I Was Robbed--and How Grateful I Am!

Friends are siblings God didn't give us.

Today my "little brother" Rob turns 30. I have been thinking about his impending birthday for the past few weeks, pondering what I want to say to him on this milestone day. Although Rob and I have not spoken for about two years, I think about him often and continue to thank God for bringing him into my life.

I met Rob through my friend Shannon (gorgeous redhead in the above picture). They were new classmates in their graduate school program. Shannon and I had moved to Seattle, separately, from South Carolina and while we knew a few people, we were looking to expand our friend circle. Rob was a great fit!

The first few months we knew each other, we spent quite a bit of time together. That time was spent: talking, looking for a home church, talking, "studying on the beach", talking, traveling (Hoh Nat'l Rain Forest, San Francisco), talking . . . well, I think you get the drift.

Rob was a safe man (12 years younger than me!) that we could be ourselves around--and pump for insider information about The Single Man in the 21st Century! I think Rob looked at us as good sources of information as well. But on a deeper level, we three were needing God's redemption. We were beginning our lives . . . again. Our hearts had been broken, we weren't sure how to dream and we were needing real hope and authentic community.

Rob invited me to speak into his life and that is a treasured gift he gave. He would call me at all hours and ask me to tell him a story of hope. In so doing, I believe Rob was performing a ministry to us both: reminding us that Christ calls us to hope and promises that "hope does not disappoint." And sure enough, hope has not disappointed: Rob and I each found "the one[s] our hearts [sought]" (bless you, Jenna and Pete, for waiting for us!) and we both are doing what we believe we were created to do: sit with people, hold their stories and remind them that hope does not disappoint.

Rob is dear to my heart because he allowed me to express fear and didn't freak out or give me easy promises about my future. No matter how many times I cried about the same few things, he hung in with me. I have not found a lot of men who will stay put in the hard places.

What I am trying to express about Rob is best illustrated by this story. By December 2001, five months after moving to Seattle, I was overwhelmed with God's gracious provision and blessing. Instead of being a broken, isolated, less-than divorced woman, God had given me a new start: I had new real friends, I had a church with a diverse and loving community group, I had American and foreign men offering to take me out, I was finishing my undergrad degre . . . I could go on and on.

On this particular December evening I was driving home from a party and sobbing, trying to find words to tell God how grateful I was. I was actually burdened by gratitude. I found myself praying for the gift of tongues, that God was loose my tongue and express my very deepest heart. Upon my arrival home, I found an incredible present from one of the little daughters of the family with whom I lived. It was the last straw and I fell apart. I called Rob, I don't even know how he understood me I was crying so hard and I know I wasn't making sense. He just let me cry and talk it all out. Finally, I wailed, "How will I ever be able to express to God how deep and wide my gratitude is . . .? And Rob quietly said, "Kirsie, just enjoy your life. That's how you will thank God--by enjoying what He has given you."

His words pierced my heart and I knew they were straight from God. I was making gratitude a transactional act of work. BLAH! Rob didn't try to fix me or find words for me or roll his eyes. He just spoke the truth in love and it changed me.

So now you see why I love Rob, and why I miss him, and why I celebrate him on this, his 30th birthday. When you know a strong man who loves God, chases dreams, lives out of desire and stays in the fire with you . . . well, you just celebrate and enjoy, because it is the best way to express your gratitude to God.

Rob was also a lot of fun and I can't end this post without telling one funny story. It's hard to choose, but I think this one still makes me laugh the most.

I lived in a walk-out basement apartment in a beautiful home with a wonderful family in the Ballard Neighborhood of Seattle. They had recently remodeled and so I lived in a designer apartment! It was a refuge and it was aesthetically fulfilling.

Anyway, one day Rob came over to "study". He was sitting on the sofa and I was on my big reading chair. We were actually reading. I suddenly became aware of this sound, like a waterfall. Now, I don't own one of those fake waterfalls because to me it would be like paying money to hear the toilet run constantly. And while I lived close to the water, I hadn't heard it all the way to my house before, so I didn't think it could be Puget Sound, either. All of a sudden I saw Rob's mouth moving but no sound coming out.

I turned and looked toward my bed, only to see water pouring from the ceiling down the walls onto my bed and in my closet! What happened next can only be described as a Keystone Kops routine as we scrambled to stop (??) the water, call the landlords upstairs and save my wallhanging!

Maybe you had to be there, but I am glad Rob and I were--it was priceless on all kinds of levels!

Finally, a few pictoral remembrances . . .

Rob & Shannon in San Francisco Bay Area

Ummm . . . Rob?! Rob trying to capture the WHOLE TREE in the picture!

This story is for another time . . . Just don't stay at the Hoh National Rain Forest Hostel!

Identity is not something that falls on us out of the sky. For better or for worse, identity is bestowed. We are who we are in relation to others. But far more important, we draw our identity from our impact on those others—if and how we affect them. We long to know that we make a difference in the lives of others, to know that we matter, that our presence cannot be replaced by a pet, a possession, or even another person. (Sacred Romance, John Eldredge)

Rob, you impacted me in ways too numerous and/or personal to mention here. You started me on the path to figuring out what it means to be a woman in a man's presence. You helped me to laugh, to relax, to not settle, to rest . . . and to hike (BLAH!).

Pete, Thaddeus and I send you much love and joy and peace on your 30th birthday, Friend.

xoxo Kïrsten

Why I LOVE Seattle--It's April!

Madness??? I'm just MAD.

I am very mad at Duke and Coach K and JJ Redick right now. They are not the only ones I have anger toward, to be sure. But they are the ones that cost me the most points. And really, it's not even about points. It's about being in the game. And I am essentially out. Oh, I still have Villanova and CT (although since Washington has done better than I had them doing and I LIVE in Washington, I now really want them to win. But I digress.) but what's the point? I don't have anyone to really root for now. Can you feel my pain? I am SO GLAD my friend Carl didn't contact me about a pool this year (Carl??? Where did you go? This was a highlight of my year and I didn't hear from you! I paid up last year!!). At least I don't have to lose money. Just self-pride.

So I guess I have to get back to my real job now. Sigh.

Charles M. Tanner, An Expression of Gratitude

The earthquake you felt and the tremendous crack you heard break the sound barrier on Sunday at 3a was a great man falling. Sunday morning, Charles M. Tanner , husband, father, father-in-law, grandfather, brother-in-Christ, entered into a well-deserved rest with his Savior.

But I am starting at the end of the beginning. I really need to start at the beginning of the beginning so you can appreciate how my world—and yours—has been rocked.

In 1963, the year before I was born, Charles M. Tanner, at the time working in Hollywood, started Covenant Players. He wasn’t an out-of-work playwright or actor. He wasn’t bored or independently wealthy. He was called. God gave Charles (CMT) a radical vision: professionally-trained actors performing quality drama for the church, with a deep desire to turn the world upside right for Christ. Starting out with a handful of friends and three plays, Covenant Players went on the road. By the time I joined in 1983 (with about 90 others), there were about 100 teams on the road worldwide, performing 1500+ plays ranging in length from 30 seconds to full three-act productions in 66 countries in I don’t remember how many languages . . . It was, and is, a thing of beauty.

CMT’s dedication and vision for Covenant Players was and continues to be prophetic. He dared to craft plays—given by the Holy Spirit—that exhorted, challenged and pleaded with the Church to be the Bride She is called to be. In the 18 years I have been away from CP I have not found drama material that matches the now-3,000+ plays CMT wrote to be performed for church people, school teachers and children, prisoners, nursing home residents, military personnel and anyone else who was willing to watch.

But I want to talk about my former boss, mentor, father-figure and friend, Chuck.

The thing I loved most about Chuck was that he was fully human. And he enjoyed being a human. He was a visionary who was flawed (Dare I say stubborn? I dare.), a charmer who could be tough, a serious man who loved to laugh. He was discerning and biased, a brilliant thinker who loved giving gifts. He was comfortable in his skin and I rarely saw him equivocate (if ever). There is a phrase that reminds me of Chuck: “Sometimes wrong, but never in doubt!” He was steadfast in his call and passionate about the baby God had given him, this miracle called Covenant Players.

He wasn’t passionate about a thing or a corporation. He was passionate about God’s ministry and the people who made it happen. Twice a year he sent a diverse, random group of people out in teams of four or five people, with his plays, and trusted them to love one another for the five months they lived together, love and disciple (through drama and living their lives) the people and geographical area they served, and to love God “with all their hearts, all their souls and all their minds.” He knew that his plays and his life’s work would be evaluated—judged—based on how these Covenant Players lived their professional and personal lives. Having directed a ministry that I DIDN’T start, I know how hard it is to trust your baby to someone else . . . particularly once you get to know them! But he did, sometimes to his detriment. He did it because he was called and he was obedient. And he did love and enjoy people.
Chuck changed my life in profound ways that I am still discovering. He was the first man to look into my eyes and tell me that I could do anything I set my mind to do. He told me I would do it well and that he would give me every opportunity I wanted to take. Chuck believed in me and I began to believe in myself.

Over the course of my five years in CP, I performed about 500 roles over 5,000 times in the U.S., Europe and Africa (Nigeria and Cameroon) in two languages (French & English). I performed for as few as two and as many as a few thousand people. Those performances took place in comfortable American megachurches, freezing cold British Anglican churches, pungent French nursing homes, loud and echo-y Irish schools, in tents on military fields in Germany, through a translator in the bush of Africa.

I failed. I soared. I surprised myself. I changed people’s lives (“That character you played tonight . . . She is me. I have wanted to kill myself for a long time. Now I can’t. You have shown me how God really sees ME. I leave here a different woman. Thank you.). I made life-long friends (Hi Chrissy! Call me!!!). My life was changed—who knew there was more than one way to worship God? That one doesn’t automatically go to hell if one speaks in tongues? That when my van breaks down in Flemish-speaking Belgium in the middle of the night in the middle of winter I can catch (don’t tell my mom, but really I hitched) a ride with some Turkish men to the next town, find housing, a mechanic and new friends? I had no idea that I could take three years of German, two of Spanish, and learn and perform in FRENCH!

(Unforgettable phone conversation with CMT: “Kïrsten, I need you to go to France. I know I told you that you could go to Ireland. I know you really want to go there. But I need you in France. Will you go to France?” “Chuck, I don’t speak French!” “Well, Dear, you know I was just over there in Europe and I was amazed how quickly my French came back.” “Chuck, I don’t have any French that CAN come back . . . I only know some German and even less Spanish. I never took French.” “You are a smart capacitous woman. You’ll catch on quickly.” “Okay. Thank you for the . . . opportunity . . . ?”)

And here’s the thing. I learned French. I performed in French. I ministered in French.

I was also grateful that I got to know Chuck the husband, dad and granddad. It is said that grandchildren provide a second chance for grandparents and I really saw that with Chuck. He loved the girls very much. One of my favorite pictures of Chuck was taken by Mike Shalkey: Chuck has Jennifer in his arms and he is totally taken with her. It was a gift he gave Christina and Suzanne, how much he enjoyed the granddaughters.

Chuck was quite aware that Dorie made his life work. Chuck was a man of many contradictions and it must be said that he was not always easy. In all the time I was in their home, I knew there was great, deep and complicated love between, under and surrounding the two of them. They were committed to each other. I have reflected on that commitment many times over the past 23 years. Many times.

My favorite Tanner Manor memory: I was assigned to Christina’s (Chuck’s daughter) unit. Training was over and we were getting ready to drive to our mission area. We stayed at the house for a few nights while in the midst of preparations. I got up one morning and everyone was out (I thought ) except Dorie and me. I had breakfast—cereal with FIGS OFF THE TREE—with Dorie, chatting and resting with each other. Then I went to take a shower. For some reason, Rickie Lee Jones’s song “Chuck E’s in Love” was in my head and I started singing it. The bathroom has pretty good acoustics, and I had just been put on a music & drama unit, so I was feeling my oats. I came out of the bathroom with a towel on my head and belted out “Chuck E’s in lo-ove! He’s in love, he’s in love, he’s in love, he’s in lo-o-o-o-o-ove, oh yeah” and ran right into Chuck, who had to sit down he was laughing so hard!

Oh the joy of making Chuck laugh—great big smile, fantastic twinkling eyes and a wonderfully robust laugh!

My second favorite CMT memory: Every year there is a celebratory banquet in January for the whole of CP. It takes place on every continent. The US banquet is in LA. In the good old days (ha!) it was an all-night affair. It usually started around 6 or 7p and finished up around 11a or noon the next day. By the time we got out of the gym, we were pretty punchy. The routine was to grab some In and Out Burger, go back to the house, pry off all the make up, crack off the hairspray, peel off the fancy clothes and HIT THE HAY. Sometime around 6-7-8p, Chuck would start knocking on doors: “I’m going to (fill in his restaurant du jour). Want to come?” We would drag ourselves out and have a bite. Then head back to the house, settle into the front sitting room and debrief/glow/tell stories. Chuck had amazing stamina. I mean, really he wasn’t human. But this night . . . Suzanne, Chris and I are chatting and laughing and I look over and see this, from the man who has been razzing me about sleeping too much:

He was relaxed in our presence enough that he let down and took a snooze.

I loved that so much.

But my favorite picture was taken by my friend Joe Friedman (found at end of post). It reminds me of the end of a simple, fairly short conversation I had with Chuck in which I told him something very painful. It was just the two of us at the kitchen table. He put down his paper and gave me his full attention. I told him, in tears, that someone had betrayed me and I didn’t know what to do. He reassured me of his love (“Well, my Dear, you know I love you.) He comforted me. And of course, he invited me (there is always room for you back on the road, my Dear. You know I think this is where you belong!”). He looked at me for a moment, shook his head sadly, patted my hand and went back to his paper. The pictures isin my living room. It tells a story.

I have to close by saying something about Chuck’s plays, because they are so much his essence. His plays are brilliant. They are smart, witty, rich, complicated, flirtatious, stunning, heartbreaking, confusing, priceless, lingering, full of love, hope, faith, light and dark . . . I am honored to have learned them and performed them.

I am unspeakably honored, grateful and indescribably blessed to have known and loved, and been loved by, their writer, Charles M. Tanner . . . Chuck.

And truly, this day, Chuck is in Love, with his Savior.

* * *

Good-bye

By Christine Dente

One day you went running on a grassy field

Too few came following

Your spirit flew this earthy place

And so with heavy hearts, yet a certain sense of joy

We say good-bye

*

And we are left to question

What do we do with this?

A day we all expect, yet unexpected, it always is

How beautiful the hope of those who know

Where they will go

*

He set us free

So we need not be afraid

We need not stay longer than the number of our days

Let us love

Mourn and suffer for His sake

Until the day it dawns on us when we must say

Good-bye

*

See, we’re the ones who wonder

We're the ones who live

To read and write and ponder ‘til our eyes begin to dim

How glorious the joy of those who go

They already know

*

He set us free

So we need not be afraid

We need not stay longer than the number of our days

Let us love

Mourn and suffer for His sake

Until the day it dawns on us when we must say

Good-bye

*

On a day like today my heart is bound a little less

To the tight and tiring vanities of life

Like a butterfly emerging, struggling to be free

I feel the lift, I sense the give it takes

To send me flying from this earthy place

*

He set us free

So we need not be afraid

We need not stay longer than the number of our days

Let us love

Mourn and suffer for His sake

Until the day it dawns when we must say

Good-bye

Tears in our eyes, we say good-bye, too soon to fly, we wonder why, we say

good-bye

**

© 2002 Mighty Grey Music/Lil’ Yella House Music/Dayspring Music, LLC (BMI)

Thank you, my friend.

I will see you on the other side of the Registrar.

A Philosophy, A Theology, A Perfume--

It's been an odd month for me.

Last year at this time, I was still trying to walk straight after delivering Thaddeus! No one tells you (or at least none of my friends told ME) that my pubic bones were going to spread so far apart that walking more than 10 feet would cause excruciating pain for almost one year post-birth!

But I that's for another post.

Relationships in my life are shifting. No. Not shifting. They are exploding. Great foundational changes are occurring. This includes my marriage, my family ties and my friendships.

In this post, I want to talk about the latter.

Four-and-one-half years ago, I stepped back from a significant relationship in my life. Well, actually, two significant relationships: one was my (first) marriage, the other a friend. This post is not about my (first) marriage and that stepping back (aka divorce).

At the time the friend was pursuing a course that I thought was harmful to himself and those who loved him. Because of my own story, I reached a point where I could not--at that time in my life--continue to walk with him. With pain and frustration I told him I could not be in relationship with him.

What made it so difficult is that he played a very important role in my life. I used to say he was like a wonderful older brother. But really, he was a father-figure. And at a time I needed him, I felt my father-figure was disappointing me. It was crushing and painful and all kinds of awful things. I cried for days.

Over the years much has happened in my life: I have remarried, I have a baby, I am close to a graduate degree and I have a private counseling practice. At each place I have missed my friend, my father-figure.

Over the years, I have matured. I am stronger and more able to be wounded on behalf of another. I know more of my own weakness and foolishness and need for grace.

I continued to keep tabs on him. I wondered if I had lost him forever. I dreamed about him. I asked God to work it out. And I waited.

Today I called him to ask if, when I was in town in a few weeks, I could take him to lunch and apologize to him. I didn't want to apologize for my convictions and weakness, but rather for how I loved my convictions and weakness more than him. So after checking with a friend to see if an overture might be welcome, I dialed the old familiar phone number.

Voice mail. Curse you, Voicemail!

I left a stuttering message, invited him to call me back, and waited.

Twenty minutes later the phone rang ("Jesus Take the Wheel" is my ringtone!). It was him. Before I could launch in, he stopped me. "Before we go any further, you don't need to apologize to me. It's in the past; let's let it stay in the past and start from here. You did what you had to do. I admire the straightforward way you let me know what you could and couldn't do. So unless you need to say something to me, let's move on. You don't need to apologize to me." (paraphrased)

Is there anything more humbling, alluring, overwhelming, healing . . . indescribable than grace?

I. Could. Hardly. Breathe. What could I possibly say?

Mercy is when you don't get what you deserve (in the form of punishment or consequences). Grace is when you do get what you don't deserve--in the form of kindness, blessing and love.

Grace has been called the Mark of the Christian Believer. It is the thing that distinguishes us, supposedly, from others. Today, I sat at the knee of a master.

U2 has an amazing song about grace. It is my anthem for 2006.

***

Grace, she takes the blame

She covers the shame

Removes the stain

It could be her name

Grace... It's a name for a girl

It's also a thought that changed the world

And when she walks on the street

You can hear the strings

Grace finds goodness in everything

Grace, she's got the walk

Not on a ramp or on chalk

She's got the time to talk

She travels outside of karma, karma

She travels outside... of karma

When she goes to work, you can hear the strings

Grace finds beauty in everything

Grace... She carries a world on her hips

No champagne flute for her lips

No twirls or skips between her fingertips

She carries a pearl in perfect condition

What once was hurt

What once was friction

What left a mark

No longer stings...

Because Grace makes beauty

Out of ugly things

Grace finds beauty in everything

***

Grace is to be more than a philosophy, a theology or a perfume.

It's to be a way of life. It's to be my way of life. I got off the phone and I wept.

To My Friend: Thank you. I love you. Welcome back. xoxo

Lord, Let It Be So

Jesus, I Am Resting, Resting

Jesus I am resting, resting,

In the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness

Of Thy loving heart.

Thou hast bid me gaze upon Thee,

And Thy beauty fills my soul,

For by Thy transforming power,

Thou hast made me whole.

Jesus I am resting, resting, In the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.

Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,

I behold Thee as Thou art,

And Thy love, so pure, so changeless,

Satisfies my heart;

Satisfies its deepest longings,

Meets, supplies its ev'ry need,

Compasseth me 'round with blessings:

Thine is love indeed!

Jesus I am resting, resting, in the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.

Ever lift Thy face upon me

As I work and wait for Thee;

Resting 'neath Thy smile, Lord Jesus,

Earth's dark shadows flee.

Brightness of my Father's glory,

Sunshine of my Father's face,

Keep me ever trusting, resting,

Fill me with Thy grace.

Jesus I am resting, resting, in the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness of Thy loving heart.

Words by Jean S. Pigott; Music by David Hampton© 1998 New Spring Publishing, Inc. CCLI License No. 34305

It's Raining, It's Pouring . . .

Apparently I snore. Nightly. And it's cute.

Right.

Pete says that I snore pretty much every night, when I am not talking in my sleep and working out the world's problems. He thinks it's cute, my wife-snore.

I am mortified. Everyone knows snoring is not ladylike. It's more . . . truck driver-like.

In my defense? Seattle is on Day 28 of rain. We are one week away from breaking the record. Yea! A WHOLE MONTH of rain!

How can I NOT snore?

Put in your earplugs and wake me when it's over.

100 Things, Part Two!

So here is 26-50:

26. I feel 23; can't believe I am 41-almost-42.
27. I dream vivid dreams every night and I remember them when I wake up.
28. My dreams usually are the place that I say goodbye, that I figure things out, that my deeper fears/thoughts are revealed to my conscious self and that I am grateful to God for this "space apart."
29. I think if Christians talked more about redemption--and lived as though it was true--the Gospel would be utterly irresistible.
30. As recently as one year ago God redeemed a very painful area of my life. Yet I already have largely forgotten it as I see all that is unredeemed. So number 29 is really spoken to me.
31. I still am in regular contact with friends I made in third grade (Hey Lorrie!).
32. I hate the cold. I hate being cold. I can't believe I lived in Vermont for 10 years.
33. I ADORE a good snowstorm. There is nothing better than being snowed in and everything is shut down so you are not expected to show up anywhere. Yea.
34. I miss my dog Lucy something fierce.
35. Having a baby is far better than having a dog. Having a dog is far easier than having a baby.
36. I lived in Africa for six months 19 years ago. I think about it every day and still hope I will return someday.
37. If I had all the time and money in the world I would get an Master of Divinity after I finished my Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology. So far, time and money are very limited.
38. If I was 10 years younger and had met Pete 10 years ago I think I would have four or five children.
39. Number 38 shocks me! (And probably terrifies Pete.)
40. I have an Aunt Bea who is from Iowa (although she has moved to MN recently). People find this funny. I find it providential.
41. My Aunt Julie (also from Iowa and still there) can do anything. She is, by far, the most talented and gifted person I know. Just five years older than me, I grew up wanting to be like her. She was musical (writing her own music, playing the guitar and any other instrument she cared to pick up, and singing), athletic (track, basketball, volleyball, horseriding, etc., etc., etc.), smart, witty and fun. She also told me the scariest stories when we were girls and I still won't go into the basement of my great-grandparents' former house, no matter how much money you offer me.
42. I am in an epic spiritual struggle right now. Pray for me. (Now and at the hour of my death.)
43. Two-and-a-half years ago I started a book group because God told me to do so. I did it with a lot of reservations. It is one of the best things I have done. I have five other women in my life who really know me and allow me to know them. Thanks, God.
44. Right now I feel like I am failing at most everything in my life. This is not a familiar feeling for me . . . I am off kilter and strangely, I feel that is exactly where God wants me right now. Thanks, God.
45. I can still taste the rhubarb that grew by the sidewalk between my great-grandparents' and my grandparents' houses.
46. My brother and I are not very close. It makes me sad. Yet at random times he will call me to check in and always tells me that he loves me. It moves me profoundly each time.
47. In tenth grade I told Mr. Lillie, my algebra teacher, that I didn't need algebra because I was going to be a singer like Amy Grant. He was such a great teacher that he didn't even crack a smile. He told me that if I would work at algebra, he would buy every album I made. He looked me in the eyes when he said it and he meant it. I loved him for it. He died of ALS quite a few years ago. I wish I would have thanked him.
48. My son has an old soul. Many people have commented on it. I love that for him and I wonder what it will mean for him.
49. I hate coffee, dislike (hot) tea and am not a huge soda fan. I am a hot chocolate woman all the way. Why does Starbucks put a shot of vanilla in their hot chocolate? Dumb.
50. Books. God's best creation after people. End of story.

AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR . . .

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Clorox's new Bleach Pen Gel is just awesome. I have a genetically passed on condition that makes it impossible for me to eat without spilling something down my front (thanks, Mom!). Because I like to live dangerously, I have several beloved white Eddie Bauer shirts and one sweater. Throughout my life I have had to junk several such shirts because of my genetic predisposition toward messy eating. No more. I have performed several rescue operations on my shirts and sweater and the Bleach Pen has eradicated: Mixed Berry Juice, Ketchup, Blueberries, more Chocolate (milk, dark, fondue, bar . . . you name it) than I can possibly remember and wine, to name a few. I love my Bleach Pen!

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THREE WISHES from a WANNABE-DADDY'S-GIRL

If you haven't watched Three Wishes hosted by Amy Grant, Friday night is your last chance. This show has received critical acclaim, but because of its schedule placement viewership has not been what I think it could be. What a lot of people thought would be a cheesy show has turned out to be a powerful testimony of what the Body of Christ can be in each others' lives.

An episode aired about six weeks ago that propelled me into despair and gratitude.

A young small-town woman had gone to the big city to make it as a hair stylist to the stars. She met the man of her dreams, became pregnant, mohd left her, and she went home in disgrace. She had her baby, opened a hole-in-the-wall salon and tried to make penance.

Her wish was to have a shop in which she could really serve people, a place that she could offer a retreat. She wanted to make her family proud. She said her dad was a deacon and she had brought shame on him and the rest of her family. She wanted to undo that.

Her wish for a new shop was granted. They brought in a Hollywood hair stylist to spend the day with her. She was thrilled with it all.

But the show was not done. She was told to go down to the Baptist Church. When she walked in the church was full. Her father was standing behind the pulpit. She was led to sit down in the front pew. It was silent as her father started to speak.

He introduced her as his daughter and then looked at her and told her that he was proud of her. Told her that he had never been ashamed of her and that his little granddaughter (her daughter) was the greatest gift she had ever given him. He ended by telling her he loved her.

Every little girl's dream: Your daddy declaring his love for you in view of the world.

***
My dad is a man of few words. Growing up the words I received were most often "backhanded compliments" or deflective humor. What I wanted was tender words that affirmed me and helped me to see myself. My dad didn't know how to speak that language.

I feel like I have been missing my dad my whole life. Until now.

Pete, Thad & I went back to Iowa for my Great Aunt Rae's 90th birthday. It was a hectic trip--everyone was sick, the weather was cold and chaos abounded. On our way home from the airport I listened to voicemail messages and one message made the hassles inconsequential:

I think I can type it here, verbatim:

Kirsten, this is your father. Just wanted to thank you for coming out, and tell you I love you . . . and the world is still flat. Goodbye.

The message took my breath away. My dad called me. He wasn't forced onto the phone during a call between my mom and me. He wasn't made to call me; he wasn't even at home when he made the call. Of his own volition, he picked up his cell phone, dialed my number, thanked me for coming out and told me that he loved me (and the world is still flat).

So I have a message for my dad:

Dad, this is your daughter. Just wanted to thank you for hosting us, and tell you I love you . . . and the world is beautiful. Goodbye.

"This world falls on me/With Dreams of Immortality/Everywhere I turn/All the Beauty just keeps shaking me." Indigo Girls

The Passion of Great Aunt Rae

♥On the occasion of your 90th birthday, November 2, 2005

(read to you on November 12, 2005) ♥

Your life’s passion becomes clear to anyone who spends more than five minutes in your home: it is children. The dolls you have collected over the years represent the deep love and care you have gifted three generations with over your 90 years. ♥ While I enjoyed playing with the dolls as a little girl, they are not the reason I know this about you. Rather, I experienced your passion firsthand because I was one of the objects of your passion throughout my childhood.
You nurtured passion in me. ♥ I learned how to enjoy every day life. I have wonderful memories of cooking lessons with my Easy-Bake Oven, dressing up and play-acting, your lovingly rubbing Vick’s VapoRub on my chest when I was sick, tickling my back while l fell asleep and introducing me to the wonders of The Lawrence Welk Show. ♥ You fed my passion for reading. At night you always read in bed and encouraged me to bring a book to bed, too. It is from your library that I found and read my favorite book in the world, Hurray for Me. I re-read at least once a year. Your library was diverse and it opened new worlds to me. Your Reader’s Digest collection taught me about Joe’s brain and Jane’s thyroid! ♥ You expanded my passion for people by teaching me to graciously greet guests (especially during your Edgewood years). I especially am grateful that you encouraged me to spend time with the older women who lived at Edgewood. I learned to be at ease with senior citizens and have formed many precious friendships with people whose wisdom and life experience has made my life richer.
I could go on and on, but I will close by naming the most important passion you nurtured in me: my love for God. ♥ Besides being one of my first Sunday School teachers, as my aunt you modeled other Christ-like qualities to me: your genuine love for and belief in me; your respect for me as a person; your constancy in my life . . . ♥ all that you invested in me, through God’s grace, helped provide the framework for my spiritual formation.
In other words . . .
"This service that you perform is not only
supplying the needs of God's people
but is also overflowing in many expressions
of thanks to God." (2 Cor. 9.12)

♥Today and always I thank God for your life & passion♥

With much love, Kïrsten Marie♥

In the Grand Tradition

By the way, SolaKirsten is a knock-off of Sola Scriptura:

Sola scriptura (Latin By Scripture alone) is one of five important slogans of the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century. It meant that Scripture is the only infallible rule for deciding issues of faith and practices that involve doctrines. The intention of the Reformation was to "correct" the Catholic Church by appeal to the uniqueness of the Bible's authority, and to reject Christian tradition as a source of original authority alongside the Bible or in addition to the Bible.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sola_scriptura

100 Things, Installment 1!

In the blogging world, as you probably know since you are reading this, it is usual and customary to make a list of 100 Things. Being one who always at least tries to fit in (though I usually am the square peg), I thought I would go ahead and throw mine into the InterWorld.

1. I was born and raised in Iowa.
2. With a few "breaks"
3. When I lived in NYC,
4. England and
5. California.
6. I lived on a 600-acre farm.
7. I grew up surrounded by grandparents,
8. aunts, uncles, cousins
9. and farm animals.
10. It was a great way to grow up.
11. My grandparents lived in the main farmhouse.
12. When my great-grandparents moved to town, we moved into their house, which was about 50 yards from my grandparents.
13. My aunt and uncle lived in a house about 50 yards in the other direction from my grandparents.
14. My grandparents saved my life in ways I still do not understand.
15. I have never felt like I belong:
16. not in any situation,
17. not in my family-of-origin,
18. not in school,
19. nor anywhere else.
20. Most people would be shocked to hear me say that.
21. I think people are thinking two things when I walk into a room:
22. "There's SoliKirsten; she is so odd." and
23. "Look at her thighs. How can she go out in public with such huge thighs??!?"
24. My thighs are bigger than average but they are not that bad.
25. So I've been told.

I've decided to do these in groupings. I like to build intrigue and suspense. So look for 26-50 in the days and weeks to come.

I Promise I Am Fully Dressed as I Am Typing This

"Every time a woman leaves off something she looks better, but every time a man leaves off something he looks worse." ~Will Rogers

I have clothing issues . . . No, I am not a stripper or anything like that. I just can't always remember to put them on. And when I do get them on, it's not always . . . in the right way, so to speak. For your reading pleasure I offer three "clothing mishaps" that may, or may not, have actually happened. You have to decide!

Mishap #1: First a bit of backstory. In my younger years I toured with a itinerant repertory theatre company. We performed schools, prisons, nursing homes, churches, theatres . . . wherever there were people! SO. On to the mishap! I and my team were performing on a stage for a church dinner theater. It was an older, affluent group. They were at tables and we were up on the stage. During the play, I had to stand up from a squatting position. (Oh! One more piece of backstory. This was in the early 80s when prairie skirts that hung below the knees several inches were in style. IT WAS THE 80s!) So, there I was squatting with my skirt fanned out around my feet in a beautiful way. Then there I was standing . . . with my skirt beautifully fanned out around my feet--still. I am standing in my blouse, which is tucked into my hose. Fortunately, I DO have panties on. But no slip, because I COULD NOT FIND IT EARLIER!
I looked down, gasped, and ran off stage. Curtain.

Mishap #2: My generous x-mother-in-law once took me clothes shopping in some up-scale boutiques in New England. She is what I would call a "Clothes-Tryer-Onner." I am a "Take-It-Home-and-Try-It-On-and-Return-It-If-It-Doesn't-Work-Outer." To put it more succinctly, I hate trying clothes on in the store. But I wasn't wielding the credit card, so I became a Clothes-Tryer-Onner! So I am in the little dressing room and x-M-i-L is handing things in, taking things back, handing other things in, making me twirl and walk, handing things in, taking things back . . . Rinse, repeat!

This went on for quite a while. I experienced book and chocolate withdrawal. I longed for a rest. I wondered how many calories I had burned. But I was going to walk out with FREE CLOTHES. That I had not paid for. That would be new to everyone in my life. They would be very happy as the blue and purple princess-waisted dress was getting a little FRAYED (read: raggedy).

After a twirl, I went back in the dressing room. x-M-i-L handed in a skirt. I put it on, made a grand entrance, did a beautiful twirl and then posed for her. I noticed her eyes were like saucers. Eyes that were seeing a car accident or perfectly good chocolate being thrown away! She stuttered and pointed at me. I looked down and noticed that I had put the skirt on, but NO BLOUSE. NO BLOUSE WAS ON MY BREASTS--JUST A DEMI-UNDERWIRE-FULL-FIGURE-HOLDING BRA!

I looked to my left to see the male shop owner holding a phone to his ear but speechlessly looking at me. His jaw? It was one inch of the ground. Maybe only one-half inch. I've never been good with measurements. Or clothes.

Mishap #3: Backstory: I like to sleep until the last possible moment. I know--to the SECOND--how long it takes me to get ready (although having a baby has shot that to h-e-double-toothpicks, but that's another set of stories). At the time of this little mishap, I was living four-and-a-half blocks from my place of work. So I could sleep EVEN LONGER. YIPPEEEEEEEEE!

This particular morning, I had hit the snooze alarm one or five times. So, clearly my routine was going to have to be . . . CONDENSED.

But I was used to this! So I got myself into hyperspeed and in no time at all, I was out the door and on my way! It was a nice day. A crisp New England morning, not too cold. But still, I felt a little chilled in my . . . nether regions, my special parts, my bottom half. It was breezy. So I looked down and noticed I HAD NO SKIRT ON! Panties: check. Hose: check. Skirt: AWOL!

I was halfway to work. So I did what any self-respecting half-clothed professional would do: I turned around and headed back to my apartment. To find a skirt. And then to actually PUT IT ON!

"And as the last piece of clothing/Fell to the floor/The police were banging on the door"

~Chris DeBurgh, "Patricia the Stripper"

So there are my clothing stories. A few. I don't want to give them all up at once. And it's NOT because I STILL HAVE ISSUES, EITHER!

So how much do strippers make these days, anyway?!??

A (Medium-Length) Disclaimer That is Written In a Humorous Vein But is Meant With All Love and Sincerity, Because My Mom! Is Nervous About This Blog!!

This blogging stuff makes my mom nervous.

She was brought up (and thus I was brought up) to "pull yourself up by your own bootstraps" and not to navel-gaze or air your dirty laundry. My grandmother, Mildred "Johnnie" Anderson had about as tough a childhood as you can imagine. (Mom & Bea, correct me if I am wrong): I don't think she saw a counselor one time in her life. She read her Bible. She prayed. She was a farm wife who raised seven children (and did a million other things, too). There wasn't time to ruminate on what did or didn't happen and how it did or didn't harm her.

So this blog makes my mom nervous. (Hi Mom!)

I am committed to only writing things that I would say to my family and friends (and only writing it after it has been said to them and their permission to write it has been secured!). My purpose in this blog is simply to write what I think and feel about my life, how my faith has informed my life and how my life informs my faith.

It makes my mom nervous! (Love you, Mom!)

I hope it sparks discussion between my family and me and my friends and me. I hope it helps me be more present with people, because I struggle with that a lot.

Most importantly, I hope I glorify God in what I write. At its foundation, this blog is a love letter to God from me. At the next level up, it is a love letter to my mom.

My mom? She is soooo nervous about this! (Squeezing Thad for you, Mom!)

Mom? Don't be nervous. After all, it was you who taught me: That which does not kill us makes us stronger. A blog can't kill us!

So on to the strengthening! (And don't hold my mom responsible for anything I write here, because SHE IS SO NERVOUS ABOUT THIS!) (Hi, Mom!!!)

I Want

I am in the thick of life right now. I am standing in that place that is infuriatingly delicious: my heart is a bombed-out wreck of new life. I feel the tension of the Now-and-the-Not-Yet. There is a lot of death right now. More pride to be put to sleep, as the euphemism goes.

I realize that marriage invites two people to look at each other and say, "No, it was 100% my fault" and "Yes, I 100% forgive you" and mean it from the bottomest place of the heart, in truth. And in the midst of the saying and the listening and the hearing, the percentages fall away and Grace makes it 1000% HIS fault and we fall on our faces, trembling, grateful and speechless.

What I have just described is impossible. And yet "I can do all things through Jesus Christ who gives me strength." The Now-and-the-Not-Yet.

I want a marriage that reveals a little of the mystery of Christ to the world. If my marriage even gives people a glimpse of the mystery of Christ's love, I will die well in my soul.

I want a life that invites people to rest in God. To simply be in the presence of God and not worry about the rules or the shortcomings or the ugliness or the failings, but to just look "full in His wonderful face" and see themselves as they are.

I want to mother in a way that is nurturing. I want to create a home that is a refuge for my son. But not a refuge in which to hide; rather, a refuge in which he fills up with love, courage, stamina, daring, empathy, strength and wisdom so that he will move back into the world and be a man of strength and grace, loving God with his all.

I want to be a wife that invites her husband to be the man God created him to be in the world. I want to surround him with love, respect, affirmation, kindness and tenderness. I want to be a help-meet that co-shoulders the burdens and co-celebrates the triumphs. I want to create a home that is a place of rest so that he goes out into the world and penetrates the darkness with the light Christ has lit in him.

I want to be a counselor who is content to sit with a person and watch for God. I want to be a safe place for the Other to encounter what God has to give. I want to fight for their hearts and wrestle with their questions . . . because they will often be my own questions, too.

I want to be a daughter (-in-law) that honors, heals, serves and receives graciously.

I want to be the Beloved, to fully take on the all that Christ has given as a result of His death and resurrection. I want to walk in faith that "He who began a work in me is faithful to complete it." I want to revel in the delight of a God who "rejoices over me with singing" and not worry so much about all the ways I am not what I think I should be. I am tired of failing myself.

I want. And the wanting leads me to follow God into the hard places to confront things that keep me from living as the Beloved of God.

I want.

Giving You My Take on LIFE!

Over and over again I have been told I need to write a book. This sounds like a lot of work! While I can work as hard as the next person, if there is an easier way to do something that accomplishes a reasonable facsimile of the goal, I am all for that.

It seems to me that blogging is the best of both worlds. I don't have to meet deadlines, worry about every little comma, make it all hang together, etc. You get to read a book that never ends! There's a new chapter all the time.

Kind of like All Kirsten, All the Time!

So this blog is the Public Kirsten, the one that amuses, frustrates, inspires, (fill in the blanks). A little about me. I am a wife, a mom, a (almost finished) graduate student, a registered counselor in private practice, a daughter (-in-law), a sister (-in-law), a granddaughter, a niece, a cousin, a friend, an office-mate, a reader, a singer, a traveler, a searcher and a "straight-shootin' son-of-a-gun."

Welcome to ALL KIRSTEN, ALL THE TIME!