“However, as it is written:”What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived”, the things God has prepared for those who love him.”

1 Corinthians 2:9

When I was in the fifth grade, I entered Narnia for the first time when I discovered The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe on a shelf in the Sheboygan Falls Library.  Taking the book home, I devoured the pages as fast as Edmund devoured his Turkish Delight.  I imagined discovering a wardrobe, climbing inside, and being transported to a new land.  I wanted to meet a faun and have dinner with talking beavers.  I cried when Aslan died at the hand of the White Witch and rejoiced when he came back to life.  I continued with the other books in the series, but they did not really capture my attention until later.

I rediscovered the land of Narnia as a new mother, when I was looking for some light reading while caring for two active toddlers.  I quickly realized that what I thought was light reading was really a treasure trove of spiritual insights.  I celebrated the beauty of creation reading The Magician’s Nephew.  I longed for the boldness of Reepicheep, a little mouse, when defending the kingdom.  I was moved to repentance when I saw Eustace, a boy who was turned into a dragon, have his pride stripped away along with his dragon skin by Aslan’s claws.  I longed for heaven reading The Last Battle.

C.S. Lewis, the author of The Chronicles of Narnia series, is considered one of the foremost apologists of the twentieth century.  He not only wrote children’s books, but also many books on Christianity, discussing, among other things, the concepts of faith, joy, and grace.  He is often quoted by many modern theologians.  Although his Narnia books can point someone towards God, Lewis would be the first to argue that the Bible, a rich living text, should be the ultimate source for understanding God.  He had a rich understanding of the Bible and how it applied to the bigger picture, the picture of our story fitting into God’s story.

The whole Bible, from Genesis to Revelation, is the epic story of God. In Women of the Word, Jen Wilkin says, “the Bible is telling us about the reign and rule of God.  Its topography speaks of creation, fall, redemption, and restoration in every vista.”  It is not just a manual on how to live as a Christian or a map pointing our way toward heaven.  It is God’s story, revealing His character.  His majesty and artistry are displayed through His words as He speaks creation into existence in Genesis.  He bestowed a special status on humans when He created them in His own image, longing to fellowship with them.  Yet, this state of perfection was marred when sin separated man from his creator.  Despite this fallen state, God had a merciful plan fully revealed in the life of Jesus.  Jesus redeemed man from sin by dying on the cross, bringing to us the hope of restoration through His resurrection!

This epic story, the Bible, has lots of supporting characters, such as Abraham, Moses, Rahab, Esther, Daniel, Peter, and Paul.  All these characters have different stories in different settings.  Some spent their lives wandering in deserts while others lived in palaces.  Some were fishermen while others earned their living through prostitution.  Yet, despite the vast differences in these characters and their various circumstances, God ordained these stories to be a part of His written word because they played a part in His larger story.  For example, Rahab, although she was a prostitute, recognized the power of the God and chose to hide the Hebrew spies.  This simple act of faith resulted in her family being rescued from the fall of Jericho.  Furthermore, her reputation was restored when her name was recorded in the lineage of Jesus!  She had no idea that generations later, despite her past, her DNA would play a part in the redemption of the whole world.

It is easy to get a microscopic view of our lives.  We get caught up in our day to day living, not realizing that our lives are bigger than the short years we live on earth.  Our story, with God’s hand, plays a part in not just the lives of those immediately around us, but in generations to come, as well.  Like Rahab, we have an epic part to play in God’s story.

Although I am in the process of writing a book about my own epic story, my story starts with my Uncle Dennis, as a young man searching for God in 1975.  Dennis, my mom’s older brother, had his hunger stirred for God by a friend’s testimony.  He attended a church service in a different city from where he lived and immediately saw his need to be baptized.  He left that service, having given his heart to God and with a desire to know God more.  He started reading the Bible, found a local church to attend, and has served God ever since.

Although Dennis has an extensive knowledge of the Bible, he never felt called to preach.  He has never been a Sunday School teacher.  He does not write a blog or make Facebook posts expounding on his faith.  Yet, in his quiet faithful way, he has impacted many lives, including mine and, as a result, the lives of my children and my grandchild.  First, as a little girl, I can remember my uncle being the first man to compliment me on my appearance.  As a five-year-old, I would twirl around in my strawberry peasant dress, soaking in his compliments, grinning from ear to ear when he called me “strawberry shortcake.”  These simple words acted as antidote to the insults I heard at home, giving me hope that I was something more.  He was also the person who introduced me to God by bringing me to Sunday School as a child.  For a short season, those few hours every Sunday morning provided me with peace from the swirling chaos at home.  Later, after I stopped attending regularly, he continued to pray for me, sometimes prompted by dreams God had given to him.  I believe these prayers provided a hedge of protection around me and my family.  Finally, my Uncle Dennis and Aunt Brenda, despite being in the middle of one of their darkest moments, reached out to me when my brokenness came to light.  They embodied the love of Christ by setting aside their own pain and reaching out to a shattered teenager, giving her hope when she felt hopeless.  This simple act was the beginning of my restoration process!

My story was not the only story impacted by my uncle’s life.  The obvious transformation of his life by Jesus gave him the boldness to invite a co-worker, Marvin, out to a revival service.  Later, Marvin shared with his wife about the invitation, while their son, Wayne, who had been searching for God on his own, overheard the conversation in his room.  Wayne instantly felt a stirring in his heart and, of his own volition, attended a revival service that Sunday evening.  He walked into the church not knowing anyone personally, but knowing only the name of his father’s coworker, Dennis.  Wayne was later instrumental in leading his whole family and others into a relationship with the Lord.  In addition, Dennis and Brenda ministered to countless teenagers, mentoring them in their walks with God.  Finally, Dennis provided a source of consistency and strength in the life of his wife and daughter.  This quiet man would not describe his life as being epic, but his impact, like most supporting characters in the Bible, is impacting generational stories in the epic story of God!

As an adult, I understand more of the symbolism in the stories of Narnia.  I get chills every time I read the last chapter of The Magician’s Nephew.  The main character, a young boy named Digory, has brought darkness into the newly created world of Narnia by his sinful behavior.  After partially redeeming himself for his mistake, Digory later plants a Narnian seed at his home in London.  This seed grows into a magnificent tree, which is later cut down and the wood used to build a wardrobe.  This same wardrobe becomes the gateway for others to enter the land of Narnia.  My story and your story, just like my Uncle Dennis’ story, can become the gateway to the redemption of others by God, leading to their own story of restoration!

In The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis ends The Chronicles of Narnia series with the following paragraph:

“And as He spoke He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them.  And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story.  All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page:  now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

Our stories may have different characters, settings, and conflicts.  However, despite these differences, we all need to find resolutions to our own individual conflicts through the life of Jesus, taking our place in His epic story.  What is amazing is that our story can continue to be written for eternity, finding complete restoration with God.  With our finite minds, we cannot imagine what God has in store for us.  1 Corinthians 2:9 declares, “What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human has conceived, the things God has prepared for those who love him.”

Enjoying snuggles with my new granddaughter. For the next two weeks I’m posting done oldies. I hope you enjoy!

“Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.” Ephesians 3:20

Fall has arrived, arraying the trees with reds, yellows, and oranges, while fields turn golden as harvest is nearing completion.  My favorite farmer’s markets are filled with pumpkins, squash, and apples.  Ingredients for soups and chili fill my pantry shelves.  My heart echoes the same sentiments of Anne in L. M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables, “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”

Although I appreciate all the seasons, autumn is my absolute favorite.  I have fond memories of going to Waldo Apple Orchard as a child and eating a caramel apple.  I love hiking, hearing the crunch as I step joyously through the leaves.  I love wearing warm, cozy clothing and sipping mulled apple cider.  It stands to reason that I also love to decorate my home for fall.

My fall decorating started off very humbly.  Having a limited budget, I started with a homemade leaf garland.  My husband and I cut out hundreds of leaves in different fall shades of construction paper.  We then misted them with water, crumpled them and let them dry.  After attaching them to twine, the leaf garlands graced our home.  For years, this was our only fall decoration.

Then I discovered Hobby Lobby.  As I had more disposable income, slowly I started adding to my fall decorations.  This included a more elaborate leaf garland, some fall signs and even a few critters.  I continued to make some of my own decorations, including a thankful tree and a short acorn garland to hang above my kitchen sink.  My fall décor collection now fills two large storage crates.  Every year, shortly after Labor Day, my home transitions into autumn while “Punky Pumpkin” by Rosemary Clooney plays.  When its all done, I sigh deeply, ready to embrace the cooler weather and my fall traditions.

For the past few years, I have attempted, unsuccessfully, to decorate my front porch.  To be honest, my “porch” is not really a porch at all but just a small slab of cement in front of my door, lacking any curb appeal.  In summer, I typically have a few flowerpots greeting guests as they enter my home.  As the weather cools, I place a few pumpkins and mums on my front porch to create a fall ambience.   For some reason, my fall ambience seems to fall flat.  Being a bit spatially challenged, my pumpkins and gourds are either too small or too few and my mums are too low or wither quickly because I forget to water them.

This year, I decided to go big.  Instead of grocery store mums, I went out to a local Mennonite market and purchased two large pots of bright yellow and wine-colored mums.  I then went to my favorite farm stand for pumpkins.  It is such a great time to be alive, where we are no longer limited to only traditional orange pumpkins!  Now, they come in all shades, including white, green, gray and my favorite “warty pink”!  I gathered a few pumpkins and gourds and headed home.  As I started decorating the porch with my treasures, I realized something was still missing.  A week later, I made a second trip, purchasing more pumpkins along with a small hay bale.  As I loaded them in the car, I realized I might have gone a tad bit overboard.  In jest, I sent my husband a text saying, “Remember how much you love me.”  After unloading the stash and rearranging my porch, I realized I needed one more small orange pumpkin to make it complete.  So, I made one more trip, grabbing the last pumpkin (or two), to complete my porch display.

When all was said and done, I somehow ended up with thirteen pumpkins and gourds on my small porch.  I won’t tell you how many fake pumpkins are inside my home or you might start to think I have a problem.  Now, I know the current philosophy is “less is more”.  There are books written about the concept of minimalism along with new vocabulary like “Konmari Method” and “Capsule wardrobe”, encouraging us to be mindful of how much stuff we have.  In fact, the opposite of minimalism is looked down upon.  We have reality shows depicting the shocking lives of hoarders!  Thrift, resale, and vintage stores abound, helping us to get rid of our excess “stuff”.  Even restaurant menus and food labels are embracing the concept of simplicity with emphasis on fewer but better ingredients.

Even as a Christian, we are encouraged to live in moderation.  Paul challenges Christians in Philippians 4:5 by saying, “Let your moderation be known unto all men.”  He also says in Galatians 5:23 that temperance is one of the fruits of the spirit.  Temperance is defined as self-control, and no one could argue that a hoarder is modeling that fruit of the spirit.  In 1 Timothy 6:6, God also encourages us to live in contentment by linking it to godliness, concluding that we will have great gain.  The scripture continues in verse seven with Paul’s words, “For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.”  This implies that we must be careful not to attach ourselves to “stuff”.  God clearly wants us to avoid materialism!

For the Christian, the contrast to materialism is living an abundant life. Jesus told a crowd of Pharisees in John 10:10, “…I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly”.  Paul reiterates Jesus’ words in Ephesians 3:20, “Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.”  Jesus came so that we can live an abundant life.  This life is not measured in possessions or status, but rather an abundance of love, peace, joy, and hope.  We can show unconditional love to others, not because we are self-righteous, but because God has shown us love.  We can have abundant peace in our relationships, not through the absence of conflict, but because we know that God will work it all out for our good.  We can have joy overflowing in all situations, not through a lack of sadness, but joy in knowing that God has it all under control.  We can have abundant hope in desperate situations, not by being eternal optimists, but because our hope is not in this world but in heaven to come.

My sweet mother-in-law had a dismal view of fall, she saw it as a season of dying.  She dreaded the cold Illinois winters, and saw the changing of leaves as the first indication that winter was on its way.  I always found her perspective a little sad and depressing.  From my perspective, fall is the opposite of dying.  It is the time to celebrate the abundance of our natural world though harvest and the plethora of colors on display. The fruit of the harvest spilling from the cornucopia, the horn of plenty, depicts the season so well!  Furthermore, fall climaxes with Thanksgiving when we acknowledge all of God’s blessings at a meal with family and friends.  I may have gone a little overboard with my pumpkins this year, but maybe, just maybe, it is a reminder to us all of God’s desire for us to live in abundance!

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

I brushed my fingers across the surface if the pool, the chilly water shooting shivers through my body. The Nebraska sun beat down with the thermometer reading around 98⁰. “Come on Auntie, jump in, we want to splash you!” cried my niece and nephew. I cautiously stepped down the stairs, feeling the coolness of the water against my skin. I knew that once I was in the pool, I would get acclimated and find the water refreshing. So, I took in a deep breath and plunged underneath. As I popped back up, the water felt invigorating. Immediately, I was splashed by my nephew, and an hour of chasing, splashing, and playing ensued.

As an adult, I hesitate before jumping in the pool. I’m usually waist deep when goosebumps cover my body, pausing to take a deep breath. Every single time, I know in my head that my body will acclimate, after all I’m diving into a pool not January’s frigid Lake Michigan. But for some reason, I freeze, not confident that the law of thermodynamics will work. And this moment of hesitation prolongs my uncomfortably, until I take the plunge.

Author and podcast host Jen Hatmaker posted something on Sunday that I have since read to three different people. Two years ago, she went through an unexpected divorce. She posted that its natural to work through your past dysfunctional patterns and to be “hyper-vigilant to relational danger.” But now that she is in a healthy relationship, she posed these questions: “Are you overreacting to something safe because you are remembering something traumatic? Maybe you aren’t in danger anymore. Perhaps you made it to dry land, and you are safe on shore.”

Hyper-vigilance is a place where I have taken up residence in the past year. I recognized some unhealthy patterns in my life, clinging to narratives that kept me in bondage. Messages like “I’m too much”, “I’m not worth the effort”, “it’s my fault when things go wrong”, and “all criticism is valid” have carved deep canyons in my brain. I have been setting up healthy roadblocks in my life, trying to circumvent these patterns. And it’s been hard work. It involves being curious with myself and examining what are the roots of these beliefs. This examination exposes my trauma response, my beliefs about God, and my beliefs about myself. I then create a new path based on the truth of Jesus and who He says I am. My husband has joined me on this journey, doing his own work, rewriting his own messages. But together, we are repairing and restoring our marriage.

But like the twenty-plus pounds that I have found hanging on in the folds of my skin, old habits are hard to change. Sunday, I responded badly to my husband’s simple honest question about pizza. I perceived his question to be full of innuendoes and judgment, and responded viciously, snapping like a rabid dog, attacking his character with the very tone I accused him of using. After taking a step back, acknowledging that I misread his tones, I brokenly asked, “Can you pray with me, I want to stop responding to you with my trauma lens.” Ten minutes later, I saw the Jen Hatmaker post, confirmation that I needed to see things from a different perspective.

I’m in a safe place with my husband. But like the pool, the waters of safety and trust sometimes feel cold, relieving trauma goosebumps of decades old hurt. I hesitate diving in, holding onto patterns that make me want to escape and not swim. But if I remove the trauma lens and dive into the pool, I can move towards my husband with my whole heart.

Maybe this post doesn’t resonate with you, sounding like therapeutic verbiage with esoteric concepts of safety, trauma, and patterns. Four years ago, I would have said the same thing. But current research indicates that trauma affects the brain, that parental attachment affects all future relationships, and how these patterns distort your way of seeing the world. This research is changing how healthy Christian churches are responding to each other as a body of believers and to our neighbors.

In essence, this research affirms how the gospel changes us. Jesus came to save those lost in dysfunctional patterns of sin leading to death. I may not have caused the trauma or wounding, but I am responsible for how I treat others based on that wounding. This salvation costs me nothing, it is a gift offering me freedom and an inheritance. He’s inviting me into a new way of thinking that sets me free. I no longer believe I’m not enough, or its always my fault. Instead, as I identify with my heavenly Father, I can see myself as He sees me.

Summer is over, and warm days by the pool have come to an end. But those memories of playing in the pool remind me that trauma goosebumps don’t have -to last forever. I no longer need to be “hyper-vigilant” in my relationship with God or my marriage. Instead, I can dive into a place of joy and peace. And that’s how the gospel changes everything!

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” 2 Corinthians 4:16

I have always seen my grandparents as old. Maybe it was the weathered skin from years of working on a farm, or the age spots from sun exposure. Maybe it was the thinning hair or the fact that they had a grandfather clock. But from the time I was a child, they seemed ancient. They both have since passed, but in doing the math, I am older, now, than my grandmother was when I was born, and only a year younger than my grandfather was. Does this make me old? It does, according to one cheeky young student in our church who guessed my age to be six years older than I am.

Age is an interesting paradox in our society. We seem to gravitate towards wood and metal furniture with the patina of age, giving a piece a curated, aged history. Yet, store beauty aisles are filled with serums and moisturizers promising to eliminate wrinkles, giving our skin the supple glow of youth. We honor the elders who are active contributors to our society but stop visiting those who are in the latter stages of dementia. Some of us seem to fight aging by hanging on to our youth, while others embrace it by closing our minds and hearts to the world around us, slowly waiting for death.

I wrestle in the middle space of wanting to stay active and still embrace aging. How do I keep my mind and body active while aging gracefully? How do I embrace my history, stay in the present, and look to the future when my life is probably half over? I found clarity in the lives of three remarkable people who lived into their eighties and beyond. All three have died, recently, and it’s in their later years that I have found inspiration.

In early August, I sadly sent out a text to my family reporting that historian and author David McCullough died. This “National Treasure” as some have labeled him, had written thirteen books, inspiring generations about the American spirit through its innovation, leadership, and courage. I have read all his books, some of which have won the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award. I even attended one of his book signings and heard him speak about the Wright brothers. McCullough purposefully chose subjects and persons that contributed positively to society. Once he started doing research on Picasso but found his life reprehensible and couldn’t continue in good conscience. Remarkably, McCullough completed six books since he was sixty-eight years old. These were done by engaging in hours of research, typing drafts on his old Royal typewriter, and editing with the help of his wife. History was his passion because he believed it “is a guide to navigation in perilous times. History is who we are and why we are the way we are.” In knowing my history, I have a better understanding of who I am and why I respond the way I do. This allows me to move forward with clarity and purpose, unhindered by messages of the past.

My second remarkable person, Queen Elizabeth II, died last week. The beloved queen lived to be ninety-six years old, making her the longest reigning monarch ever. Some would say that Elizabeth was born into privilege, but she recognized that with this privilege came a lot of responsibility. She faithfully carried out her duties with grace and purpose, exemplified by her meeting with the new prime minister two days before her death. She clearly understood her place in history, but it was in the daily living where Queen Elizabeth II shone. She traveled to many different countries on behalf of her subjects, adapted to the new world in which she lived, and chose to live an honorable life. Yes, she wore beautiful jewels and resided in incredible palaces. But she understood that her life was to serve her country and leave it a better place. She once said, “I cannot lead you into battle. I do not give you laws or administer justice, but I can do something else—I can give my heart and my devotion…” I may not have crowns to wear, but like Queen Elizabeth II, I can choose to serve those around me with my whole heart and devotion. I can choose to be represent well the God I serve by sincerely modeling the life and teachings of Jesus.

The last person, Herbert Kohler, might only be recognizable to you if you look at the label of your bathroom fixtures. For me, “Herbie” Kohler was a local celebrity in Sheboygan County where I grew up. He died almost two weeks at age eighty-three. Kohler became the president of his father’s bathroom fixture company at young age. He immediately set out to grow his company by focusing on design, rebranding Kohler to be synonymous with high-end bathroom fixtures. This love for design carried over in remodeling the immigrant housing unit in Kohler into a luxury hotel, the American Club. He then developed two world-class golf courses making Sheboygan County one of the top golfing destinations in the world, hosting several major golf tournaments. A writer at the Chicago Tribune commented that only Herb Kohler could turn “rural farmland into a golf mecca and a toilet into a work of art.” His vision was revolutionary and met with a lot of opposition. But Kohler continued to press forward, making his dreams come true. His vision has added economic value to the place I grew up, but more importantly, Kohler has been generous to the community, including supporting the arts, scholarships and helping the needy. He looked to building the future of his company and community by enriching their lives. His example of vision casting is important. It’s not enough for me to know my history and live well today. I need to be helping future generations by enriching their lives through my contributions.

Maybe you’re not a historian, an anglophile, or care about golf in Sheboygan County, but I believe that if you study these three lives, it can inspire you to end your life well. Some might say they were their most productive in the latter half of their lives, continuing to find ways to be contribute to their communities right until the very end. For me, aging is not something I can stop and with that fact, it’s very possible that my grandson and soon-to-arrive granddaughter will always see me as old. But I find comfort in 2 Corinthians 4:16 where Paul says, “So we do not lose heart.  Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” I will never win a Pulitzer Prize, be crowned queen, or have my name on a scholarship. Instead, I am woman who is seeking God to learn from my past, to serve well today, and to help build a place where my grandchildren will thrive and grow. The only way I know how to do this well, is to daily come to Jesus and allow His spirit to renew me. This daily renewal will help me age gracefully!

“Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one.” Colossians 4:6

It was late, yet even in my state of exhaustion, I opened the text message. The second I clicked I recognized my mistake. A message full of accusations and presumptions about how I had mistreated a friend and her family glared on my screen. This was the not the first time this had happened with this person. My faced flushed with frustration, I read the message to my husband with dramatic inflections, adding tones where I felt most attacked. I sat back in bed with tears, not of sadness but of anger, filling my eyes. I blurted indignantly that “hadn’t I been a servant, and I don’t understand where this is coming from.” I thought we had resolved all this, but it felt like we were back to square one. Wisely, my husband told me to hold my tongue, or rather my fingers, to sleep on it, and pray to see where we could reach a point of reconciliation.

Unfortunately, reconciliation was not possible. Other people were brought into the situation, making it even more complicated. I felt like there was a surface-level truce, but honestly, underneath I was seething. Anytime I was called upon to serve that family, I grumpily served, complaining behind their backs. I was angry and tired of being misunderstood. In public, I put a smile on my face. But God knew my heart, where bitterness was taking root.

It is easier to be transparent when we have been wronged, when someone else has acted in ways that were hurtful to us. Easier, but not easy. Other times, we want to push past the difficult things and move on, not sharing where we have wounded others in our attempts to wipe the slate clean. In my own life, I have been transparent about ways in which someone else’s words have been hurtful and times when I have felt less than. I have also been transparent about the sexual abuse I faced as a child into my teenage years.

It’s harder for me to admit when I’m inflicting wounds. It is hard for me to portray myself in a less favorable light. But I think Jesus recognized that this is a universal human flaw. He warns us not to judge others, otherwise we will be judged. And he asks a question, “And why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but do not consider the plank is in your own eye?” The bitterness that was taking root in me was bearing fruit: rotten, spoiled, and worm-infested. It manifested itself in ways that came off harsh, backbiting, and less than servant like. And the people it affected the most were my family. My husband and children saw a woman who taught about being a servant but acted less than that.

I have discovered in the last few years a love for radishes. I especially love the beauty of watermelon radishes, the colors it adds to my salad. I recently baked a piece of white fish in parchment paper, smothered with radishes, fennel, zucchini, and carrot. With some salt, olive oil, lemon slices, dill, and a pinch of pepper flakes, my fish was balanced, hitting all the different flavor notes inside my mouth. What surprised me was how sweet the radishes tasted. The earthiness of the radishes was still present, but the bitter edge that can be off-putting was gone. And I have since learned that it was the salt that did the trick.

Salt is probably one of the most important ingredients in a kitchen. It tenderizes meat, balances sweetness, and reduces bitterness in food. Most of us were taught in our home kitchens to use sugar to balance bitterness, but Samin Nosrat says in Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking, “it turns out that salt masks bitterness much more effectively than sugar.” She continues that if you add a pinch of salt to grapefruit juice, “You’ll be surprised by how much bitterness subsides.”

Salt, both in the Bible and in history, was an important and valuable commodity. Without refrigeration, salt was used to preserve food. In the Bible, salt was a part of the sacrifices, symbolizing that the covenant relationship between God and man would last forever. Later in the Bible, Jesus encourages us to be “salt of the world.” By living the abundant Christian life, we are to enhance the world around us by demonstrating the goodness and mercy of God. Finally, Paul encourages believers, “Let your speech always be with grace seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one.” I believe this is the property of salt where it reduces bitterness between one another.

With my smile I was trying to use fake sweetness to cover up my bitterness. The result was insincerity and bad fruit. But when I stopped to really examine my own eye and asked God to change my heart, only then did the bitterness subsided. I recognized the goodness and mercy Jesus had towards me, and in applying that salt towards my life, I was able to let my speech and actions to be filled grace.

By no means do I get this right on a regular basis. I am all too human, full of flaws and imperfections. And the beauty of being human is that I don’t always have to get it right. I won’t always get it right. And in those places where I fail or have treated others unkindly, I can go to Jesus. It is His kindness that leads me to repentance. It is His grace that helps me be salt, and not saccharine fakeness.  And if I am humble enough to admit my flaws and imperfections, others can see the work God is doing in me.

The situation with my friend was never restored. But what was restored was my heart towards Jesus and serving others. If I feel frustrated in serving today, I do a heart check and examine myself more honestly. This helps me to set healthy boundaries and lean into Jesus when I need to a keep a right spirit. And I am learning to be more generous with my salt, both literally and spiritually. Today, my pasta water is as salty as the sea, adding taste to otherwise bland pasta. And I am learning to be more generous and merciful towards others. In the hope that this is making me more salt in the world.

“And he said to her, “Daughter, thy faith has made thee whole; go in peace” Mark 5:34

It was early morning of my eighth-grade year when I crept out of bed, got dressed, and went downstairs. I quickly fixed a bowl of Corn Pops and sat on the lumpy brown couch. It was rather quiet for a house of six people, with the faint heavy breathing of my stepfather, passed out in an alcoholic stupor and my mother sleeping soundly next to him in their bedroom. I turned on the television, frantically turning the volume down to barely audible but loud enough for me to hear CNN broadcast their half-hour news. As I listened, eating quickly to avoid soggy Corn Pops, I thought about my future. Someday, I would be in a foreign country reporting about a natural disaster or humanitarian aid in war-torn country. Someday, my name would be a byline. Someday, I would be important!

I bounded off to school that day, dreams of being a reporter still in the back of my mind as I met with my counselor to set up my freshman schedule. I was excited, anticipating all the new things I would be learning when I saw what I believed to be a misprint: Freshman English. I mumbled something to my counselor like, “Shouldn’t this read Accelerated English?” I had low Bs in my English class, but still believed that my teacher would recommend me for the advanced English class. My counselor told me to follow up with my teacher. Later that day, I asked my teacher why she hadn’t recommended me for that class. Her words, “Sherry, your writing is not good enough, you lack fundamentals and clarity.” I was stunned, feeling like I had just swallowed a lifetime’s supply of soggy Corn Pops, seeing my dreams of journalism crumble before me.

I did eventually get into an accelerated class as a sophomore in high school, but the sting of the words echoed throughout my life. I quickly changed career goals, believing that I was not cut out for journalism. I felt like an imposter all the way through college, even though I graduated with honors, believing that my writing never measured up. I even stopped journaling for years, fearful that, if I died unexpectedly, others would laugh at my choppy sentences and mixed metaphors. I let the impact of one teacher’s words follow me for decades!

There was some truth about my teacher’s conclusions. My fundamentals were lacking. It’s hard to pay attention to grammar, sentence structure, and spelling when your goal in reading is to find the happy ending. I believe the trauma I was feeling at home hindered me from seeing and understanding the beauty of words, and how a correctly chosen word paints a picture. Yes, I was a reader, but reading was a form of escape from hide all the ugly words being spoken over me.

 Decades later, I sat at my computer with a need to put my thoughts and voice to paper, or rather, cyberspace. I doubted anyone would want to read my words, confident that it would not come out in clear, well-formed sentences. I wasn’t sure I could paint a picture with words that would resonate with someone or touch their heart. Regardless, I felt a need to put my words out there in the form of a blog. I told myself, and really believed, that this writing might only before me and, if so, that was enough.

 Vulnerability is not always about sharing your story. Sometimes, it’s about taking a risk, believing your future can be different than what an eighth-grade teacher did or did not recommend. To be fair, I think she had to draw a line, and, at the time, I didn’t meet the standard. I could argue that maybe, if she had been more compassionate with me and given me some pointers on how to improve my writing, I could have been inspired. But she didn’t, and I gave power to her words for a large portion of my life.

Recently, a friend of mine reminded me of the bravery the woman with the issue of blood. This was a woman who had spent all her money on doctors looking for a cure, to no avail. Additionally, according to Jewish law, she could be punished for being out in a crowd with her blood disorder because she was “unclean”. Yet, she risked her reputation and her future in one moment of brave vulnerability. She had heard the stories about this man called Jesus who had healed others. He was in her city, on her street, and she thought that if she could only touch the hem of his garment, she might be healed. I can imagine her in her weakened state, maybe stepping outside for the first time in years. The bright sun glaring in her eyes as she moved towards the crowd. I can imagine her cautious steps as she was jostled in the crowd. Suddenly, there he was, she could see him walking by, and in one desperate motion with every ounce of remaining energy, she reached out and touched the hem of his garment, believing she would be whole.

 Jesus responded to this woman by asking who had touched him. The Bible records that he felt virtue flow out of him towards the woman. The Greek word for virtue is “dynamis”, where we get the word dynamite from. The implication was something powerful flowed to the woman, and he told her that her faith had made her whole. Her act of faith, her brave vulnerability, had made her whole. It changed her life, and made her a vibrant, active member of her community. We don’t know the rest of the story, but I can imagine that this woman told others about the goodness of Jesus. She likely reached out to others, sharing with them about her desperate moment and how Jesus responded to her faith.

 I am starting my fourth year of blogging this fall. I believe that some of my posts have touched others’ lives. I have found a place where I can clearly paint pictures of the work God is doing in me. I can share how He is making me whole. I can share ideas and thoughts that God has given me. And it started with me being vulnerably brave.

 Readers, some of you I know and some of you I don’t. Some of you might be in the middle of your life like I am, and others might be starting out in adulthood. But wherever you are, be vulnerable. Brené Brown said in a TED talk, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.” Our world, individually and collectively, will only be a better place when we are vulnerably brave!

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“Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” James 5:16

It was late, we were on our way home after a thirteen-hour day of working and serving. We quietly talked, reminiscing about two famous people who had died that day. Both of us were looking forward to climbing into bed, reading a few chapters, and falling asleep. As Terry unlocked our front door, I glanced to the right, seeing flies darting across the front window. On closer inspection, and to my horror, I realized they were on the inside! We came in and, upon investigation, found over a dozen flies had taken up residence not only that window, but four more windows in my house! These flies were strange, they didn’t fly away as we started swatting. They were in a drunken stupor, and I caught a few with only a piece of paper towel. Within ten minutes, we had annihilated all the flies we could find. We still have no idea how they got in, or why they ignored the bowl of nectarines I had on the table. It was surreal! This mini invasion was fought off, and we still managed to squeeze in a few chapters before falling asleep.

When I woke up this morning, I thought maybe it had been a dream, only to find a few more flies we had missed buzzing around. I am hoping we are now in a fly-free zone. I had intentions of posting a different blog, but as I was praying this morning, I felt like God asked me to share this story. Honestly, I have never wanted to write about houseflies, especially an invasion of my home. Most of you have never met me and might conclude that I’m not a good housekeeper. Others might think, “I would never tell anyone about finding bugs in my cream of wheat as I poured it into the boiling water for my kid’s breakfast.” And still others might think, “I would never talk about hearing a mouse in my garage.” Again, all of these are true stories that have happened to me. And I am sharing them with the potential for others to read and judge my housekeeping skills.

But pests are a natural part of life. Even the best housekeeper living in a brand-new house will occasionally find an unwanted creature in their home. Yet, the pictures of the creatures rarely make Instagram or find their way into Facebook updates. Pests, junk drawers, overflowing closets, and recipe flops don’t quite paint the type of picture we want others to see or know. Yet, at one time or another, all of us have had to face these issues.

As much as we keep our battles with pests quiet, we keep the personal battles we face even more private. We rarely talk about the serious troubles we have had in our marriages, or the times we have been frustrated over our toddler’s spilled milk. We never share about the times others made us feel less than or the times we failed in our professional lives. We don’t discuss our financial struggles or post comments about the vacations we couldn’t plan. We don’t talk about the endings of friendships or the struggles with addictions we face. And for those of us who are Christians, we certainly don’t talk about our faith struggles or ways we have been hurt in a faith-based community. Additionally, we don’t talk about the ways we have failed others by saying spiteful or inconsiderate things.

I wonder, is it easier to keep these things private?  Cliches like “don’t air your dirty laundry in public” or “keep that within the family” have been part of the American lexicon for years. It has even affected how we deal with those in the public eye. I remember naively thinking that Bill Clinton was the first president to have illicit relationships in the White House, but after reading biographies about all past presidents, I learned he wasn’t the first. The difference is that the press no longer decided to hide this information from the American public.

In recent years, thinkers like Brene’ Brown and Curt Thompson have talked about the importance of vulnerability and transparency for us and within groups. Both in their books and their podcasts, they report that vulnerability leads to healing, growth, and connection. Psychologists and doctors are reporting that these private stories where we feel shame, trauma, or loneliness lead to all sorts of psychological and medical issues. It also affects future relationships including our marriages and parenting. It even affects how we relate to God!

 Although the hashtag vulnerability is trendy, the Bible records the importance of vulnerability. Jesus never shied away from addressing hard issues in people’s lives. He addressed Martha’s priorities when she questioned her sister’s unwillingness to help. He addressed Peter’s heart after Peter had denied him at the cross. He addressed the Samaritan woman’s marriage status when asking for water. In all these situations, Jesus never addressed issues to shame or condemn people. Instead, He used their vulnerability to bring them into a deeper relationship with him. Martha now knew what was important, Peter preached salvation on the day of the Pentecost, and the Samaritan woman spread the news of Jesus.

 In the next few blogs, I am going to be vulnerable about some areas in life. I am still praying about what areas to share. I do know I will cover some vulnerability about my faith journey. I hope to share with my readers places where my lack of vulnerability has caused harm to myself and others, and where my vulnerability has led to healing. I am not doing this to get a sympathetic response from my readers, instead I hope it encourages you to grow and heal.

Finally, back to the mini invasion of flies. As I was writing this today, what I thought was a fly-free zone was incorrect. I am still finding these lethargic flies around my house. I will continue to fight them, but I also need to find out how these flies are getting in. Maybe by being transparent, my readers can give me insight, because I truly believe vulnerability leads to answers!