it hard to admit that my thought patterns are just sinful. It's easier to justify and explain and defend my mind turf as "necessary," and "helpful."  But the bottom line is that when I worry, I am in disobedience to God's word.

Phil 4:6,7 says "DO NOT be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

I sure do like the promise that comes with that command!  I could use that transcendent peace right about now.  It seems clear that the path to the peace I want and need requires obedience.  And some spiritual warfare to take every thought captive to Christ.  It's recognizing that Satan loves to take my eyes off of my incredible God and on to myself-to make ME the center of my world instead of Him.  Of COURSE I worry when I think I must solve all of my problems on my own.  I know what a failure I am and how hopeless it is to try and fix everything under my own strength.

But just like how God showed me his greatness through my failure to put gas in my car the other day, He promises to bring His peace, His strength and His will to fruition in my life when I trust Him with my Worry List.

In fact, I don't even have a Worry List any more because I gave it to Him on my drive home last night.  It's all HIS now, and I have a feeling He can handle it from here.

God is Bigger than I Thought

I hate making mistakes. I get really hard on myself. "Why did I do that? Why didn't I doublecheck that? How could I be so dumb?"

On Friday, I ran out of gas. I knew I was close to empty, but I was following friends to a store and I didn't want to make them stop and wait for me. I knew I had enough to get there and then get to a gas station.

Wrong.

I made it to the store just fine, but when we went to leave, my '96 Explorer wouldn't start. The day was getting late and we had at least two more stops to make, so I was extra mad at myself. And embarrassed. I had to send my friends to a gas station and wait in the hot vehicle for them to return. I wanted to to beat my head against the steering wheel. "Why, oh why??"

They arrived back within about 10 minutes, full of smiles and a carrying a full red gas can.

"You'll never believe it!" one friend said, jumping out of the car. "There was a lady in line just ahead of us who had a gas can, but no money to put any gas in it! She didn't know what to do. We told her we had money but no gas can! Would she loan us her can in exchange for some gas?"

The lady, a foreigner, was elated! "Oh, yes! Thank you! Thank you!" she exclaimed over and over. She waited for us to return to the gas station with her can and then threw her arms around me when I got out of the car.

We were the answer to her prayers.

Because of my mistake.

Can it be that my God is bigger than I thought? I mean, I know He is glorified through holy living, through sharing the gospel and even through our work. But can He really bring glory to Himself through our failures? How could He know I would foolishly run out of gas, and then bring my friends to the rescue of another person at just the right moment in time?

I still don't get it, but maybe I don't need to. Maybe I can just rest in the fact that God is watching over the whole picture, NOT JUST ME, and can accomplish His purposes in spite of me.

I love serving a Big God!

"Constructive Criticism"

I've never been able to respond to criticism very well. I always tend to take it personally and start crying at the first hint that I'm not measuring up in some way. I just hate that. Why, oh, why must I blubber foolishly over WORDS directed at me?

My husband has learned to couch his helpful comments with careful prefacing and disclaimers.

"Now, I don't want you to take this personally, this has nothing to do with you, but I'm just going crazy here with the house looking like a complete disaster. I'm not saying anything about your lack of care, I know you have been busy, and rightfully so, and I really appreciate all you do, but we've got to do something different around here or I will lose my mind."

Of course, all I hear is: "going crazy, complete disaster, your lack of care, lose my mind." It's just ridiculous. After the tears come my defensive statements, beginning with "But I always" and "You never." Needless to say, I've got a long way to go toward rational conflict resolution.

So I was completely impressed with my daughter, Em's maturity when faced with constructive criticism last week. She attends a university well-known for its highly competitive music program. In order to get in to the program, she had to prepare 4 vocal pieces (2 English, 2 Italian) to audition before a panel of judges. She is an amazing singer, songwriter and pianist, but the level of perfection required for the stringent program is not for the faint-hearted.

First of all, I would never have the nerve to get up and open my mouth in front of judges. And to see them scribbling on their critique sheets would be unbelievably unnerving. Try hitting a high note in Italian with music snobs peering over their glasses at you. gulp.

Despite her relatively high scores (low 90's), it was the critiques that accompanied them that would have reduced me to a quivering puddle of tears.

But not my Em.

She took them instride. She defended most of the comments with "Yes, I can see what they mean. I do need to work on that."

She even laughed about THIS Simon Cowell-like critique: "If you worked at it, you could probably become a pretty good singer."

Who IS this guy? He is obviously an elitist opera quote-unquote "expert."

Em pointed out that the judge added a footnote, "but, it takes a lot of work and you have the voice to do it."

Where I would have focused on the negative, Em chose to focus on the positive. "See, Mom, I DO have the voice to make it!"

I'm humbled by this 18 year-old young woman. Her grace under pressure and before such criticism makes me want to step up my own game. She is able to take the comments as a means of helping her reach higher and try harder. By golly, she's got spunk!

I have no idea where she gets that. Must be from her father's side.

Mr. Hooper's Garden

Old Mr. Hooper's garden is coming along nicely. I drive past his plot of dirt at 40 miles per hour several times a week on my way into town, and always check on his progress. His garden is out by the road, located about a mile before the country road becomes a 4 lane suburban throroughfare.

Mr. Hooper is Old School. He wears long-sleeved plaid shirts, pressed pants and a straw hat. He's a bit stooped over, and I've often seen him leaning on a rake, supervising a younger man in a tank shirt and shorts. His old truck and 50's style ranch house are meticulously maintained. Of course.

I've learned alot about gardening from passing by and observing him through my car window. I've realized that he starts tilling a couple of weeks before the last frost. Whenever I see his freshly turned earth I feel a little wistful. Darn! Another year and I still don't have a vegetable garden! When I saw that he'd set out his tomato plants, I knew we were no longer in danger of a freeze. I didn't need the Farmer's Almanac to tell me.

This year, I noticed that Mr. Hooper protected his baby tomato plants with hollowed out 5 gallon buckets. And last year, he hung red Christmas balls from his gorgeous plants to trick the birds into pecking them instead of his precious tomatoes. Smart! I made mental notes so that when I start my garden I'll remember it. I see that he's used different colored twine for the different rows of vegetables that are already starting to come up. And within each row, he has staggered his plantings so that he will enjoy fresh produce continuously.

I still haven't figured out how he keeps the weeds out. Maybe that younger man does all the grunt work.

Note to self. Get man to do grunt work.

In watching the Old School gardener, I've thought about the other "Mr. Hoopers" in my life: people whose lives I have observed and learned from over the years. There's my mom, an incredible woman of faith who has influenced me, probably more than anyone else. I've watched her live a life of ministry and service to others, but mostly ministry and service to her family. There is my friend Barbara, an enthusiastic grandmother who recently earned her PhD in Counseling, active in the lives of women in my church. Then there is Billie, a great-grandmother who is still serving and involved with others. She and her husband are greeters at church. There is also Priscilla, (her book is in my sidebar), whose walk with the Lord and godly wisdom never fail to inspire me.

Another "Mr. Hooper" is my sister, Katherine. In raising her five children, her heart is at the core of her family and I've learned a lot from the way she loves and cares for them. I've found other "Mr. Hoopers" in blogland: Chris, at Come to the Table, and Kim at Lifesong are a couple that easily come to mind. I love to read these ladies' blogs because there is so much to glean from their lives.

I'd like to step on the brake and pull over the next time I see Mr. Hooper out in his garden. I'll bet he is like most other gardeners I've known--willing and eager to share bits of knowlege with novices like me. After all, there is only so much a person can learn by merely passing by. I know if I just spent a little time with him I'd walk away with a wheelbarrow full of enthusiasm and newfound wisdom for getting my garden underway.

I feel encouraged to tap my brakes so I can spend some time with my other "Mr. Hoopers," too. I think I'll go with an empty wheelbarrow so I can load up while I'm there.

Do you have some "Mr. Hoopers" in your life?

Proverbs 13:20 He who walks with the wise grows wise, but a companion of fools suffers harm.

Rachel Anne

The Frog Inside My Prince - More on Refuge

I hadn't been married long when I began to hear what sounded like "ribbets" coming from within my Prince Charming's shiny armor.

Naaah.  Couldn't be.  Could it?

Uh, like, yeah. (I have teenagers, I must overuse the word "like")

Reality soon hit me.  My Tender Warrior, my Knight, my Beloved One, had warts--FLAWS, dangit!  There was a frog inside my prince, just waiting to get out!  And it did, oh it did.

As a young wife, I was eager to forgive those tiny flaws and missteps.  It was easy to look beyond the disappointments to see the man I knew he'd become.... with my help.

And the Lord's of course.

But the truth is my "help" has often undermined the Lord's help.  I've had to face the fact that when my man makes mistakes he doesn't need a prison (or dog house) to make him pay for his shortcomings, but a refuge he can draw strength from when he falls down.  Both places have four walls and three "squares," but one strips a man of dignity while the other restores, builds confidence, resolve and courage.  One tries to control his behavior through criticism, nagging, arguing and punishment, while the other accepts imperfections and loves unconditionally.

To be an emotional refuge, I need to assure my prince not just of my acceptance, but of my appreciation and respect.

Guess what?  He IS working hard.

He's TRYING to do all the right things.

And half the time he feels unequal to the task of being the spiritual leader/breadwinner/husband/father/coach/church member/bike fixer/problem solver/boo-boo kisser/landscaper/handyman and all-around great guy.

Will it kill me to give him the kudos he needs to hear, or will I refuse to offer it on the grounds that I think I'm the one working harder?

Forgiveness, acceptance and appreciation are three small things that go so, SO far, and how often I overlook the simplest forms of true love:

A "thank you."

A kind word.

A soft answer.

A gentle touch.

Being an emotional refuge to my froggy prince means letting go of my need to fix him.  God can do a better job without me.

Refuge is letting him know that I am on his side, ON HIS TEAM no matter what.

It is loving him in spite of the fact that he's not perfect.

Being my man's refuge means remembering that.............

It's not easy being green.

Rachel Anne

What All Guys Want - "Tell Me More"

I've rolled my eyes more than once as my husband has launched into telling me the intricacies of Defensive Tactics in Hockey.  Or Why Girls Should Not Play Hockey On Boys Teams.  Oh boy.  Here we go.

Tempted as I am to hold up the palm and say "Heard it already," something from our recent conversation about Refuge prevents me.  Hey, (slap, slap) my guy is talking to me about something that's important to him! 

I lean in and try to think of an intelligent question to ask.  Caught completely off-guard by my interest, the spark in his answer is unmistakable.  I watch his animation as he talks about his passion.  He's pretty cute when he's all fired up!

Yeah, that's better than the silence that would have followed the outstretched palm, that's for sure.

Being Tom's refuge means remembering what's important to him, and showing an interest.

Extra Credit is given for actually encouraging him in his interest.  I can imagine you saying, "Now why would I want to encourage my husband in something that takes him away from what he REALLY needs to be doing around here?" (i.e. helping out more around the house, fixing the leaky faucet.)  I hear ya.  Boy, do I hear ya.

But I pose the question back to you.  Why NOT encourage him?  My guy doesn't want me to just see him as a beast of burden, good for bringing home a paycheck and then working on the chores.  He needs me to see him as the man who's Got Something Goin' ON, who's good at stuff besides drudgery, who has an important opinion (even if it's about who should be the starting quarterback in Sunday's big game.) 

Let's face it.  What guy doesn't want his girl to say, "Tell me more?"

Suppress the urge to roll your eyes and listen with your heart.  When your man is telling you about the latest tool at Home Depot, or how he shaved a stroke off his golf game, you are being his refuge.

When he is beaten down by the dog-eat-dog world at work and you don't criticize him for what he coulda shoulda done, you are being his refuge.

Refuge is what happens when I willingly become the place my husband turns TO, not FROM..... to let off steam, to express his thoughts, to find his way.  It happens when I let go of my expectations of him, and give him the space and freedom to be himself.   It gives him mental sanctuary to know that I'm not policing the stuff he finds interesting, and better yet, I'm making an effort to understand his personal pursuits.

And that leaky faucet?  It might get fixed even faster by the guy who knows his girl finds him fascinating!  If not, hire a plumber.

Rachel Anne

P.S. Next post: The Frog Inside My Prince - more on Refuge

What All Guys Want

Recently, a simple question started a great conversation with my husband on a long drive one afternoon.

I was preparing to share with my Bible Study Group on the topic of building a foundation of peace in your marriage.

My thoughts had turned to Prov. 31:11: “…the heart of her husband safely trusts her.” In other words, she is a place of refuge to her husband.

I turned to Tom and asked him the questions I was planning to have the ladies ask their husbands. “How can I be a place of refuge to you? In what ways can I show my love to you in these areas: mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically? What makes you feel loved?”

I knew he would help me pull my material together for the Bible Study, but I was completely unprepared for the depth of sincerity and the appreciation he expressed over being asked the questions for us.

My man needs me to be his refuge!

Our conversation that afternoon covered a lot of ground: from the NHL to the bedroom, and left me realizing that it’s often the simplest things that mean the most.

When it all comes down to it, being my husband’s refuge is the most important thing I can do for him. It is providing that safe harbor in this crazy world of competition, financial stress, a personal crises. It is accepting failures and disappointments, and loving unselfishly in ways that are meaningful to him. Here is what he said:

“The truth is, refuge is what all guys want: They want a woman who loves and accepts them for who they are. Your marriage is the only relationship in the world where you don’t have to be on your guard, never showing weakness. Refuge is kind of what sex is about too: being completely one with a woman meets not just a physical desire, but the need to be intimately known and loved.”

Wow, he’s eloquent. He even managed to throw in a nugget about sex, and I appreciated it in a way that I hadn’t before.

The ladies in my class had some amazing conversations of their own that week. Some were afraid to broach the subject for fear of what they would hear. But all were completely astounded at the simple, yet profound things their husbands shared with them when asked. One husband simply wished his wife could bring him some cold iced tea when he was mowing the grass. “That would really make me feel good,” he said. “My grandma used to bring iced tea to my grandpa, and I always thought I’d like that, too.”

With tears in her eyes, she told our group, “I never knew that something so small could mean that much to him.”

So what does refuge mean to your husband? I encourage you to take a chance and just ask him, “How can I be your refuge?”

And then listen with your heart. You might be surprised by what you learn.