The Power of Perspective

I was grocery shopping yesterday during a relatively busy time of day. There were several people ahead of me in the check-out line, and I didn’t have my son with me, so I was actually able to hear what people around me were saying. I began hearing the cashier yell over his shoulder to his co-worker that he only had 20 minutes until he was free. As he continued to work and “serve” the customers in his lane, he mentioned his imminent “freedom” several times. My instinctive thought was, “How unprofessional and rude. Someone should tell his manager that customers feel more burdensome than authentically served.” Compassion settled in, realizing that the cashier was probably only 16 or 17 years old. When it was my turn to be checked out, I asked the young man how he was doing. “Good….better in 20 minutes when I’m out of here” was his reply. Rather than correct him, or “teach him from my infinite professional wisdom” I simply responded with, “I understand. Well, hey. You have the opportunity to serve people and make their days a little brighter, so even the next 20 minutes can be good.” The young man looked surprised---not offended, but like a light bulb went off. He cocked his head to one side, and simply said, “You know, I’ve never thought of it that way before. I guess you’re right!” Maybe we all just need a little perspective to truly enjoy the moments that create days, that create years, that create legacies. Are we truly delving into what is before us?

Book Spotlight: The 4:8 Principle

One of the most meaningful books I have ever read is The 4:8 Principle by Tommy Newberry. No other book has so practically challenged me, and quite literally, my way of thinking. Tommy Newberry is a renowned Christian life-coach based in the Atlanta area. This book is based upon Philippians 4:8 which says, “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” Newberry empowers his readers to take ownership and personal responsibility for their thought life, and thus their overall happiness and satisfaction.

Our thoughts impact our attitudes which impact our actions which impact our lives. In his book, Newberry states, that “all lasting change is preceded by changed thinking.” I first read that sentence about a year and a half ago, and a journey began to exercise intentional, positive thinking. I recently returned to work as an admissions counselor at Liberty University. I am in the same position that I held two years ago---prior to becoming a mother to my now 18 month old son. I was recently told by my supervisor that I am more joyful, positive, and in general pleasant than I was before I left for maternity leave. He went on to explain that I was always a “nice” person, but that things are more predictably positive with me. Wow. Apparently this is having an impact on the person I am becoming! Am I perfect? No. Do I find myself wrestling myself during bad moods? Absolutely! However, the fight for joy, and the fight to feel better more often is increasingly easier the more that I choose joy, and choose to think upon right things.

If you want to learn more about practical application from a field expert, I highly encourage you to check out Tommy Newberry’s book! Visit http://www.the48principle.com/ for more information!

To Know His Love

I have been away from the blogging scene for quite a while. It really wasn't intentional; I actually thought of writing often, but to sit down and do so has been challenging, on top of going through a "blank canvas" period, and having no inspiration. I am learning to juggle more things now than I could six months ago. Crazy what a baby will do! :) Even more crazy that my baby is officially a toddler, and is two weeks shy of his first birthday. My goodness.

This morning felt much like a hangover of bad emotions from yesterday. Anyone that has read my previous posts knows that I have a fear of severe weather. A calm thunderstorm is one thing, but you throw the word "tornado" anywhere into the mix, and I start convincing myself to move to Seattle. They have only had five tornados since 1950. I am kidding...I don't become so irrational as to actually consider moving, but I do get nervous. I have for as long as I can remember, but since I have become a mom, it is magnified. If I am honest, it's ridiculous.

So between the media, and the clouds forming overhead yesterday, I mentally prepared for the worst. I imagine roofs getting blown off, siding being torn away, and me trying to cover a squirming child. Imagine how silly I felt last night when we got....rain. That's right. Rain. Not a single utterance of thunder. As I reflected on the day, I realized just how much I doubt God. Specifically, I doubt that He really loves me. My fears yesterday were rooted in the subconscious notion that God had given up on me; I will never become the person that He created me to be, and I am a lost cause. Wow. Pretty harsh, huh? Just keeping it real in hopes that someone reading this will say, "I understand. I feel that way too." Reader, you are not alone. But here is the glorious part. We are so wrong. I am so wrong. I sat down this morning and read through the book of 1 John in its entirety. Talk about humbling. God is love. God loves us. He LOVES us, and He wants us to know without a shadow of a doubt that He LOVES; that He IS love. He doesn't want to leave any room for thinking, guessing, or assuming that He loves us. He wants us to be completely covered through and through wih the rich knowledge of that fact. John Mark McMillan wrote a song about the loss of one of his dearest friends. This song has become an anthem in many churches, and one line in particular declares, "I don't have time to maintain these regrets when I think about the way that He loves us." Powerful stuff right there. I don't have time to regret, to fear, to hate, to envy, to boast, to hurt when I think about the way that He loves us. His love may allow us to experience tragedy. There are no guarantees that a tornado will not rip through my neighborhood and destroy everything. But this I know, that God is good, and as Job declared in the midst of sickness, loss, tragedy and more, "He gives and takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." He does not change. His love is stronger than the hurricanes, and more glorious than the heavens. And we are His. "Behold what manner of love the Father has given to us that we should be called the sons of God."

Run Hard. Love Strong.

Does anyone else struggle with comparing themselves to others? Goodness knows that I do. I look at some person that I admire and wonder why I can't be like that, why I can't be so beautiful, talented, have that wonderful family, grace, faith...

If anyone is reading this and nodding in agreement, I hope that you are encouraged that you are not alone. I was reminded of the verse of scripture that says that no struggle has come upon you that is not common to humanity. There is comfort in knowing that you are not alone.

As I was drying my hair this morning (glorious white noise of a hair dryer allows free-flowing thought), I felt the gentle nudging of God reminding me to run my race. Run to win. Run hard. Running to win requires focus on my path. If I were running a literal race, my focus could not be on any other person if I expected to run well. Horses running races have blinders put next to their eyes to block out distractions. I need some blinders.

When we focus on what we think we lack in comparison to others, we lose all perspective of what we do have. We become depressed, and obsessed with idolizing that person in our minds. We place them on a pedestal, an unrealistic one might I add. When I have that person in my mind, it is usually someone that I either do not know at all, or am merely acquainted with. Surely if we really knew that person, we would see that they are imperfect, sometimes selfish, not always dressed up, and yes, they too struggle in marriage and other relationships. They get stressed, they fall short. They very well may even struggle with exactly what we are talking about: self-comparison.

Here's the problem--this behavior is emotional suicide! We lose ourselves and the joy of the lives that we have been given in this fictional image of another person! The enemy of our souls rages against us and robs us of all joy by whispering that seductive lie: "If you were only like HER, you would be happy, content, joyful. If your husband looked like THAT. If you had THAT talent. If you had THAT personality. If you had THIS many facebook friends. If you held THAT title, then life would be good." Dear friend, hear me now---let's put down the vile of poison. Let's put up our spiritual blinders and run the race set before us, fixing our eyes upon Jesus---the author and finisher of our faith.

Peter compared himself to John. He saw the disciple that Jesus loved, and after all that Jesus had done to restore Peter personally, still asked Jesus, "Well, what about that guy? Why can't I do what he is doing." Jesus, direct as He is, cut to the chase. He looked at Peter and said, "Don't worry about him. YOU follow me." That is our call. YOU (Me) follow Him. Today. Now.

Scripture reminds us that we are equipped for everything that God has for us. We have been given everything for life and godliness. Seek the shelter of the Good Shepherd that fights off our enemy that steals, kills, and destroys life and joy. Claim what has been given to you in Christ, and know that you are uniquely and wonderfully made.

Let us pray for hearts that understand greater what Christ has accomplished for us. Let us look to Him and stand in awe at who HE is, rather than the life of so-and-so. Let us be amazed that not only is Christ so wonderful, but He is intimately involved in our lives. He is humble, and loves us. THAT is truly worthy of gratitude. Let us pray for understanding of what this means so that we are no longer tempted to be ungrateful for the lives that we as individuals have been given, or to idolize the imperfect lives of others.

Does My Life Matter, and Other Questions I can't Google

Before I begin this entry, let me first just point out what an amazing cultural phenomenon Google.com has become. The term "google" has literally transcended the form of a proper noun to what is now a common place verb.

I don't think that the questions I ask are rare. I don't think that I am alone when I ask, "Does my life matter? Am I making an impact? Am I at least moving in the right direction for something greater?" I think most of us ask ourselves those questions, and I think that most of us find ourselves in ruts of despair and finally settle into thinking that the questions will be left unanswered. Allow me to be transparent: I'm there right now. I find myself daily asking if this day-to-day living makes a difference. I find myself wondering if these things that seem so mundane are moving me in the right direction of leaving a legacy. Does it matter that the majority of my days right now are spent producing milk for a 3 month old? Does it matter that I work hard to stay caught up with laundry, dishes, and errands? Do my coffee dates with girlfriends make a difference in anything? What about my prayers---are those hitting the ceiling? Do all of the conversations about our desires to serve and be used matter for my husband and I? My flesh tells me that they don't matter. It's too small, too ordinary, too mundane to matter. I need to do more, be more, love more, serve more. But my faith tells me differently. My faith tells me that every breath matters. Every day counts. And my God loves me so much that the life that He gave to me is intentional. Often, my flesh FEELS like 90% of my thoughts, and my faith 10%. I feel bogged down by my blindness. But I believe with all of my heart that questions will be answered through my faith, and that yours can too. The Creator of the Universe---the Creator of you and me---He is the one that has the answers.

Sometimes I wish God had a search engine. I wish I could go to answersinJesus.com and type in, "Why did you create me?" and pull up a reference from God Himself that says, "Haley was born on November 21, 1985 so that I could use her to ________________________." Can I get a witness?

But here I am. On a journey that I believe will lead me home, and that does, in fact, have a purpose for the Kingdom of God. That purpose may turn out to be completely different than what I imagine, but as my husband has told me so many times, if that is the case it will be even better. Now, I just need to learn to trust the Lord (surely I am not the only one that has a hard time with this one), and live obediently in those things that seem so ordinary.
h some of you

The Meaning of Sacrifice

One word has come to mind over and over these last few days: sacrifice.

I was reading in Hebrews 13 this morning where, presumably Paul (though the author is unknown), says, "For here we have no continuing city, but we seek the one to come. Therefore by Him let us continually offer the sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to His name." This follows a passage exhorting believers to be content with what they have and to not be covetous of what they do not have, remembering that God has promised to never leave or forsake His children. Psalm 84 reminds us that we are pilgrims en route to "home." En route--not yet arrived; this is not our home. I forget that. I hunger for all the wrong things: wealth, possessions, security in the number I see in my bank account... but the truth is that these things will not satiate my thirst, just like drinking gasoline will not satisfy my physical thirst. Rather, it will kill me. This is not it; we are on our way home, and our focus must be to sacrifice our lust for the praise of the one who gave it all for us.

Sacrifice can be defined as "the surrender or destruction of something prized or desirable for the sake of something considered as having a higher or more pressing claim." As a mother, I will sacrifice my morning cup of coffee (trust me---a prized possession, no matter what anyone says) so that my son can eat when he is hungry, and be changed when he needs a new diaper. I am now accustomed to microwaving a cup of coffee no less than 2 times before being able to finish it. This is a petty example, but an exhibit of sacrifice none the less. My cup of coffee is of value to me personally, but my son's health and well-being has a higher and more pressing claim. It is far more valuable. Now, let's magnify this. God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, Jesus, as a sacrifice for the salvation of all who would believe and follow Him. God watched His son go through 33 years of ridicule, mockery, and ultimately a brutal death. What a cost! But the cost was WORTH IT in the mind of the Almighty. He saw US---that's right! You and Me!---as a higher and more pressing claim that justified the sacrifice that has justified us! Sacrifice.

So back to Hebrews. Be content with such things as you have, offer the sacrifice of praise. What does this mean? Honestly, I'm wrestling through it. I'm not going to pretend to know something that I haven't come to understand. I do know that it means giving up something that I authentically prize for something that I hold as higher. I love the Lord. I follow Him. But I have never seen my praise to Him as a sacrifice--what am I going without to praise Him? Is it that I praise Him, worship Him, and give my all for Him in spite of what I feel like I do not have? Or in spite of conditions, circumstances, or other discomforts? That must be it. In spite of what may be happening (or not happening, depending on what I want at any given time), my heart should offer the sacrifice of praise.

Unfortunately, I fall short of offering such a sacrifice consistently. This must, however, be my focus, my mission, my true joy.

Today, I praise Him that my agenda is void--that this post has taken me 6 hours to complete, that I am finishing my cup of coffee at 4pm, that I am still living in Lynchburg, VA, that I had a baby one month after my one year anniversary, that my life is in His hands, that today is no accident...praise Him for sacrifice, for cost, for paying the cost. Praise Him.

God Must Be Proud

It is 6:16am. Logan and I are up for "first breakfast." I don't remember when I brought him into the living room. I think it was around 3, but my most coherent memory is waking up in the chair in our living room with Logan snuggled against my chest. I had to have been half asleep when I moved from the bedroom to the living room. Bizarre.

Logan will be six weeks old this Saturday. Wow. Six weeks ago today, I was still able to sleep past 5:30am. I'm used to it now though. It's so beautiful to see his personality starting to come out. He loves observing things. He loves looking at lights, and bright colors. He has started playing with Adam and I---kicking his arms and legs, and we've even gotten a few solid smiles out of him! Each day, I love that I have the privilege of watching him grow. I can't imagine letting this happen in a day care and missing it! It's so precious to be a part of this little man's growth! I love interacting with him. He's my little buddy :-) And I'm so proud of him. Every milestone that he reaches, every growth spurt, every new skill that he learns, I celebrate.

That got me thinking. Surely God, as the perfect Father, does the same with us. We are His children, and surely He celebrates our growth. He loves us unconditionally---ransomed by the blood of Jesus, and free of the Law----yet He grows us into His perfect image. He must be so pleased by His children's development.

I'm learning so much more about God now that I am a parent. I figured that I would, but it really is neat.

I decided to read the book of Judges. I've never read the entire book! I am amazed at God's perfect paternity. He gave Israel clear standards of right and wrong. As a Father, He had to allow consequences when Israel crossed the line. Yet, every time that Israel called out to Him, He rescued them. As parents, Adam and I will do our best to show Logan what is right and what is wrong. Inevitably, there will be times when Logan will choose wrong, even when the right decision is clear. Adam and I will have to allow consequences. We will have to allow Logan to suffer pain and difficulties as a result of his choices---not because we enjoy watching him squirm, but because he will have to learn why right is right, and wrong is wrong. But when he looks to us and says, "I need help. I was wrong," we will be right there to love him, and get him back on the right track.

I'm loving this. It's the most challenging calling I've ever been given. I can't have what I want, when I want it anymore. My six week old son dictates when I can read, when I can eat, when I can enjoy a cup of coffee, how long I can be out and about to run errands...I'm having to die to myself like no other time in my life. But I love it. It's so worth it to see him smile back at me.

Is it Thursday? Wait, no...Tuesday? Oh! It's Friday!

My days all blur together! It's Friday, but it feels like Thursday, and I can't remember what happened on Tuesday because Tuesday felt like Monday, Wednesday felt like it didn't happen, etc. etc. I'm not used to not being on a schedule. It's getting easier though.

I've been reading a phenomenal book called "The 4:8 Principle" by Tommy Newberry. I highly recommend it. The book is based on Philippians 4:8 which says, "Whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy---meditate on these things." The book is about joy being within our grasp, not as a result of changed circumstances, but as a result of changed thinking. Far too often in my lifetime, I (like most) have been a slave to my emotions. If I FEEL negatively, life stinks and there is nothing I can do about it, except complain and FEEL. However, this book challenges that notion. What if joy has nothing to do with circumstances, but has everything to do with right thinking? God has given us permission to be joyful! He has given us freedom, and the power of His spirit to be full of joy, regardless of what is happening! But it takes our effort to meditate on the right things. We are what we think upon!

It is a mental exercise for me, to be sure. Waking up each morning saying, "I get to get out of bed," rather than, "I have to get out of bed," but day by day, it is easier. Very similar to physical exercise: the more often you do it, the easier it gets, and the better you feel. My attitude is within my control, and I am called to joy. Beautiful!

Logan is five weeks old tomorrow! He's getting big, and in so many ways I cannot fathom that 6 weeks ago, he was still in my belly! He is developing his own personality, and like his dad, enjoys observing things before engaging in them. He is fascinated by light and color. There is a painting in our dining room that is just abstract color, and he will just sit and look at that painting for minutes upon end. He is also captivated by a little black stereo that we have in our kitchen. Adam has promised to give it to him when he is old enough to appreciate it.

We are slowly but surely settling into a sense of normalcy in our family life. We have fought to meet our family value of having at least one meal together per day at a table, and we believe it is worth the fight. Adam and I are learning how to take advantage of the few free moments that we have at the same time to enjoy each other, connect, laugh, talk, catch up, pray together, and bask in our relationship. Before we ever found out we were pregnant, we decided together that when children did come along, our marriage would be a priority. If our marriage falls apart because we become too busy or distracted, we are doing our children no service at all. Our love for each other is worth the fight to know each other through the years, and with a newborn, it has been a fight. But by God's grace, we are doing it.

Sorry this post has been a little bit of a stream-of-consciousness entry; I'm lucky to be conscious at all! Logan just now settled into a deep nap. It's 3:20pm, and normally he has been sleeping for the last two hours! I'm going to go enjoy the remaining moments of his sleep---quietly.

Thanks for reading. Tune in next time for more ramblings.

Sometimes all you can do is laugh

Yesterday was quite the interesting day. Logan and I got up and met my mom and my aunt for a final shopping venture before they headed back to Tennessee. It was wonderful having them here. I love them both so much, and miss them terribly.

We figured out that my stroller isn't broken after all--simply a user-malfunction! haha. All this time I had been trying to attach the carrier into the stroller incorrectly, and I thought that a part was missing. While in Toys R Us, I had the notion to look at the strollers there, and aha! Saw my blunder. I was very excited to use my stroller for the first time :-) No more hauling the carrier everywhere! I have wheels!

Throughout the day, I could tell that Logan didn't feel well. He was fussy, and kept scrunching his little legs up to his belly. My mom bought infant gas drops, so I gave him the recommended dose. Within one hour, my son pooped 3 times. I'm not talking small diapers either. I'm talking, "Did that just come out of my 9 pound baby, can't even wrap the diaper up" kind of diapers. By the way, no one ever tells you that baby poop can shoot out across the changing table. Yeah. That happened. While I was cleaning up, Logan started spitting up and coughing, so I moved to the other end of his body to assist him and clean THAT up. While cleaning up the spit up, a stream started flying past my face. That's right. In a single changing session, I got pooped on, spit up on, and peed on. Awesome.

Within the following 30 minutes, Logan spit up everything he had eaten. I presume it was everything because it was several heaves, and projectile spit up going all over me, the couch, the floor, and the coffee table. Poor kid. What a rough afternoon! I text messaged Adam to keep him on alert that if this kept up, I was taking Logan to the doctor. Fortunately, after the next feeding, Logan kept everything down and was just fine. Just a little "blip" in the day.

Fast forward a few hours. Adam was at work until 9. I was home alone, and news flashes kept coming over the television that we were under a tornado watch. The meteorologist showed several tornadic events taking place in southern Virginia, and showed the path of the storm--moving our way. About 7:30, *beep*beep*beep*, "Campbell county is under tornado warning. Take cover..." yada yada yada. Little known fact about adult Haley---I have always been terrified of severe storms. I enjoy good summer storms with rolling thunder, but tornados, hail, wind, lighting, sharp/loud thunder...no way. I used to hide out in closets and dark hallways as a kid with my walkman turned up as loud as possible playing "The Lion King" soundtrack. As an adult, my feelings aren't too different. I've just gotten better at keeping myself composed. So back to last night. It's really rather comical. I took blankets, pillows, my cell phone, a bottle of milk for Logan, his diaper bag, his bouncer, and a pacifier into our interior bathroom to set up camp. There we were---my 1 month old son and I, camped out in a bathroom for 20 or 30 minutes, and no tornado. I mean, I guess I'd rather play it safe than sorry, but it really is entertaining now that I look back on it.

All of that to say that sometimes all you can do is laugh, and enjoy the ride. We are all doing well, and learning to adapt to this new life.

Let Everything that Has Breath Praise the Lord

The past few weeks away from an 8-5 job have provided me the opportunity to feel like ME again. The beautiful ache for beauty, the empathy that I share with music, my desire to be bathed in the Word of God, and my desire to write again. Maybe these are mundane things to most people, but those are deep, real things that make me who I am. Since I have worked in a call center, for whatever reason, I have felt loss because these things seemed to be missing. Music wasn't quite penetrating me the way that it used to, my hunger for God seemed jaded, and I had writers block like never before. But even with the busy-ness of maternity, I feel more like myself than I have in a very long time.

I wish I had my piano here. I miss playing, and I ache for the release that it was for me. Those deep parts of me that are so difficult to express verbally found their way out through my fingers on 88 keys. I heard someone talking about modulations and music theory today, and remembered that I actually know a lot of music theory, after all, I studied it for 12 years. I would still love for the Lord to use music in some way through me.

I have also been missing involvement in global missions. I have been recalling my cross-cultural experiences---the faces, the places, the purpose...and long to be involved again. I pray that Adam and I are able to go together and serve somewhere.

I long to know Jesus and to be conformed to His image. I long to love deeply, richly, and selflessly, and I long to desire the things that He desires. I fall so short, but am learning to lean on grace.

This entry has been scatter brained--much more a personal journal entry than a public blog, but thank you, reader, for bearing with me. I close with the lyrics to a song that has been on repeat in my home lately:

Hallelujah from the heavens
Hallelujah in the heights above the earth
Hallelujah all His angels
Hallelujah for the last will be first
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord

Hallelujah in the morning
Hallelujah for the beauty of His scars
Hallelujah in the twilight
Hallelujah sun and moon and shining stars
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord

When the night seems so long (throw your hands to the sky)
You can sing a new song (wipe the tears from your eyes)
when you're weak, He is strong
He can heal your wounded soul
And calm the storm inside

For all your times of laughter
In every hopeful prayer
When the world weighs on your shoulders
Through sorrow and your despair
With everything, with every breath, praise the Lord
Let everything, that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything, that has breath praise the Lord

When the night seems so long (throw your hands to the sky)
You can sing a new song (wipe the tears from your eyes)
When you're weak, He is strong
He can heal your wounded soul
And calm the storm inside

New Life

It's 11:14am. The sun is shining through our living room glass doors, and I am holding my 10 day old son, Logan, against my chest while he sleeps. This seems to be his preferred sleeping position, as once he snuggles up against me he doesn't move (as opposed to basinet sleeping where the poor baby sleeps for 1/2 an hour max at this point. Looking forward to longer sleeping patterns in his bed).

Logan was born on Saturday, March 13, 2010 at 6:47pm. He was 7 lbs 11oz and 20 1/2 inches long. Very healthy, very strong. Very sweet. Thus far, he's been an easy baby to take care of! Once he's fed, changed, and slept, he's incredibly docile and observant. I think he's going to be a smart one :-) He looks around and takes it all in. He reminds me of his dad for that reason---definitely an observer. It's a great quality really. Mom, however, doesn't always take the time to observe before leaping, so my boys bring me balance. haha.

Logan is pacified by singing. He doesn't like getting his diaper changed all that much. Mark that---he doesn't like having a dirty diaper, but the process of fixing it isn't always pleasant. However, if mommy and daddy sing to him while we change him, he calms down and lets us proceed with our work. This past week, I have sung "Jesus loves me" more times than I can count, but it's been a beautiful reminder to myself that when I am weak, He is strong.

One of my favorite verses in the Bible is Zephaniah 3:17 which says, "The Lord your God in your midst, the Mighty One will save. He rejoice over you with gladness. He will rejoice over you with singing." That verse comforted me through several difficult years in late high school/early college. However, this last week has brought a whole new dimension to the beauty of that verse. Logan is pacified by his mom and dad singing over him. Likewise, our Heavenly Father rejoices over US and sings over US when we are fussy. Often, I can hardly get through a song to Logan before my eyes well up with tears of joy and gratitude for this little man, and I am amazed to think that God delights in His children that way---no, infinitely more so! How beautiful and precious.

Having only been a parent for 10 days now, I am already amazed at what a different perspective it affords of our loving creator. I consider the cross, and wonder how God was able to give up his only son for us. The thought of Logan experiencing pain is terrifying, bringing a whole new perspective to the beauty of Christ's sacrifice on our behalf.

In more ordinary terms, this week was full of feedings and changings, and that's pretty much it. Eat, poop, sleep, repeat. Daddy has had more unfortunate floods on his shirt than mom. I think it's a dominance issue. haha. I, however, got pooped on last night, and am getting used to dried spit up on my shirts.

We're embarking on a whole new adventure. It's a calling, and I am both thrilled and absolutely dependent upon the Lord for strength and guidance. Little sleep and learning to die to myself for the health of my son are real struggles. I cannot imagine what this would be like if I were alone. Adam is amazing. He is such a natural father---involved, sensitive, in tune with Logan's and mommy's needs, and eager to meet them. I am so blessed to have a husband like that. He's my hero.

Well, looks like it's time for little man to get some more food. More updates to come.

Love,
the Bodines

March Madness

The month of March brings different images to different people. Some think of leprechauns and pots of gold. Some think of St. Patrick. Some remember being tortured as a child when they forgot to wear green and got pinched all day on the 17^th (that was me. Very rarely did I “luck” out and accidentally wear green on that day). Millions think of March Madness---the NCAA Men’s Division basketball championship. No, this article isn’t going to be about my bids for the year. Ok, admittedly, I don’t even know what a bid is, much less who mine would be on. But I did a little research on this championship in pursuit of something bigger: taking the chance that you get.

March Madness is held each year during the spring, and features 65 college basketball teams in the United States. The tournament was first developed by the National Association of Basketball Coaches in 1939. The NCAA took over the tournament the following season. The tournament has less famously been known as “The Big Dance.” The tournament is a single-elimination contest, thus, for success, it is essential that a team be “on their best game” at all times. There is no making up for a loss. Teams have one chance, and they either make it or break it. One team inevitably walks away the champion. They took everything that they had, they stayed focused, and they finished victoriously.

Ok, I’m going to diverge from the basketball analogy for a little bit to more familiar territory for me. But hold on, I promise I will make the connection!

I love music. I always have. My journals from the time I was 10 years old to now have been full of song lyrics that impacted me than my own pros. Even instrumental music has always moved me to the core. Something about music stirs life in me like nothing else. It’s as though someone reaches into the most central part of my soul and turns it inside out. I love it, but I can no way effectively describe it. Jon Foreman’s lyrics are probably the most common in my journals. He conjures up poetry that I could only hope to compose myself. In one of his recent releases with Switchfoot, Jon sings, “It’s no accident we’re here tonight; we are once in a lifetime.”

Stop.

Take that in.

It’s no accident you are here. It’s no accident that you are right where you are. It’s no accident that you ARE at all.

YOU are once in a lifetime. This is your life, and it’s your one chance.

There’s the connection I promised I’d make. Like March Madness, you have one chance to make your life count. The Bible tells us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. We are unique individuals that happen once in a lifetime. You are the only YOU this world will ever have. Granted, your one chance is (God-willing) composed of many days. There are failures. There are wins. Thus, unlike March Madness, if you lose one day, you are not destined to lose it all. In fact, that’s the beauty of salvation! Christ came to redeem your loss! Selah.

However, while “every breath is a second chance” (another Jon Foreman lyric), each “win” moves us to the next level. As we daily choose to live as a champion, a winner, and a victor under the direction of our Great Coach, we move to the next level. We must take the day-to-day opportunities that we have and play well in order to move forward. In Luke 16:10, Jesus says, “He who is faithful in little will be faithful with much.” Each opportunity is a new round. How are YOU playing? How did you handle that student on the phone? How did you react to that unexpected bill? How did you treat that person in the grocery store line? How did you help your colleague? Each little opportunity is part of your great, once in a lifetime life. This month’s challenge is to evaluate your lifelong championship. Are you taking what you have been given and running hard with it? If not, it’s not too late to start! Run Hard. Love Strong. Stay focused, and live victoriously.

Run Through the Pain

Run Through the Pain

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Hebrews 12:1-2

I love running. In fact, being 8 months pregnant, I wish I could do just about anything above a “waddle.” I enjoy putting in my headphones, pressing play on my “running” playlist on my ipod, and taking off. Unfortunately, no amount of good music saves me from the inevitable---pain. Eventually, some kind of cramp, side-stitch, or fatigue sets in. I have a choice---I either stop running, or I keep running. It’s that simple, really. I choose to stop or go, and that choice is heavily affected by what I am focused on. I can focus on the pain, or I can focus on the finish. Track runners know that they will run harder and faster when their eyes are on the finish line and not what is going on around them. I, for one, usually choose to run outdoors because however far I go, I always have to make it home---as opposed to a treadmill where a simple “stop” button taunts me endlessly. Runners know that it is imperative to have a goal---be it a finish line, or the front door of your house. You must focus on where you are going, and push through pain to get there.

The author of Hebrews knew a thing or two about running, and encourages followers of Christ to view their lives as a race towards the finish line---the goal being Christ Himself. As believers, we have a choice in this race. We can either run with perseverance, as we are urged to do in Hebrews 12, or we can stop. We can take a seat. We can choose to dilly-dally, or we can quit day-dreaming about becoming great runners, and just run!

So, what does it mean to “run” spiritually? I have a verse taped to my computer screen: Do all things without complaining and disputing that you may become blameless and harmless, children of God without fault in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation (Philippians 2:13-15). So often, I pray that God would show me His plan for my life, and lead me to the next thing, and then the next, and so forth and so on. I pray that God would provide for times of need, and that God would work miracles in others’ lives. I pray that God would speak to me. And yet, I so quickly ignore those “simple” commands that I already know. I brush off with a “yeah, yeah, yeah, show me the big stuff!” But the truth is that is the big stuff. Running spiritually means knowing that we have a choice to obey what we already know! I can read, “Do all things without complaining,” and I can choose to either act on my desires to complain, or hold my tongue. I can sit down because it hurts too much, or I can push through the pain and RUN! I can read “esteeming others as greater than yourself,” and I can choose to love, or to walk away because I’m too lazy to care.

Jesus knew pain, greater than any of us ever will, and yet He was focused on the goal. I am humbled to think that WE were the goal---we were His motivation to keep going faithfully. We were the joy that was set before Him that strengthened Him to endure the cross. Now, Jesus has given each of us our own race to run. We have a course that is mapped out that we will keep running until we reach Him, and each day we have a choice to run or to walk. This year, I challenge you all (along with myself) to run hard, to love strong, and to focus on our Lord who has gone before us!

Hate for Hate

It's Saturday morning, 10:22am. I am working my Saturday shift for the month. I primarily respond to emails sent to the Admissions Office. When I left work yesterday, I left with a sense of accomplishment: the inbox was completely cleared out when I left to go home. This morning, there were 64 messages waiting. At least half of them are hateful letters of disdain for a recent news article published about Liberty University. Each email filled with words like "biggot," "hypocrites," "hope you enjoy Hell," etc. So ugly.

Part of me finds the need to defend myself. The other part of me is just frustrated. I'm not even really that frustrated about the actual situation, but rather the nature of people. When people groups have opposing view points, both point to "freedom of speech." I don't believe in tolerance, since I believe in absolute Truth. But I do believe in grace, love, and compassion. I see fallacy in hateful emails calling any group hateful. I do understand expressing concerns and opposing view points; that I can reckon with. I can understand asking questions and challenging opposing positions, but cannot fathom the logic in sending hate messages claiming someone is hateful. Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black? It is truly tiresome.

As Christians, we mustn't hate. We must stand for Truth, but even Jesus prayed for those killing Him as He hung on the cross. Stephen, too, prayed for those stoning Him. Why, then, in an age of "free speech," and "personal rights," do we slander and kill each other for opposing view points? I don't expect that we all see eye-to-eye. I do expect that we reason, talk, ask questions...not throw stones in glass houses. Who wants to listen to someone hating them, no matter what side you're on with a position? Instead, let us love each other as human beings, created in the imago dei, and seek to ask questions, challenge positions in Truth and concern, and pray for each other.

Today I read a news article about three men arrested for pursuing Jihad in New York City. Militant tactics were to be used to kill the infidel. Fox News headlines quoted "...if he were to die a martyr, he would go to paradise." My heart ached for that man.

You see, when it comes down to it, people want the same thing: to love and be loved. We all want perfection, beauty, splendor. We are made for it. We ache for it. Somehow in the mix-ups and mess ups, people kill for it! Our selfish pursuits will do whatever we think is necessary for admiration, affection, and hope.

People have an innate sense of justice. We know when something is not the way that it is supposed to be, even if we cannot exactly pinpoint what that means. So we battle for correction, fight against seeming (or actual) injustice, and ultimately, we fight for perfection.

Filanthropists, businessmen, missionaries, teachers, presidents, bank tellers, grocery store clerks, trash collectors, and the unemployed strive for it. Radical extremists fight for it. Men will blow themselves up in planes, cars, or otherwise for the hope of paradise. So even a murderer aches for it, and therefore, is worth compassion and sympathy even if warped, evil ways of getting it are used.

We long for the hope of things to come. Lies have been told about how to attain it, but the truth is we don't attain it. We are freely given it. We have all grasped at the wind for perfection, beauty, and what we are made for. Through Christ, we can take hold of that for which He has taken hold of us---the beauty and hope of something far greater than we can attain ourselves.

Epic

The epic is my reality. The classic tale of good versus evil, journey and struggle, battles and wars, victory and triumph all resound within my heart as Truth---as eternity written on the hearts of men.
My husband and I have been watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I become so engaged in such films because it registers with something so deep inside. More than once, I have stopped during the movie, looked at Adam, and given my thoughts on a given scene. As Frodo and Sam journey through dangerous worlds to destroy evil once and for all, others elsewhere also wage war against the darkness. Elves and dwarves overcome their hatred, realizing that they are on the same side. Even the trees fight for good! Everything is living, and everyone has a part. Hobbits become key figures in the defeat of the enemy, Gandolf all the while patient with their folly, guiding them with wisdom and truth.
I use Tolkien’s classic story as one example. I am not obsessed with Tolkien, I am obsessed with my God that wrote the story in our reality. We are all a part of the adventure. We are all engaged in war somehow, and our King will one day stand in ultimate victory.
I drove into work this morning listening to worship music, quite honestly for the first time in a long time. My heart was overflowing to lyrics like, “I will not be silent. I will not be quiet anymore. Every ocean, every sea, every river, every stream, every mountain, every tree, every blade of grass will sing!” and, “Shout unto God with a voice of triumph! Shout unto God with a voice of praise! Shout unto God with a voice of triumph! We lift your name up!” Anthems of victory, of honor, of Truth, of praise to a King; our King; My king.
I began following Jesus nearly 6 six years ago. In many ways it seems longer, in many ways it’s gone by faster than I could have ever thought it would. Praise be to God that like Gandolf, He has allowed me to be a part of this journey, but He is ever so patient with my folly. Today, I press on.
Sam sums it all up: I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going, because they were holding on to something.

Excerpt From the Journal of Haley Carr

An Actual Journal Entry
Very rarely, if ever, do I post entries on a blog that are also in my personal journal since my personal journal is not composed for an audience. I spent a good amount of time writing in a coffee shop today, and once finished with the entry, thought that is was worthy to share with whoever was interested in reading:
"(Delicious cafe americano accompanied by chocolate/almond biscotti. Fabulous!)
I am learning about freedom. Often Christians talk about 'freedom in Christ,' when really they just reside in a different prison. So what does it REALLY mean to be free? Am I tortured because I still fall flat on my face in sin? I shouldn't be, but I am. Sometimes I feel like a child or an animal that has been abused for so long that even under the care and love of a new parent or master, I cringe with fear when I mess up.
God is love. My new master and Father does not love---HE IS love. I John says that perfect love casts out all fear. There is no fear of punishment, rejection, hatred, or condemnation because of my faith in the work accomplished by Jesus Christ, [not to say that there are not consequences for my actions]. I can walk securely knowing that I am His, and that He is good. This does not give me license to sin and be disrespectful or prideful, for that would reflect the heart of an unrepentant criminal with no concern for the one that paid the judge his bail. Instead, it enables me to be transformed into a loving, respectful child that is secure and confident in the arms of a loving Father.
Another picture, used by Paul in Romans, depicts slaves. I think of the Civil War era, and the thousands of men, women, and children who were considered property--unimaginable to my contemporary western mind. Many, though not all, were the items of abusive masters who raped, beat, and tormented them. However, there were people that would purchase the freedom of slaves. Tragically though, some of those freed slaves would choose to remain in the house of their master because of the fear of a new and unknown life was overwhleming. They would rather be tortured souls than risk trying to fly in the open air. The choice was theirs. It seems ludacris to think that a man would CHOOSE to remain in such conditions, but don't I so often do the same thing? Paul referred to himself as a bondservant of Jesus Christ. A bondservant chooses to remain under the guidance and instruction of a master--usually because the master is good to the servant. It is the choice of the servant to submit, because he is free to choose.
Jesus paid for my freedom from a wicked, cruel, tormenting master who I had n o choice but to serve. Jesus paid for my ability to choose to whom I would pledge allegience. I, in my foolishness, will occassionally knock on the door of my former master and ask if he has any orders for me, knowing that for such service, I am paid in shame and torment in my heart and mind. All the while, my new master patiently teaches me how to trust that He will not hurt me, and that He is faithful, good, loving, and just. [Just. He will redeem once and for all the injustices that we see in our own lives, and throughout the world]. In His home, I am not a slave, but an adopted child--fully His. Oh the thought! Father, please safeguard such Truth in my mind and heart! Teach me to understand the beauty of this!
As a child with a deep love and admiration of her Father, I should seek to be identified as part of His family--bearing the family name well and proudly--not out of fear, but rather a response of love. Not fearing that by breaking a 'house rule' that I will be whipped and beaten, but rather because in the security of my Heavenly Father's love, I desire to please Him."

State of Desperation

A few facts for you:


“Trafficking in human beings is now the third-largest moneymaking venture in the world, after illegal weapons and drugs. In fact, the United Nations estimates that the trade nets organized crime more than $12 billion a year” (Victor Malarek The Natashas: Inside the New Global Sex Trade).

According to a CIA report, 700,000 to 2 million women and children worldwide are victimized by traffickers each year.

The UN estimates that around 4 million people a year are now traded against their will to work in some form of slavery.

As many as 50,000 women and children from Asia, Latin America, and Eastern Europe are brought to the U.S. under false pretenses each year and forced to work as prostitutes, abused laborers or servants (Joel Brinkley NYT citing CIA report).


While I have only been in Bangkok for four months, the longer I am here, the more I realize how terrified I am to embrace reality. I walk down streets everyday. I see the men, women, and children sitting on the foot bridges, cups held desperately in the air. I walk on, hoping that the lump in my throat will disist, and I can return to the comfort of my own mind.

I am afraid of seeing things as they are. I am afraid of acknowledging the suffering, heartache, brokenness of the people around me. If I pretend that everything is right in the world, then it is. Right?

No. Absolutely not.

Father, I walk around with my hands figuratively covering my own eyes. I refuse to allow myself to see. But I must! I must be willing to get my hands dirty, and my own heart broken that my fellow human beings might be able to even taste love here.

Two years ago, I began reading "A Chance to Die: The Life and Legacy of Amy Carmichael." Amy Carmichael started an orphanage in Darfur, India in the nineteenth century. Her mission: to rescue temple prostitutes. Amy Carmichael became a hero of mine.

A year ago, I began working with the Global Missions Outreach Team at Brentwood Church in Lynchburg. We began researching Thailand, and surrounding countries, aiming at starting safehouses for women and children involved in the international sex-trade. A few months after I began working with this team, Jon Dupin spoke on the issue. I was broken. I was floored. I allowed myself to be vulnerable to the feeling of injustice. I allowed myself to see the inhumanity, the perverseness---the pain. Something inside of me determined to not sit by and do nothing about it. The next thing I know, I'm in Bangkok.

Now what? Do I return to apathy? Do I make my life comfortable here? My heart has been guarded, but I don't want it to be anymore. Lord, teach me how to see reality. Teach me how to love how you love.

So now what? It's time to decide.

Sing Over Me

The music of my heart---the song that You sing over my life---is a song without words. It is too big, too beautiful, too deep to be restricted by lyrics: a complex symphony of images and scores that opened in March nearly four years ago. Has it only been four years?

I remember sitting in my chair during worship that night, and I felt my heart beat for the first time. I began running toward You on that shoreline. The sun shone over the water, your arms were stretched wide, and my feet pounded against the sand in time with my heartbeat. My race toward You began at that moment, and it continues...

There have been obstacles since that day. The beautiful, driving melody of your song modulated into minor chords of sorrow. Brokenness had its way; but then---hope was restored. Passion was rekindled, and my eyes averted back to You. I began to run again, this time, equipped for battle. No longer is my race a straight-away to your arms. Now, I am running through armies of darkness---sword in hand. The song has become an intense, driving, powerful mantra of war, all in pursuit of Your glory. AND I DO NOT FIGHT ALONE! I STAND BESIDE MY FELLOW SOLDIERS, AND WE WILL WIELD OUR SWORDS AS WE LOOK TO YOU.

One day soon, the song of war will be stilled, and the sweet, calm melodies of a glorious homecoming will begin:

"...and you'll be here in my arms just sleeping.
And all will turn to silver glass.
The light on the water gracious pass
into the West..."

I am going home soon, but the battle is still raging. Hear my footsteps once again pounding against that sand. I am running to You.

"But none of these things move me; nor do I count my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my race with joy, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the Gospel of the Grace of God." Acts 20:24

Can't Take It In

I might put my foot into my mouth if I say that I would like to update more often, so reader, know that my desire is to write more regularly, but the execution may not reflect it.

Two and a half months have passed--quickly! The excitement of the exotic has mostly subsided. Each day has new experiences, but I am comfortable in my own skin here. I now have two separate lives: one in America, and one in Thailand. Two lives, two worlds, two identities that will never parallel. Many days, my heart aches and longs to be among my loved ones in America. When I come home, I will have a new niece or nephew, and my two best friends will be getting married. It is difficult to be so detached from their lives right now. It is hard to not be able to conveniently call certain people when days are long and hard. It is hard to not be able to take a weekend trip home to have "Movie Night with the BEHAPS," or go to the park with Macie (my dog that Emily is so graciously taking care of for me.) Friends, know that I miss you very much, and that I long to see you and be with you.

But my life in Thailand is more purposeful and meaningful that I can possibly express. While I miss certain things about home, I feel alive here. Each day, there are moments of utter joy and overflowing love for my children and their parents. It is a love that I never could have imagined feeling---something inside of me that just longs to teach them well, and to work hard to serve them and their families. God is working in this place---even amongst some of the disorganization. Last year at this time, I was restless. I was so restless to move, and do something more. I did not anticipate being overseas. I put in my resume to jobs in Atlanta, NYC, Seattle, Boston, Chicago (I would have been content working in a coffee bar---or at least, I thought I would. I just needed change). But God answered my cries, and moved me here. He stirred my heart, and I followed in faith. He provided everything for me to get here, and each day, His joy far exceeds what has been "left" behind.

Perhaps I am experiencing a "writer's block" of sorts. As much as I desire to fully capture my heart in words, I cannot! I have so many different things to say, but nothing is flowing naturally. I am not usually a stream-of-consciousness type writer, but I am going to just ramble off some lines from songs that have pierced my heart recently, in hopes that you may be able to read between those lines and into the depths:

"He set me on fire, and I am burning alive. With this breath in my lungs, I am coming undone. I cannot hold it in, or remain composed. Love's taken over me, so I propose to letting myself go..."

"Don't close your eyes. This is your life. Are you who you want to be? This is your life. Today is all you've got now. And today is all you'll ever have."

"Sometimes love has to drive a nail into it's own hand."

"When you try your best and you don't succeed. When you get what you want, but not what you need. When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep. Stuck in reverse. Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you."

"I can't close my eyes--they're wide awake. Every hair on my body has got a thing for this place. Empty my heart! I've got to make room for this feeling. It's so much bigger than me! It could not be any more beautiful. I can't take it in!"