Life in ATL

Hey everyone! Happy fourth of July :) I'm enjoying Sunday afternoon at the Kroc Center, relaxing and preparing for a new week of teams in Atlanta. To stay updated on the work happening here, visit: http://www.experiencemissionnews.com/ -- search for blog updates from Atlanta. (I will be writing most of these throughout the summer.)

Sorry that I don't have more time to tell you about our time here, just keep me in your prayers! God is teaching me so much about loving others and being a servant. I can't wait to tell you more when I get back.

Enjoy today,

Heather

God Has Deep Pockets

Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don't try to figure out everything on your own. Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; he's the one who will keep you on track. Don’t assume that you know it all. Run to God! Run from evil! Your body will glow with health; your very bones will vibrate with life! Honor God with everything you own; give him the first and the best.

–Proverbs 3:5-9 (MSG)

. . .

For as long as I can remember, my parents have taught and modeled the importance of tithing—giving God a percentage of your income in an effort to bless others and acknowledge that everything you have comes from Him. At the age of seven, I remember smiling a proud, gummy smile on Sunday mornings, dropping my dime into the offering box; I joyfully tithed on my allowance and tooth fairy money.

When I got older, it became harder to tithe because I realized the importance of money in the real world. I knew how many hours I needed to work to fill up the tank or how tithing might cut into my Starbucks budget. During the last year of high school and my freshman year of college, I stopped tithing altogether. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything wrong, but looking back—I know I was being selfish and disobedient.

. January 2009 .

After hearing a convicting message during my sophomore year in college and studying Bible verses about tithing, I became convinced that I needed to give again. I sat down on a Saturday afternoon and figured out how much money I was making and how much I needed to give away every week. The first few weeks were easy, then Christmas shopping came, then tuition bills came, and then a bank robber disguised as the University bookstore came. When second semester of my sophomore year started, I had $31.98 to my name.

On a Sunday morning in early January, I peered into my wallet and glanced at the measly bills inside—ironically, the exact amount I needed for my weekly tithe. But my part-time paycheck wouldn’t be deposited for another week. I was worried about cutting into my already feeble bank account. But as I peeked into my wallet, I could almost hear God saying, Heather, won’t you trust me? I put my money in the bucket, feeling a little sick to my stomach, but convincing myself that I had done the right thing.

Two days later, on Tuesday afternoon, I checked my campus mailbox. Inside was a white envelope with my name written in large letters on the front. I opened the envelope and found a generic card with a Bible verse, no signature, and $50. I had kept my financial worries quiet, feeling it wasn’t right to broadcast money stats to everyone around me. But somehow, God had miraculously provided for me through this anonymous gift. I believe that $50 was His way of honoring my small gift on Sunday morning. It was His way of saying, See, I told you to trust me. Since that day, tithing has become a consistent part of my life.

. February 2010 .

As I prepared for my second spring break trip to Costa Rica, I wondered why God would ask me to go somewhere when there was no way I could afford the journey. Two weeks before my teammates and I boarded a plane to serve alongside the Bribri people, I still had no idea how I was going to pay for the trip. I was working two part-time jobs and my parents were supporting me, but I still needed to raise $700 to cover the cost of the trip.

I worked out a payment plan with our trip leader, deciding that in the worst-case scenario I could at least pay off the trip before the end of the semester. It was less than ideal, but it was a good plan. I continued working overtime, trying to earn the last several hundred dollars, but it seemed impossible. I prayed and asked God to provide for me, telling Him that if He wanted me to serve in Costa Rica He would need to help me out. I couldn’t do it by myself.

The next day I got a call from an anonymous campus organization. They told me that they were interested in donating some money toward my mission trip and asked if I could meet with them later that afternoon. I walked into the office, excited that the organization might be able to lighten the cost of my trip—an answer to prayer. But I never imagined that God would answer my prayers in such an unbelievable way. One of the officers sat across the table from me and said, Heather, we’re interested in supporting your work in Costa Rica. We’d like to pay off the balance on your trip. We’ll deposit the money into your account tomorrow.

I cried and laughed awkwardly and said, I can’t believe this, at least seven times. Then I left the office with a permanent stuck-on smile and a simple prayer, Thanks God.

. May 2010 .

Last week, I had my training with Experience Mission. As I prepare to go to Atlanta, GA for the summer to serve alongside the Salvation Army in the inner city, I am continuing to rely on God. If you’ve ever worked for a non-profit or in a ministry job, you probably didn’t do it for the money. Experience Mission takes great care of their summer staff, but on my drive home from training I began thinking about the “pay cut” I would be taking by serving in Atlanta. Again, I prayed, telling God that I trusted Him and that He must want me in Atlanta for a reason. I asked Him to provide for me financially so that I could pay my part of the tuition bill for fall semester.

When I got home, I found a letter on my bedroom dresser. The letter was from IWU, congratulating me on a Servant Leadership scholarship for the upcoming semester. The scholarship will go directly toward tuition and includes a portion to be donated to my charity of choice. The amount was almost exactly what I needed to make up the difference of what I might have earned in another job this summer. God had provided again—proving that His plan is perfect. Really, perfect!

Now more than ever, I’m convinced that God is faithful. I think Jesus talks a lot about money in the Bible because He knows what it means to us. He knows that our attitude about money often determines our attitude about Him. Although I’m not perfect, I’m starting to understand the importance of tithing more clearly. God wants us to give freely to others so that we can be surprised by the creative ways He blesses us.

The challenge: Trust God this week with your finances, your relationships, or your time and watch how He changes you.

The Wrong Way

"Get a picture of the skyline!" she shouted from the back seat. Our Colorado road trip hadn't turned out quite like we imagined it. Four inches of snow in the middle of May with no boots or cold weather gear meant that instead of spending our last two days hiking, we were stuck inside. Determined to make the best of the unusual weather, Lindsey, Dan and I drove into downtown Denver for the day with no real plan but to explore the city.

We maneuvered our way through the city streets, searching for a cheap place to park. We oohed and ahed at the buildings, saying how cute the apartments looked and deciding which 16th street store we would visit first. Our quest for a parking lot was more difficult than expected, somehow we got twisted around near Union Station and before we knew it, we were on the one-way I-25 express lane. To the horror of our faithful navigator, TomTom, we were driving down the middle of the highway, barricaded on both sides and pointed in the wrong direction. When I glanced in the rearview mirror, Denver looked impossibly small. We drove for several more miles before the express lane ended and we steered ourselves back toward the city.

Frustrated by our accidental detour, we decided to try a different off-ramp for our "second try." The exit brought us alongside Coors Field, home of the Rockies. Police directed pedestrians to cross the street near the stadium. Fans sported their Rockies garb and little kids carried baseball gloves. "Let's go to the game!" someone suggested. I turned into an event parking lot and we discussed how much we would be willing to pay for tickets. As college students on a tight road-trip budget, we knew we didn't want to spend more than $10. (Less, if possible!)

We flagged down a scalper who flashed us three club-level tickets priced at $25 each. After a little bartering, we walked into the game with three tickets for $5 each--not a bad deal! We convinced Eugene (the old-man usher--what a sweetie!) to let us sit wherever we wanted, and enjoyed the game from the eighth row. The Rockies beat the Phillies in the bottom of the tenth with a walk-off home run, just in time for the rain to start.

After the game, we spent the rest of the afternoon riding up and down 16th street on the free hybrid city buses. We ate at the Rockbottom Brewery and then sipped coffee after dinner while perusing the shelves of the Tattered Cover bookstore. It was a rainy afternoon, but incredibly relaxing and maybe one of my favorite parts of the whole week. As we sloshed down the street to our car, we laughed about how the I-25 wrong turn had led us to the perfect day, one we never could have planned on our own.

Maybe I'm trying to be too deep (forgive me), but I think that our wrong turn is a lot like real life. Sometimes mistakes shape us into the people we're supposed to be. Sometimes plans are better when they're stuffed away in the glove compartment. Sometimes the unexpected is what makes life beautiful. Sometimes wrong turns lead us to the perfect afternoon.

To Lindsey, Dan, and Nick-- Thanks for a great week in Colorado! And Nebraska, you're still the worst state in the US.

Bittersweet to be released August 1st

As most of you know, I'm a huge fan of Shauna Niequist. She is one of my favorite authors-- her stories and style in Cold Tangerines made me think about writing, life, and joy in a whole new way. If you haven't read it yet, you can borrow it from me! Then, get ready for more Shauna (because you'll want more!) by pre-ordering her latest book, Bittersweet. Since the book isn't out yet, I can't give you a first-hand review, but if it is anything like Cold Tangerines I guarantee you'll enjoy it.

Here's what the publisher Zondervan had to say about it.

"Shauna Niequist shifts her gaze to the challenges and blessings of change in Bittersweet. Drawing from her own experiences in a recent season of pain and chaos, she explores the bits of wisdom and growth we earn the hard way, through change, loss, and transition, and offers her own reflections on what brought her hope along the way."

Sounds good, right?

If you're interested in pre-ordering a copy, visit Amazon.com and receive a discount. Bittersweet will be released on August 1, 2010!

Ekphrastic Poetry: Art Responding to Art

Special shout out to one of my favorite artists and friends, Tyler Hays. I used his watercolor painting for a poetry assignment this semester: write a poem responding to a piece of art. This is one of the few poems from my semester-long poetry collection that I can stamp with a gold sticker. I'm proud of it. Thanks for inspiring me with you art, Tyler!

The Thing About Wishes

by Heather D. Moline

The thing about wishes is that they come free

from genies

on birthday cakes

in a fountain full of pennies.

The thing about wishes is that they are bendy.

They squish and they squash into something

so unlike the something you wished.

Link pinkies with your wishes like a childhood swear.

Brush out the snarls and weave wishes through your hair.

Hold wishes between your fingers

like a flickering fly—

don’t pinch them too tight,

remember

they’re alive.

And just like the bugs you caught in the dark,

wishes want to flitter

and don’t live well in jars.

If given the chance, they’ll scatter and sneak

like crunchy red leaves hitching rides with the breeze.

Once they are snubbed, they leave you alone

with responsible, grown up things that you chose:

taxes,

terrorists,

saturated fats,

earthquakes and heartbreaks

and terminal disease.

The thing about wishes is that they come free

from genies

on birthday cakes

in a fountain full of pennies

but wishes will go if you wish them away,

swept up by the wind and the gray.

You should read this.

Check out my article for Credo Magazine! You can view it online at http://www.CredoMagazine.com - It is titled "Swallowed by Darkness" and appears on the home page.

A lot of really great things have been happening over the last few weeks. Hopefully, as soon as the semester ends I'll find a spare moment to write it all out. Just know that God is good, exams are stressful, and summer is near.

Hold onto hope this week. Thanks for reading.

So, I'm taking this poetry class...

Poetry is not my thing, I've decided. This semester I'm in a poetry class and most of the time I sit there, staring blankly, listening to everyone's intelligent responses to the works and feeling like all I've got is red roses and blue violets. The professor is one of my favorites, though. She is teaching me to appreciate the art. Despite my love-hate (mostly hate) relationship with poetry, I finally crafted a poem that I'm proud of. I think it's funny and honest and has a good voice. But let me know what you think...

P.S. Since poetry is always better when it's read aloud, read this one with gusto! (Every little bit helps.)

Woman Stoops A League, Or Two

by Heather D. Moline

He’s a good one by any reasonable woman’s standard.

His teeth are white

mostly

and only a little crooked with g a p s between the canines and incisors—

but surely nothing a little minor cosmetic tweaking can’t fix.

And he tells jokes. Good ones, even.

So good that he can entertain hisself,

laughing and spitting,

but only sometimes spitting on me.

He smooches fine.

Sort of soft or sweet or sticky-like.

I tell myself, be thankful—

you gots yourself a tame kind of man,

not a wild

kinky

lick your toes

kind of man that some women gots to handle.

And I suppose a smooch is nicer

than him jammin his tongue at my tonsils

like they’re his grape lollypop.

But sometimes I wish he’d plant a good one on me

like Patrick Dempsey or that Matthew what-his-name

in the movies

instead of smearing me with

them crooked teeth and fountain jokes

that are ‘posed to be just fine

by any reasonable woman’s standards.

My Little Brother

When he was a kid, Ryan was chubby and shy. He liked Kix cereal with no milk and chicken nuggets with barbeque sauce. If it weren’t for Mom, he would have eaten those foods—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—for the rest of his life. Unlike me, the child who would run off with any stranger who smiled, Ryan only trusted a few special people. He liked our immediate family, the neighbor boy, Sam, and the checkout lady at the grocery store who he insisted on calling “Grandma.”

When he was eight, Mom let him start taking violin lessons. In middle school he started taking guitar lessons. He practiced diligently and would accept nothing less than perfection from either of his instruments, a testament to both his determination and patience. His music gave him confidence, but not arrogance. Over time, his shyness disappeared completely. (Now, we can’t get him to stop talking!)

He graduated Salutatorian in high school, delivering an honest and humble speech. And although he is incredibly intelligent, Ryan isn’t one of those obnoxious students who get an A without any effort—he studied hard for his special spot on that graduation stage. But he would never tell you how smart he is. He isn’t proud, at least, not that kind of proud.

Smart and artistic, Ryan played almost every sport—football, soccer, basketball, and baseball. His baby cheeks were long gone. In high school, he dedicated himself to running and lifting to prepare for the baseball season—the sport he loved most. But he wasn’t an attention-starved-athlete. He cared deeply for people. I’ll never forget his freshman year when he went to basketball camp and conditioned with the team for months during the summer. Then, right as the season was about to begin, he made the difficult choice to leave the team. The coach begged him to stay, but Ryan had made his decision. He wanted to have more time to serve with the kids’ ministry at church.

Serving others has become a passion in Ryan’s life. I was reminded of this when I called to wish him Happy Birthday today. He is nineteen. I chatted with him from my Indiana Wesleyan apartment, while his voice echoed from his Spring Arbor stairwell. (I wish we weren’t so far apart.) I asked him about his presents. He told me that he was programming his new ipod Touch. I assumed it was the one he had been saving up for during the past several months. But Ryan explained that when the earthquake tore apart Haiti, he didn’t feel right about buying such an expensive item for himself. He gave all of his savings to disaster relief, instead. He went on to explain that after he had given the money away, he received his present from Mom and Dad—an ipod Touch, a complete surprise to Ryan. They bought it for him weeks before the earthquake.

I told Ryan that I was proud of him for sacrificing his hard-earned money for people he had never even met. But he shrugged it off. In his mind, it was just a small thing. He was just doing his part. (He’s probably embarrassed that I am even telling this story, but I don’t care. I want to brag about my brother. I told you, he’s humble.)

Ryan is currently studying Youth Ministry and Psychology at Spring Arbor University. He wants to help others for the rest of his life, and I know he will. I couldn’t be more proud of my brother and the man that he has become. It is clear that God is at the center of everything he does. He might be younger than me, but I look up to him in many ways (and not just because he is a foot taller than me.) I love you, Buddy. Happy Birthday. I’m so glad you’re my little brother.

Ho Ho Home

This morning I made the drive from Marion, Indiana to Toledo, Ohio, singing along with the Trans Siberian Orchestra and Bing Crosby. ("Ho Ho Ho and Hit the Highway," my newest ipod playlist.) I can't believe that the semester is over. Like, seriously over. As I reflected on all of the papers I wrote and pages I read and tests I took and coffee I drank, I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream from joy or cry from exhaustion. So I scream-cried, not caring if the WalMart truck driver could see me. I made it. The semester is over. I worked harder than I've ever worked, and it felt good. Tiring, but good.

When I got home, I gave my G6 a well-deserved oil change and watched court tv and napped on the couch and helped my mom with the no-bake cookies (a reasonable cookie for me and my horribly-inept-domestic-abilities to tackle.) Christmas break has already been wonderfully relaxing, and it has only been a few hours. I'm taking the next few days to fill my lungs with cleansing, deep breaths because I know that the parties will start soon and I will be in a perpetual sugar-cookie coma until January.

I'm thankful for the break--even though I know it will go fast. I'm thankful for how God has brought me through my busiest semester so far. Thankful for the laughter from friendships. Thankful for the comfort from family. Thankful for my own bed. Thankful for this time of year and the Savior who loves me unconditionally.

Me In 10

I couldn't sleep last night because I was inspired. Every few minutes, between midnight and 2 a.m., I flicked the switch on my bedside lamp, squinting as the room filled up with harsh light. I couldn't risk losing the words. I've learned, after years of writing, that you have to capture those kinds of thoughts quickly. They are like lightning bugs. They flash and sparkle momentarily, but they will disappear if you don't cup them tightly in your hands or cram them into a jar--I like to think of my little red notebook as my lightning bug jar.

I know that my husband doesn't particularly like it when I have inspired nights. But he likes me a lot, so he has learned to sleep through the chaotic lamp show. He's my number one reader. He reads everything I write--even the bad stuff. I'm not sure if he has read any other books since college, so I believe him when he says that I'm his favorite author.

During the day, I'm a mom. I drive the kids to school and baseball practice and boxing lessons--yes, I gave in. They are boxing now. My husband says it's healthy for little boys to let out their aggression in the ring. I still think it's a horrible sport, if you can even call it a sport.

I read cookbooks and write my bi-weekly column on my laptop in the car while I wait for the boys to get out of practice. It isn't the most glamorous life, I know. I don't have a real office, unless you consider the desk in the basement an office. I dress up once a month for conferences or book signings, which is a nice escape into grown-up world. But most of the time, I'm just mom with a ponytail, proofreading pages for my new book when I have a rare minute.

The writing life isn't as fabulous as I thought it would be. After college, I had to write a lot of silly magazine articles and devotional blurbs to help pay the bills. But I reached my ultimate goal, I wrote my first book before the age of twenty-five. It was good. It had a cute cover. My parents were proud and stockpiled copies in their basement. When I read it now, all I can see are the typos and cliches. Sometimes I am my own worst critic.

After that book, I continued writing magazine articles, which led to a column assignment, which led to more book proposals. So now, here I am, writing my fourth book, waiting to pick up the boys from baseball practice. I'm a wife and a mom and a writer. I'm not famous or rich, but I am wonderfully happy.

Written for a Fall 2009 Sentence Strategies assignment: Write about yourself and your daily life as it might appear 10 years in the future.

God in a tube

Sometimes I like to be tube-fed my spirituality. I like the way it casually oozes into me on Sunday mornings or in chapel at my small, Christian university or during the five-minute “Faithful Friday” readings from a well-meaning professor. Allowing the nutrients to pass through me, I sit. I wait to feel something about life again. I wait, craving fullness, disappointed when I can’t remember a sermon one hour after it was pumped from the pulpit. It must have leaked out of me, I think.

The Protestant Reformation was about a lot of deep, theological things. Things I don’t fully understand. I know that Catholics were tired of paying a lump sum to their local priest every time they sinned—a bogus scheme called Indulgences. I know that priests were corrupt, stealing money, sinning sexually, paying for power. But I know that the most important thing about Martin Luther and his 95 Theses was that people were demanding to feed themselves again. They were ripping out their mindless-spirituality food tubes, taking ownership of their soul’s health.

I believe that Luther broke free from the church partially because of its corruptness but also because he realized that it was numbing him. When Luther and his crew of rebellious Catholics spit boldly in the face of religious tradition in the 16^th century, I guarantee they never imagined Christians in the 21^st century who would return to lukewarm living on purpose. But in many ways, I think we have.

If I’m honest with myself, I am comfortable letting others do the hard work for me. I like it when my pastor researches recipes, prepares the meal, serves it to me, in 30-minutes, on a TV tray. It’s much easier than trying to sauté, poach, bake, stir, measure, or grill something for myself. While I know that meals in a tube don’t make me stronger, I still fight the urge to be a passive follower of Christ. Sometimes I make the effort, rustling up a nutritious meal for myself. But sometimes I still settle for mush through a tube.

Book Review

This book wasn’t written for grouches, so I’m sorry that the words can’t wiggle into the grooves of your brain and tickle you with insight. Maybe that’s why you find no pleasure in the delightful descriptions or quirky quips. Yes, that’s it. You’re a grouch.

This book wasn’t written for the tame, so I’m sorry that the energy exhausts you. I’m sorry that you cannot appreciate the way the passion, personality, and positive spirit seem to splatter across the page. Maybe you should read something quieter, something with less life oozing out of it. It might fit you better.

This book wasn’t written for philosophers, at least, not the regular kind. But it wasn’t written for the mindless, either. It will challenge you to view everyday life—the moments of clarity, the times you failed, the nights you almost peed because you couldn’t stop laughing—as something meaningful, beautiful, and spiritual. I’m sorry if you’re looking for dull theories or tired metaphors on the Christian life. You’ll have to read something else.

When Shauna Niequist wrote Cold Tangerines she wanted to reinvigorate the way we think about blessing. She wanted to reveal something hopeful about the world through her personal stories. She wanted to be honest with her readers about faith, family, and the messy parts of life that we all try to hide in our basements or junk drawers or closets—because those are things worth writing about. If you don’t want a book that infuses you with joy from the ends of your hair to your crooked, big toe, don’t read this book. If you don’t want to celebrate the gift of life, put this book back on the shelf. I’m sorry. I just don’t think you will like it.

Credo Magazine

Check out my third piece for Credo! Go to www.CredoMagazine.com and click on "What Not To Be This Halloween." Then, get outside and enjoy the day. The leaves are falling and it's beautiful.

Try Journaling

KNOW GOD--PART FOUR

Journaling is powerful because it lets us reflect on where we’ve been and how God has walked alongside us during the good times and the bad. It doesn’t mean you have to keep a diary. Just write about the ups and downs of your life and the needs of the people around you. Then, go back and reflect on how God has proved his faithfulness.

Or here’s another idea. Pick a short Psalm (or part of a larger one) and rewrite it in your own words. This doesn’t mean that your version will be better--duh! But sometimes it’s easier to hear God’s voice when we take time to understand his Word in our everyday language. If you don’t know where to start, try Psalm 5.

Something to See

It’s hard to do nothing. Once I had chosen my spot beneath the shade of a big tree, I tried to get comfortable. I took off my shoes and wiggled my toes into the grass. It was starting to turn brown, but there were still patches of soft, green blades left over from summertime. I took a deep breath of Sunday afternoon air. It smelled crisp and rich, like the beginning of fall should smell in the Midwest. I looked at my watch. It had only been 10 minutes and I was already feeling anxious. I wished that I could walk around or listen to my ipod or read a book. But I forced myself to sit there, determined to just be in nature.

It required concentration. I had to continuously bring my mind back to that spot, back to the arching of trees, the glimmer of sunshine, the hum of insects. It was beautiful, of course. It wasn’t difficult for me to admire nature’s general beauty, but I realized that I often don’t pay attention to the specifics.

The crickets sounded like a classroom full of little boys grinding their teeth and sloshing their spit. The bugs hid somewhere in the tall grass, chanting: wwheeeha wwheeeha, we weha we weha. After a while, I caught the subtle rhythm. One overzealous cricket could be heard above the others. I wondered if he was the “class clown” telling a joke above the ruckus, or maybe he was the teacher trying to get control of his English class. As I sat on the ground, a tiny one landed on my shoe. I inspected him for a moment, and then brushed him back into the grass.

After the bugs, I noticed the leaves. They waited anxiously for the wind, as if they were surfers waiting for the perfect wave. Then they made a calculated but chaotic leap from the branches to the ground. Once they landed, they flirted with each other. Swayed back and forth like giddy girls, dressed in gold and red and green, at their very first dance. The leaves bubbled up in a burst of excitement and then paused, breathlessly, on the floor until the next wind-song began.

Next, I thought about the trees. I thought about how they have been there the longest out of everything in the park. I imagined them with eyes; I wished they could talk. I wished they could describe how the world looked when they first budded out of the earth. It must have been a lot different. Things were probably slower, there were probably more trees and maybe they didn’t see people pass by for a while. Poets have always described trees as wise. I think they are right. Trees have watched it all, endured thunderstorms, learned to change with the seasons, stood patiently in one spot for their entire lives. Yes, they must be wise.

After my time in nature was over, I felt calm. I’m glad that I forced myself to be an observer and to sit quietly. The nothingness turned out to be beautiful.

As I left the park, a little boy ran up to me and said, “I hope you enjoyed your day, lady. It’s really a nice day and there are lots of creatures to see out here. I hope you got to see some.” His mother grabbed his hand and apologized, “He’s just too talkative.” I just smiled and waved goodbye to him because he was right. It was a beautiful day and there is plenty to see if you are willing to look.

Create Something

KNOW GOD-PART THREE

God is creative. Just think about it, he designed Saturn and the hippopotamus and dandelions and your eyelashes. He crafted the entire world into existence; his imagination is endless. And because God is an artist, he must be filled with joy when we express our love to him through art. It’s like we’re speaking his heart language.

So, go create something. Read your favorite passage of scripture and draw a picture about why it’s significant in your life. Paint yourself sitting on your Heavenly Father’s lap. Just use your imagination! You don’t have to be the next Van Gogh. God will be delighted when you create something to bring him glory.

Go Walking

KNOW GOD--part two

Breathing fresh air is like sucking Heaven’s medicine through your nostrils. This is the perfect seasons to spend time with God outside. On a sunny or breezy day, take a walk. Sing praise songs to God as you stroll. Listen to worship music on your ipod. Whisper a prayer. Or just be silent and enjoy the beauty the day. God created nature so that we could find comfort in it. He made trees for shade. He made water so that we could dip our toes into a pond. He made the sun to turn our cheeks pink. Grasp the gift of creation with gratitude and don’t waste a warm day! Remember to thank God for the chance to roam in his backyard. (Wear good shoes!)

Be Silent

KNOW GOD--part one

Life is loud. Sometimes it is so loud that it can strangle us. Life is hectic, too. Sometimes it is so busy that we crash into our beds at night and can’t remember if we ate lunch or even talked to God at all. And when life is like that, we lose it. We aren’t healthy people anymore.

Take some time this week to be refreshed and renewed. Sit in silence with God, and not just for five minutes. Allow enough time for all the thoughts in your head to quit smacking into one another. Allow yourself to slow down enough to listen. Don’t talk. Just listen closely. You might be surprised to hear what God has to say to you if you give him a chance to speak. He is waiting to reveal himself to you.

Bad Listener

I think that you can learn a lot about people on a first date. It’s in those magical and often humiliating moments, that people reveal their true selves. Of course, I’ll be the first to admit it; I always hope that my first date self will be a more flawless, beautiful, interesting and witty version of the regular, everyday, give that girl a tic-tac Heather. But no matter how hard I try, my imperfections are doomed to follow me. I remember one date very vividly. I sat in the pizza booth, sipping my water, trying desperately to be cute and charming. I talked about my classes and my friends and how I love to write. That conversation led to the topic of books. “What kinds of books do you like to read, Heather?” he asked. I spouted off a few of my favorites, and then added, “But I like to write more than I like to read. I always have.” Honest answer. Total mistake. Flaw escape. My date glanced down at his food and then mumbled with a smile, “That’s probably because you like to talk more than you like to listen.” Ouch.

Of course, I don’t think that I’m a bad person for talking too much, and I don’t really care what that dude thinks. He’s long gone, thank goodness! But I have to confess: he was right. I do have a problem with listening, and that’s not okay. I’m trying to get better at listening, at not cutting people off mid-sentence, at forcing my own thoughts to slow down. I’m trying.

And although listening is one of my obvious issues, sometimes I wonder if maybe it’s not so much a problem with listening as a problem with silence. The truth is, I hate silence. I fill it with words because it makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel alone. Last weekend I made my annual trek to Rockford, Illinois to visit my good friend, Lindsey. (Let me just say that I love that girl.) We packed our weekend full of activity: exploring downtown Madison, battling her friends in Euchre, chatting over coffee and stomping around the county fairground with her parents.

When it came time to leave, I hugged Lindsey goodbye, hopped into my car and immediately turned on the radio. It stayed on the whole ride home. Noise. Even if I wasn’t really listening to anything, the radio stayed on. Avoiding the silence. When I wasn’t listening to the radio full blast, I was talking on the phone, only to be informed (ironically) that I “use filler words whenever there is a lull in conversation.” Awesome. Point taken.

Sometimes I wonder if God laughs at me. I wonder if He hears my frantic prayers and rambling, worried thoughts. I wonder if He listens patiently for a while and then whispers, “Heather, breathe. Chill out.” He probably says things like that to me all the time but I am too busy talking to hear Him. I’m too busy avoiding the silence. I’m too busy spouting out my own words instead of allowing His thoughts become my own. I wonder how many words from God I’ve missed because I wouldn’t close my mouth.

I need to be a better listener. I need to be better at dwelling in silence. I just wish it wasn’t so difficult.

Side note: In honor of practicing silence I will be posting a series of six devotional entries, the first of which will talk about the discipline of silence and solitude. These are excerpts from a devotional booklet I published for the Westside Women last spring! Coming soon.

Credo-- take two!

Check out my second article at CredoMagazine.com! You can find the link on the home page entitled "Shrubs, Soap and Scoopers." This article isn't necessarily deep or thought provoking :) but I had a good time putting it together. Does anyone have any terrible tasks from your childhood that you'd be willing to share? 

Just a side note: Seeing my work published is such a boost. I've been blessed to develop a relationship with the people from Barefoot Ministries. Their investment in me has helped me believe that this writing thing can actually happen...