Hearing the Music

Last night Tim posed the question, "How do I express my individuality?" He's part of a men's group, trudging through a fairly hefty workbook, and sometimes questions like this will bump into a dead end in his brain. He'll turn the question to me, hoping my response will kick start his own. (It often does.)

As I reasoned through the various things that I believe express my individuality, I realized that it would be easier to answer the reverse question, "How do I suppress my individuality?" This moment was an epiphany for me. Mostly because it has not always been true.

I spent a lot of my youth (as most youth do) wanting desperately to fit in. Then, somewhere in college, that shifted to a quest to discover who I was. Finally, out of nearly two decades of marriage and a dozen years of parenting, I have been stripped of pretense (most of it) so that the real me is exposed. (Who has the energy to maintain pretense in the midst of marriage and parenting?!)

As an observer of my own children, I realize that they ARE. They are who they are, and they always have been. Seth entered this world with a laid-back posture, kind demeanor, quiet soul, merciful spirit, and keen intelligence. Reed arrived with an energy and spirit, wit and creativity, spunk and sass very different than his brother. And as they have grown, these traits have continued.

It's my delight to nurture and protect these traits in them...this individuality...and to build them up when others want to tear them down (be like us, look like us, act like us...). It's fascinating to think of someday launching two adults who know who they are, whose they are, and what they have to offer this world.

As for me, I no longer apologize for my spunk and sass (wonder where Reed gets it), I cherish my creative bent, and I am grateful for those God has sent who cherish me and don't want to change me.

Nesting

Two weeks ago we moved from our home of ten years to a new house. Actually, it's an old house but new to us.

On the day of the move, I found myself lying on the floor of Reed's empty bed room crying. Not great heaving sobs, but quiet, heavy tears of remembrance. I laid on the dusty carpet and remembered painting the ocean mural that surrounded me, the giant red squid at my head. I saw the echos of bunk beds holding two chatty brothers night after night after night. I remembered middle-of-the-night calls, "Mom...can you come lay down with me?" All beautiful memories, all lived within these walls.

In this house, I rocked a baby, nursed a baby, and grew a baby into a boy. In this house, I loved a boy, snuggled a boy, and saw him turn into a teen. In this house, I expected a baby, prepared for a baby, and lost a baby. In this house, I loved with a whole heart, laughed with abandon, and cried with no shame.

It was a good house. And I am grateful.

Now, I'm nesting. Displaying photographs. Hanging art. Shelving books. All of those things that make a house a home for me. The creaks of this house are different. The nighttime shadows a little creepy. The scent of the rooms unfamiliar. And my spirit tells me, "Give it time..."

Sit in your favorite chair and enjoy the new view...

Snuggle beside Reed in his new bedroom...

Listen to the boys practicing their piano...

Watch the cat exploring every nook and cranny...

Take the dog out to run in the big backyard...

In time, these things will become routine, and the shadows will seem friendly and the smells will be intoxicating and the creaks will be endearing. Give it time...

Surrender

Last weekend eight friends from across the country joined me in the Smoky Mountains for a girls' getaway. Now, I know what you're thinking: four days of sleeping in, eating out, and hitting the outlet malls. (After all, it WAS tax-free weekend!) As tempting as that plan sounds, our weekend looked very different.

You see, these ladies came into my life over the past two years as we served side-by-side at a women's retreat in Colorado. We joke that eight days shared at this retreat equals eight years in real time (kind of like human years/dog years). We've shared our stories with one another - the good, bad, and ugly. We've worshiped, laughed, cried, and learned how to listen and pray together.

And that is exactly what this weekend was all about. We didn't go into our time together with a plan. No schedule. No expectations. Instead, we each arrived with a desire to engage, to listen, to surrender, and to intercede. It was beautiful.

On Friday, we were all set to go tubing. How better to introduce outsiders to East Tennessee (other than a trip to Dollywood, perhaps)? Just as we were finishing lunch, however, thunder rumbled and the skies opened up with rain. Instead of withdrawing for naptime, we gathered in the living room and began to listen to Karen's story. Listening turned into praying.

It was like that throughout the weekend. One by one, we would talk about our lives, our fears, our desires, and where God is (or where we don't see him) at work. And we would pray. It was as natural and easy as having a conversation with a dear friend.

For much of my life I thought that for prayer to be effective it had to follow a certain formula. If I missed a step (i.e. confession), then my words would either not reach God's ears or he would dismiss me because I'd not followed correct protocol. What I'm learning is that only one thing is required for effective prayer: surrender.

When we surrender in prayer, we allow the Holy Spirit to guide us and to provide the words. Romans 8:26-27 explains it this way: "We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God."

Prayer (or any other part of our life in Christ) isn't about method, requirement, or duty. If it is fear-based or formulaic, then I'd pose it's not Spirit led. I've found that true communion - with God and with others - comes when we lay everything else down to be present and to surrender. My weekend left me with such gratitude: for beautiful friends who are following God, fierce allies who are willing to pray, a patient God who continues to shepherd me, and the sweet experience of surrendering in prayer.

Welcome Home

Our family has been packing for a move. Not across the country or even across town. We’re simply moving a few miles to a house close to my husband’s work. However, we’ve learned through nearly twenty years of marriage and now six moves, every move is a big move. This one seems especially big as I sort through ten years of accumulated “stuff” and recall the ten years of memories that have taken place within these walls.

As I have processed all of these times – both the bitter and the sweet (mostly sweet) – I have remembered the gatherings, both large and small, that we’ve been privileged to host through the years. The people who have graced us with their presence…

The small group that circled round our den to study the Word, watch the Superbowl, or share a meal. Couples that joined us for a game of Canasta or Scrabble. Girlfriends who offered me connection while I offered simply a mug of Chai. Elders who gathered late on Wednesday nights. And our son’s small group that somehow makes a weekly Bible study a rowdy, full-contact sport.

While each of these encounters differed, they all shared one common trait: They were all expressions of community. Through the years I’ve learned that when we open our home to others, we open our hearts to them as well. These people shared laughter and tears, joy and sorrow with us. They filled this home with life and brought their own unique voice into the conversations that have taken place here. And most importantly, they have revealed Christ to us…how he loves us, how he accepts us, and how he provides relationships to nurture, console, encourage, and grow us.

I recently read a plaque that said, “Welcome home. Feel free to be yourself.” Yes! As a family, we yearn for those who enter our front door to feel comfortable being who they are…the good, the bad, and the ugly. For our guests to feel so at home they can kick their shoes off (or keep them on); they can sit in the well-worn armchair that clearly says, “I’m the favorite” and feel at ease; and they can share their hearts and know they are safe.

My parents had their own plaque hanging at the entrance to their house. It read, “To all who enter here, know this is a Christian home.” A visiting friend once remarked, “Whoa, that’s serious!” Perhaps he read it with an inferred tone of warning. I actually like that declaration because it makes a promise: This home is a place of peace where love is real, forgiveness is offered freely, grace is plenty, and you are always welcome.

As we continue life in a new house, we pray that it is exactly this kind of home. One where Christ reigns and community thrives. You are welcome. (Just give me a few weeks to unpack the boxes!)

Beach Bliss

Celebrating the 14th Annual Dunham/Tucker/Nelson Beach Trip! This year we vacationed in Seagrove Beach, Florida, where the entire family (including two dogs) got away for a week of rest and play. Here are some photos from our fun week together:

 

Celebrating Tim's birthday (below):

 Amazing seeing how the boys have grown up from year to year on this annual trip!

Our family 2012

Hungering for Holiness

Let me start with a confession: I never read the book of Leviticus from start to finish…until this year. I mean, after Creation and the Fall, Noah and the flood, the stories of the Patriarchs, slavery in Egypt, and the Exodus, Leviticus seemed like an engineering textbook misshelved between well-worn copies of The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Usually, I’d skim through it (or skip right over) to keep the story moving.

This time because our church is reading through the Bible together, I was motivated me to keep reading. And I discovered something incredible in the pages of Leviticus. To imagine my surprise, join me in reading through Chapter 11. God is sharing a rather detailed list of clean and unclean food with Moses and Aaron. It appears that fins + scales = clean. Flying insects + jointed legs = clean. Cud chewer + no divided hoof = unclean. The weasel, rat, and skink are also off limits, I learn.

Let’s pick up this appetizing education in verse 42:

You are not to eat any creature that moves along the ground, whether it moves on its belly or walks on all fours or on many feet; it is unclean. Do not defile yourselves by any of these creatures. Do not make yourselves unclean by means of them or be made unclean by them.

That’s when we get to the verse that arrested my attention—verse 44: “I am the Lord your God; consecrate yourselves and be holy, because I am holy.”

I keep reading, and there it is again in chapter 19 verse 2. God tells Moses, “Speak to the entire assembly of Israel and say to them: ‘Be holy because I, the LORD your God, am holy.’ ” And again I read it in chapter 20 verse 7: “Consecrate yourselves and be holy, because I am the Lord your God.”
Holiness.

There’s a new thought—a God-given instruction with huge implications—planted right in the middle of Leviticus. Until this point, we’ve seen the word “holy” used only a few times in the Scripture: once in Genesis referring to the Sabbath and three times in Exodus referring to the tabernacle, the altar, and the offerings. But here in Leviticus, it is applied to mankind.

What exactly does it mean to “be holy”? The Hebrew definition of holy (kadosh) is “set apart for a purpose,” and in Greek, holy (hagios) also means “the set-apart ones; set apart (or sanctified) for a separate purpose.”

Lest we think this is an instruction solely given to the Law-abiding Israelites, and thus not applicable to those of us living under grace, let’s look ahead to the New Testament. In 1 Peter 1:15-16, we read, “But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do; for it is written: ‘Be holy, because I am holy.’ ” Sound familiar? When God instructs mankind to “be holy,” he means us.

How are we to “be holy” or “set apart”? I’m caught by the wording of these verses. God doesn’t declare, “You are holy, because I am holy.” No, he instructs us, “Be holy…” We have influence here—that free will that we’ve seen in action since Eve decided to eat in Genesis 1. What does it look like in the matter of holiness? Jerry Bridges, in his book The Pursuit of Holiness, explains it this way:

No one can attain any degree of holiness without God working in his life, but just as surely no one will attain it without effort on his own part. God has made it possible for us to walk in holiness. But He has given to us the responsibility of doing the walking; He does not do that for us.

A.W. Tozer explains, “The holy man is not one who cannot sin. A holy man is one who will not sin” [emphasis mine]. So, is holiness merely a matter of behavior? Wise choices? Sin avoidance? No, it’s so much more. I like the way Charles Spurgeon clarifies the difference: “Holiness is better than moral­ity. It goes beyond it. Holiness affects the heart.”

“Holiness affects the heart.” When I became a Christian at the age of seven, the pastor invited me to “ask Jesus to live in my heart.” For many years, I thought of these words as merely a church-y saying rather than the unbelievable truth that it is: When I received Christ, my heart of stone was replaced with a heart of flesh (Ez. 11:19). Paul explains, “God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us” (Romans 5:5).

So, what does holiness look like? For a glimpse, let’s turn to the Psalms and consider the words of David, described as a man after God’s own heart (i.e. holy):

Teach me your way, LORD, that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name.
I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart;
I will glorify your name forever. Psalm 86:11-12

Sweet Summertime

For the past eleven years, I have been blessed to be a stay-at-home mom. This gift is never sweeter than the summer months when my boys are home from school. Our days are leisurely, long, and lazy...what else should a summer day be? Seth and Reed's favorite days are those we've labeled "pajama days," and they are exactly that. They lounge in their pjs all day, with nothing but free time stretching ahead of them. Bliss.

I confess that sometimes I tap into my inner child and leave on my pjs too. It feels luxurious to enjoy drawstring pants, a sloppy tank top, and a disheveled ponytail all day long. We curl up on the couch and watch back-to-back episodes of "Chopped," our latest television treat, evaluating each of the chefs and imagining what eclectic ingredients would be in our "mystery baskets."

These sweet summer days won't last forever. It dawned on me recently that we only have four summers left with Seth after this one passes. And most likely during some of those summer days he will be experiencing his first taste of the working world. This awareness makes me savor these days all the more.

For boys curled in their beds with sunshine coloring their flawless skin. For the sight of them playing side-by-side. For the sound of them chatting it up. And for the desire they have to still cuddle up with mama on the couch. It is a gift that I do not take forgranted.