the sweetness of God

My very nice in-laws took 5 of our six kids home with them today and so Randy, Malachi, and I are hanging out in our VERY quiet house! These kind of things are great when they're planned, but I think they are just DELIGHTFUL when they just spontaneously happen! I'm sure they're having a wonderful time with Grandma and Grandpa - we'll stress about make-up work from school later! :)

Tonight I was thinking about the faithfulness of God as I finished decorating for Christmas. (I'll just warn you, this is probably going to be a bit "cheesy" - I'm feeling sentimental and thankful.) The kids decorated the tree the night before we left for Thanksgiving - it's one of their favorite parts of Christmas and is becoming one of mine because it is full of remembering. About 3-4 years ago we had nothing on our tree that wasn't specifically about Jesus so we have some cool ornaments that lead to discussion about Him (like our loaf of bread ornament reminding us that He is the bread of life, etc.). And then we have lots of homemade ornaments that the kids made in preschool. We even have a few that were mine growing up - we actually have a salt dough ornament that I received in 1981 in second grade that finally broke in two this year (I'm going to try to glue it back together). But I cried tonight as I examined the two ornaments that are pictured in this blog. My sweet mom gives us a family ornament every year with the names of our family members on it and this year she had to actually "tie" two together in order to fit everyone! Ha! That's the one on the right. The one on the left is the back of a teddy bear ornament that Randy gave me in 1988, which was our first Christmas together when we were high school sweethearts. He told me he loved me for the first time that year (and his mom wrote it on the back of the ornament - otherwise, no one could have read it :)). Anyway, I was just overwhelmed by the goodness and faithfulness of God while looking at this 20-year-old ornament next to the one my mother gave me a few days ago. We've walked through a LOT in the last 20 years and I wouldn't trade one moment. I won't go on about my husband right now - I'll save it for our 15 year anniversary in 30 days - but let's just say that I am more convinced than ever that I am married to the most wonderful man on the planet!

I've been reading Psalm 89 a lot in the past week. Here are verses 1-2, 5-6, 8: "I will sing of the Lord's great love forever; with my mouth I will make Your faithfulness known through all generations. I will declare that Your love stands firm forever, that You established Your faithfulness in heaven itself....The heavens praise your wonders, O Lord, your faithfulness too, in the assembly of the holy ones. For who in the skies above can compare with the Lord? Who is like the Lord among the heavenly beings?...O Lord God Almighty, who is like You? You are mighty, O Lord, and Your faithfulness surrounds You."

He is weaving together stories everywhere - all for His glory. I was struck again by this faithfulness when we heard Byron's story this weekend (he and his brother, Royce, went home with us for Thanksgiving) about his escape in hurricane Katrina. Royce, Byron, their aunt (who couldn't swim), and their mom had to swim the equivalent of several blocks to the second floor of a church (Royce was 12 and Byron was 10 years old at the time). Their mom was a former life guard and so she had recently taught Byron to swim, praise the Lord! Their mom, Tarita, swam that whole way with her sister on her back. Everyone had minor injuries from hitting fences, etc. while swimming that they couldn't see because the water had already covered them. They spent one night in that empty church and then were rescued by the police because someone nearby shot a flare gun. They could hear the cries of others pleading for help and there was nothing they could do. They were taken to the Superdome where they spent 5 days (I think). Byron saw children raped and who knows what else. In fact, one of his friends was almost a victim, but the boy's mother fought off the attacker while a military guy with a gun stood by doing nothing. They were taken on a bus to Mesquite, TX and then to Fort Worth. Tarita ended up getting a job at the Como Community Center and that is where she heard about Opportunity Camp. Byron went to our first camp, was chosen as a Mighty Man, and is now a follower of Jesus and the best leader we've got! We love both these boys (and Tarita who is now also a Jesus-lover!). God in His sovereignty is ALL over this story and millions of others like it. I LOVE how He works things out for His glory! These words sound so WEAK to describe what I'm talking about. It's actually bigger than I can put my mind around - maybe I'll be feeling more eloquent later, but all I can say now is that my Daddy is a GOOD KING and He is 100% trustworthy!

more later,

Anda (accidentally signed in under Randy)

On a Lighter Note

My last blog was a little heavy, so this one should balance it out a bit. I've been thinking a lot about being thankful lately. I'm certainly thankful for the things that we all think about: Jesus, the Bible, my family, and thousands of other major blessings.
I thought it might be fun to think of a few more obscure things I'm thankful for. So here's a list. Feel free to add to it.
1. Socks. I love the feel of a clean pair of socks on my feet early in the morning.
2. My uvula. It keeps me from choking every time I drink my milk.
3. And since we're thinking about nasopharyngeal body parts, I think we need to give a big shout out for vibrissae. (For you non-medical people, that's nose hairs.) They are highly underestimated. I mean think of all the bugs you would have snorted had it not been for these protective little gems.
4. Anda says she's thankful for nursing bras, eyelashes, and our microwave.
5. She's also thankful for the vultures that eat all the dead animals in our neighborhood. Actually she says she feels thankful for the entire decomposition process in general.
6. I'm also thankful for wipeys. You know there was a day when people had to use something else to wipe little baby bottoms. I wonder what they used.
7. Lastly, I'm thankful for Dr. Smith's diaper rash cream. I'm sure the little guys appreciate it, but if you will allow me to be somewhat transparent, I have found that every now and then it's soothing comfort makes my day a little brighter.
Well, Happy Thanksgiving.
Randy

Why I haven't blogged in a month

It's not that I've been overly busy, I just haven't had anything profound to say. Now after a month, I'm finally breaking the silence. So what profound, deep thought have I thought that is worthy of blogging? Well, let me think, I'm sure I'll come up with something. . .

OK. Here's a try:

Lamentations 4. Have you read that chapter lately? I encourage you to open up your Bible and just glance through the descriptions of what a fallen nation looks like. Here's a sampling. . . "Those who once feasted on delicacies perish in the streets. Those who were brought up in purple embrace ash heaps." "Her princes were purer than snow. . .now their face is blacker than soot; they are not recognized in the streets; their skin has shriveled on their bones." "The hands of compassionate women have boiled their children; they became their food. . ."

As I read these verses earlier this week I let my mind go a bit, and wondered what God has in store for our nation. From our nation's beginnings, where faith in God was assumed, we have come a long way. I don't know where the slide will end, but I pray that we don't get to where Israel was when these verses were written.

So what keeps us from it? Is it our economy? :) Is it our educational system? :) Maybe our strong morality? :)

The truth is, the only obstacle between our nation and the horrors described in Lamentations is the church. When I say the church, I mean the people who love and follow Jesus. We are the ones holding back calamity like an army of little boys with our fingers in a leaky dike. But if all we do is plug the dike, we will lose the battle. Someone has to start rebuilding what is broken. Either we see God's kingdom advance, or our nation falls into utter collapse. Revival is the only option.

So I challenge you to hear the words of Jesus, "Ask the Lord of the harvest to send out workers." Are you working? Are you diligently, passionately seeking Jesus and living to advance his purposes on the earth, or are you distracted? I meet people, almost daily who are desperate for hope. My neighbor has cancer in his 40s. My friend hates her husband and wants to leave him. Another friend loves her spouse but hopes against hope that he will wake up. My pastor friend just got tired of being married and left. My other friend is addicted to alcohol. Today I told my Buddhist friend about Jesus, but he didn't care. I could go on, but I'm sure you could insert your own list also.

I know I can't save the world, but Jesus can. I've started telling people about Him again. I'm less afraid than I used to be to go up to strangers and just flat out share the gospel. I was timid before, thinking I wanted to be appropriate and leave a good impression. I'm noticing that I can't give most people a worse impression than they already have.

If you love Jesus, you are weird. You aren't like the people living in your city, or even your neighborhood. And when the day comes when we find our mothers boiling their babies for food, I pray that you will be able to say, "I tried. I prayed for revival. I loved my neighbor. I followed the King to the highways and byways to bring in the lost. I didn't hide my light under a bushel."

That may sound melodramatic. Maybe it is. But I have come to believe that revival is not just a neat idea. It wouldn't just be cool if people got saved so I could have neat stories to tell. The truth is that if we don't have revival, it won't be long before we cannot bear to look at the scene outside our windows. And those of us who are paying attention are already starting to cringe at the scene we see now. So embrace the only option we have left and go for Revival or Bust! As for me and my family, we're not seeing it yet, but we're praying for strength to fight the fight of faith until our Master takes us out of the battle.

so what kind of mom AM i?

So today McKenna and I are in Target and I'm looking at the clearance rack for some kind of warm shoes I can just slip on and off. I find this $5 pair that I think look semi-cool, and hey, they're only $5. I put them on and ask her what she thinks (this was my first mistake). She says, "They just don't really look like you, Mom; those look like they would be for a sporty woman."
Thanks. Next time I think I'll leave her HOME when I go shopping. LOL!

christmas

my friend, Rachel, had this link on her blog. i like it. must confess that i've been dreading christmas this year because of all the lists and meaningless stress that comes with it every year. we're really asking what it really looks like to celebrate Jesus' birthday....not totally sure yet, but i like this little video! :) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVqqj1v-ZBU

hospitality and community - part 2

Here is the story from Karen Main's book. It is found in "Chapter 11, The Finest House in Town". It's an allegory about the Church...and just a little bit convicting. I wept when I first read it. With the holidays approaching, I will not be able to get these images out of my head. Lord, let the poor and the lonely and the hungry be in our homes and in our churches. We have been blessed to be a blessing. Anyway, here's the story:

The great house was the most beautiful in town -- not that it was so grand, but that it was so lovely. Its sturdy foundation supported thick walls and expansive porches with turrets and buttresses tiptoeing skyward. Not one room was unfunctional, but each had been designed for a specific purpose. Each brick and each tile of the roof was perfectly constructed, and the house's lathing and arch were cunningly crafted. Truly a Master Builder had been at work there.
Apart from the mortar and brick, the tile and stone, there was an unusual atmosphere surrounding the house, and excitement that said this was a household unlike any other. By night the windows shimmered with light and by day, when the lanterns inside were dimmed, it seemed as though the lights were still shining. The people who lived in the house were also special. They shared and demonstrated such loving concern for each other, such caring. If one stood by the great gate, music and laughter could be heard coming from inside. And because it was a real house, an angry word might ever so often pierce the atmospere, but never haranguing or violent ranting.
Even the life growing outside, the shrubbery and flowering bushes, the bending trees, the budding plants seemed lovelier than the gardens in town, more content to be about the business of growing. The same storms beat upon these grasses and plants, the same winds blew and tore, the same harsh summer sun burned as on the other gardens in the town, but any damage was cleverly turned to advantage by the gardener, who did his pruning with a careful knife and a firm but gentle hand.
Evalyn All was not from such a fine house. She lived in one of the shanties that crowded on top of one another in some forgotten backwater. A small wood-burning stove heated the hut in winter -- if there was wood -- and water was drawn from the brackish stream outside, the sewage disposal for the towns and factories upriver. Evalyn lived with her older sister and three younger brothers and a mother who disappeared for days, then reappeared without warning.
In her yearnings for a better life, Evalyn All would go and watch the fabric of life woven daily around the great house. She would hide behind a bush near the gate and watch and watch, her big eyes observing even the tiniest details. She noted that the clothes of the people were always clean. In summer they dressed in white. The piques and dotted swisses of the little girls shone brightly in the sunshine and Evalyn wondered, How do they keep their things so clean?
One day a small boy fell on the gravel. From her hiding place, Evalyn saw the gardener turn, gently wipe away tears, prepare an herbal salve, then bind the bloodied knee. She turned her back to the fence. The longing beating in her soul was too much to bear.
As the seasons changed, the foliage on the hiding bush fell to the ground. Suddenly Evalyn All discovered that she could be seen by the occupants of the great house and that none of them seemed to mind her presence. When one man smiled cordially and nodded his head in greeting, she took heart and walked to the very gate itself. Since there was no necessity to hide, she mustered enough boldness to walk completely around the iron fence.
The kitchen was in the rear, and if Evalyn All stood by the fence there she could smell bread baking, its yeasty aroma saturating the air. It filled her nose and lungs and triggered a hungry ache in her empty stomach.
A marvelous fountain bubbled beside the back door, and she was to discover that even in the coldest of winter it flowed, and frost scarcely iced its edges. Evalyn imagined how wonderful such clear and sparkling water would taste on the tongue, how it would roll over the palate, how its freshness might linger even after being swallowed.
As the days grew colder, the people in the house exchanged their summer whites for garments of scarlet, warm flowing robes that protected them from winter chills. Evalyn All shivered through her daily pilgrimages. If she could just have one small taste of that fresh bread!
For days, Evalyn All was ill. She burned with fever and often cried out something her brothers and sister couldn't understand, "Please, please let me come in! I'll be so careful. Please let me come in." It was several weeks before she was strong enough to return to the gate by the great house, the finest one in town. She slipped out at night, while her sister was sleeping.
She had never seen the house so beautiful. a fresh snow frosted the windows and eaves and spread a blanketed shimmer over the garden. The lights of the house shone and glistened in reflection on the winter white. Fires crackled in the fireplaces. The massive front doors were flung wide, and men and women walked to and fro, their warm scarlet cloaks protecting them from the cold air. Evidently the house had been prepared for a great celebration. Evalyn could see garlands festooning the receiving rooms and bright flags lining the driveway, where highly polished carriages traversed, unloading their elegantly attired owners.
Suddenly light-headed, she sank down on a stone and rested her forehead in her hands. The lights in the house blurred and she felt weak.
"Y'll be all right," said a voice. Startled, Evalyn All looked into the face of an old man, gnarled and misshapen. "Felt the same way myself, lotsa times. Cold and hungry and too tired t' feel a blasted --" He stopped angrily in midsentence.
"Do you live--?" Evalyn All started, but before the question was finished she knew it was impossible. The man wore clothes like hers, old and dirty.
"O nuh," came the answer before she could finish. "Nuh, nuh, nuh. There was a time when I hoped..." He sighed. "But I'm past hoping. Got useta and like the way I live. Y'gotta have an invitation, y'know." Evalyn's heart sank, because she'd been hoping too.
"Yessir...gotta getcha an in-vi-ta-tion. Them's the rules." They sat in silence, the melody from the house floating around them, creating longing for dancing, for joy. "Yup, useta come here every day when I'se a little guy. Useta watch and wait and hope somebody'd say, 'Whydoncha come in?" But it never happened. Don't come anymore, don't even wanna see the place 'cept once in a while, like tonight, for the celebration. But them, the wretches, they haven't lost hope."
"Them?" said Evalyn All. "Who do you mean?"
"Why, them!" shouted the old man. "Them, them, them!" He threw his hand toward the shadows and shades of the darkness. Evalyn peered, her eyes squinting, but she could see nothing in the night. "Come on! I'll show them to ya," he cried and impatiently grabbed her arm, dragging her after him.
Evalyn All stumbled in the blackness. The old man was rough, not careful to protect her as they rushed to the back of the house. The smell of baking bread began to reach her, her knees buckled, but her companion was relentless in his pursuit. "Them! Them!" he screamed and pointed. "Them's the ones that's hungry!" Suddenly Evalyn All could see. Standing by the iron fence was a group of people, emaciated, starving skin barely stretching over bone. They drooled at the mouth and sniffed at the air as though smelling enough would fill the hollows inside.
The old man grabbed her arm again and they stumbled to another place in the fence. "Them! Them! Them what's sad!" Evalyn All could see. Hanging on the fence were people with tears streaming down their cheeks. They pushed and shoved trying to get closer to hear the music, which seemed to be clearer on this side of the house, like a bell. Oh, how it lifted the heart! If only she could hear it better -- but the old man had again clutched at her.
"Them! Them!" he chortled, a shriek rising in his throat. "Look and laugh!" Evalyn All looked. Every inch of the fence was crowded with people. She had never seen anything so mournful in all her life. Nearby a small boy pressed his face between the bars of the iron gate, his tiny fists gripping tightly. "What's your name?" asked Evalyn All, but there was no reply. The boy turned his face to ther and, in the glow from the house, she could see that he was blind. "Got no tongue neither," came the grave voice of her guide. "Been mistreated. Happens all the time."
"Fools!" the old man spat out. His voice narrowed and he whined, "Waiting for an invitation, they are. Never gonna get one." The narrowness of his voice flattened, widening into indisputable hatred. "Not supposed to be this way. Supposed to invite us in. Supposed to come find us."
"Who?" asked Evalyn All, numbed by her revelation of misery.
"Those what's in the house, but they don't even know we're here."
Evalyn shuddered. How could they not see--how could she not see?
"Jest too busy in their own house to look. WHYDONCHA LOOK!!" he screamed. "Whydoncha look...whydoncha?"
Remembering Evalyn All, he took her hand again and pushed her closer to the iron fence. "Over there. Can you read?" and he pointed to the cornerstone. She shook her head; she had never learned. "Maybe it's jest as well," said the wizened guide. "Got the founder's name chiseled in the stone. Celebratin' for him tonight."
Evalyn All looked at the people standing in the dark shadows of the night. Their faces were turned toward the light. Their silence was overwhelming. She heard a baby cry. "Abandoned," mumbled the old man to himself. "Yup, it happens sometimes."
Evalyn turned her back and walked away from the light and the music and the aroma of fresh, warm, yeasty bread. She turned from the crackling fireplaces and the bubbling fountain and the laughter and the scarlet garments and went back home, back home, back to the shack by the river. It was many, many years before Evalyn All walked again past the gate of the great house, the finest house in town. When she did, she didn't even turn her head.

God have mercy on us. The cool thing is this: we get the good stuff when we open the door and invite people in. He is offering unspeakable joy to us when we include them in our party!
"Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear [I've personally experienced this!]; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and He will say: Here am I." Isaiah 58:6-9 (There are more abundant promises in the rest of the chapter, but I'm tired of typing! :)) Time to go to bed.

hospitality and community - part 1 (ha!)

Let's start with a little comic relief - my oh-so-creative eldest children experimenting with their faces. :) They really got a kick out of this and wanted me to take their pics so that I could put them on the blog.

Okay, I'm pretty "worked up" right now and I'm praying that I will write with grace AND truth. There is just this thing in me that has been brewing for several weeks now concerning the poor, and hospitality, and community....But while I know that I'm beginning to see justice (and then, only the tip of the iceberg), I also know that without love it is NOTHING! I guess I'm in the middle of wrestling through what true hospitality is and what biblical community really looks like. So just recognize that this is my wrestling - and I'm sort of "thinking out loud."

I'll start with this cool journal entry that I found last week as Randy and I were preparing to speak at Christ Fellowship's training school. We were trying to piece together the story that God has been putting together over the past 10 years and were remembering how much I used to despise Como! :) At one point (October 4, 2003, to be exact), I started this "poor" journal to record my journey of learning about/loving the poor. I think I only wrote about 4 pages in it - ha! But it was encouraging to see that even when we offer up weak, desperate prayers with the smallest (often not visible) seed of faith, God is FAITHFUL! Here is what I wrote (I didn't remember this at all):

"This is my 'poor' journal. I am on a search into the heart of God so that I can see what He sees, feel what He feels, and be overwhelmed by the love of Christ for the poor. I don't have God's heart right now, and the thought of having a broken heart for the poor, lost, and dying seems quite impossible. But God wants us to have His fullness. May He open my eyes and the eyes of other believers who aren't 'seeing' yet.

So if I lay it all out there, what are my feelings today about my husband's passion for the poor? What are my feelings/views of the poor?

I feel very little and what I do feel is usually negative. It seems hopeless. A lot of them say they know God or are Christians or whatever, but I see no evidence of that.

When Randy talks about Como or I hear anyone else talking about it, a very negative, yucky thing rises up in me. I do not feel like we've 'connected' in Como. Maybe a little, but I can think of a million other things I'd rather do than go hang out with those people. Randy can think of nothing he'd rather do more.

So because I believe that God put RB and I together for a reason - we are ONE and it's not an accident - and because I believe that God has placed a love and burden for the poor in RB, I cannot help but believe that He has to break down this wall between us and give me passion for the poor.

Like any conviction, it cannot and will not be brought into reality through guilt. That would be a joyless burden. It has to be revelation from God and my heart must be brought under His LORDSHIP in this area. Joy, passion, unity, vision, and peace will be birthed through this revelation."

Okay, so through a LOT of breaking and in the sweet mercy of God, He has brought Randy and I together. I think what I'm beginning to see and experience right now is the justice part of seeing the poor. The next place I believe the Lord is taking me is into love. But for now, I'll write about justice.

I'm about to finish a women's Bible study that has, like any Bible study, had strengths and weaknesses. It's HUGE strength is its focus on REALLY loving and serving our husbands. I'm so thankful for the many ways I've been challenged and changed in this area. But here is what's beginning to dawn on me - can the gospel really be the gospel if we leave out the poor? For years, my sweet husband has been telling me that it's not a peripheral issue - it is central to everything that Jesus taught and still is. I think maybe he is right. As I've been in this Bible study, which covered many topics including home management, loving your children, hospitality, etc., I realized that I couldn't hear much of what these women on the videos were saying because the poor were excluded. For instance, this week one of our memory verses was Proverbs 31:20: "She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy." In the American church we have either ignored this verse or made it comfortable for us. In this week's study, it was basically interpreted as a call to help people in our circles who are hurting in some way. i really just think it means what it says - open our arms and touch the poor. I noticed that the cross-reference in my Bible for this verse was Deuteronomy 15. This was a very interesting chapter to me because I saw that I guess God knew we were going to mess this up! In verse 4 He says "However, there should be no poor among you, for in the land the Lord your God is giving you to possess as your inheritance, He will richly bless you, if only you fully obey the Lord your God and are careful to follow all these commands I am giving you today." But then just a few verses later in v.7 He says "If there is a poor man among your brothers in any of the towns of the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not be hardhearted or tightfisted toward your poor brother. Rather be openhanded and freely lend him whatever he needs....Give generously to him and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to. There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore I command you to be openhanded toward your brothers and toward the poor and needy in your land."

So those last few words - God wasn't talking about the emotionally needy or rich sad people that show up to church on Sunday. He was actually talking about the poor. Am I saying that we ignore the rich sad people? Absolutely not! (I would hate to be ignored). But I am saying that we've got to stop rationalizing all the verses about the poor that are in the Word of God (and there are so many I cannot possibly type all of them!!) to make ourselves feel better about ignoring them. (i hope you know that i can write about this because i'm so experienced in it - i'm guilty, guilty, guilty! - praise God for His grace)! Jesus also talked about the poor always being with us and I've heard this verse used in the argument that He was saying that they would always be there so just let them be there - you will never be able to fix the problem. Randy pointed out in his sermon this summer at CF that Jesus didn't tell us to love the poor to fix them, He told us to love the poor to fix US! I can now say, after just beginning to taste this life, that it is 100% true.

Several weeks ago, I was sitting in my Bible study feeling like a complete freak as I watched a video on hospitality. I couldn't figure out why I was so agitated and then I found this book (on my own shelf, which is hilarious) called Open Heart, Open Home by Karen Mains. Best book I've ever read - really. She gets it. She has four kids and is a grandmother. She lives in the suburbs now, but she lived as a pastor's wife in inner city Chicago for over 10 years and she gets it. The book is about so much more than hospitality and she addresses the trap of the American definition of hospitality so well. It's really not even a book about the poor - she talks about welcoming everyone - she just doesn't leave the poor out. I was agitated while watching those Bible study videos because the setting was in a woman's very affluent house with very affluent looking women and all I could think was "I couldn't bring my neighbors here - it would be completely irrelevant to them." The gospel is irrelevant to no one, especially the poor.

In her book, Karen Mains writes this fictitious story to make a point and I think I'll type it here tomorrow. It had me in tears as I saw how true it is - of my own heart and of the church in America. It's too long and I've got to go to bed. Until tomorrow....

(Please know that I'm smiling!! :) :) I'm just feeling a bit intense about this subject at the moment! :))

altered perspective

I probably shouldn't say a word about politics on my blog...but here I go. Actually, I am sobered tonight. Truthfully, I wasn't excited about either candidate and had a few top picks for a write-in and just almost did it when I voted! ha! :) I think there are some scary things about the outcome of the election, but the sovereignty of God is sweet in this circumstance as it is in every moment of life! Here's what I'm noticing, though, about how my perspective has changed since living among people of a different culture. There is a part of me that is deeply moved that an African-American became president tonight. When God talks about the sins of the fathers carrying on through generation after generation, He's not kidding. I see the ugly face of slavery's consequences in my 84-year-old neighbor who had to teach herself to read using her Bible because she was forced to quit school in the 7th grade. I sat on my front porch this afternoon and helped one of my 4th grade neighbors do his homework - it was English grammar that my children did in first grade and he came to me because his mom sent him to ask us when she didn't understand it. We deeply love and respect Martin Luther King, Jr. and all that he did to bring justice to a people who had rarely tasted it. I guess as I watched people weep on my t.v. screen tonight who had walked with King and who understood something that I have never walked through, I was just noticing that my thinking has changed quite a bit since living here in Como. (For those of you who are wondering, yes, we did vote for McCain). As I looked at the issues in this election, of course abortion was a major concern for me (just read "Children are a blessing"). In good conscience, I couldn't have voted for a pro-choice candidate. But I had the thought more than once that God is deeply offended by injustice. Abortion is unarguably a severe case of injustice against the innocent...so are the numerous injustices against the poor. Does He really hate one more than the other? And I have literally been blown away as many veils have been lifted over the past few years to see how the poor are oppressed. I never would have said this was true before I lived among them and saw that many of my judgments against the lower class (particularly the black lower class) were just plain uninformed and racist. As Jackie Pulinger says, "It's hard work being poor." I'm still working through much of this mostly because I'm just beginning to see the tip of the iceberg of what it means to be poor in America, esp black and poor. Anyway, enough of my stream of consciousness. Here we are. I love that Jesus really is King. It takes so much of the devisive emotions out of this for me (which is a good thing since we have close friends who are believers, both black and white, that didn't vote the same way)! Our job (as always) is to pray for Obama now. God is good and God is on His throne and none of this came as a surprise to Him. My kids just learned the memory verse "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever." That makes me want to say "woo-hoo!" I really love Him. I can't wait to be with Him forever with no interruptions by my own flesh and sin and the injustices that surround us! May His kingdom come NOW and may we await the "not yet" of His kingdom with hopeful joy!