Welcome to October! Crisp mornings, fall colors, a sense of fresh beginnings as school routines normalize and we lean forward into our lives.

Here in the Northwest we know the rains are coming and so we live our lives outdoors as long as we can. That last bike ride, a walk in the woods, dinner on the deck. Surrounded by beauty, we dive in before the mists and mud make our treks cumbersome.

And we buy books. Lots of books. The citizens of Portland are readers. We brew our coffee strong and are more prone to meet friends at Powell’s than the mall. In the dark days ahead I’ll light cinnamon candles and look forward to reading my way through blustery storms in my corner of the world.

One book in particular.

My son, John Mark, has written a book that may well change the way a generation views the purpose of their lives. It's intriguing title is: Garden City: Work, Rest, and the Art of Being Human.

And though his words are directed at millennials emerging into the early stages of their work lives, I believe the truths he writes just might change the way my generation sees the purpose of the later stages of their own professional lives as well..

Let me explain.

This book is about being human in real time. In that easy way he has, John Mark manages to bring the theology of work and rest out of the ivory tower of academia, right smack into our conversations over coffee.

He gives us room to dream, to imagine, to dare and risk and be the thriving humans God designed us to be.

And he refutes the widely held idea that, for Christians, who we are is more important than what we do. Instead, he paints a picture of a fully integrated life. A life where we get to choose. A life that finds satisfying meaning, not in living the American dream of more and bigger and better, but in choosing to become who and what God invites us to be.

And then he writes about rest. About Sabbath.

When John Mark first began sharing what he was learning about Sabbath with me, and then later when he developed the teachings that became the basis for this book, I listened like a woman whose canteen had run out of water while crossing the desert. I’d been pushing myself to work harder, to accomplish more, to wear every hat I’d been assigned.

And I was staggering under the impossibility of the load.

I couldn’t get these truths out of my mind. I couldn’t shake the sense that I was failing at everything, like one of those circus performers who spins so many plates that he’s running back and forth frantically to keep them from falling to the ground and shattering.

When I read his words I gave myself permission to quit.

I quit a job I loved, but that had outgrown my time constraints and my abilities. Was that little extra in my wallet worth it? Could I make do without?

I quit saying yes to needs I was not best equipped to meet. Instead I began to see myself as a connector. I hear a plea or help and connect that woman to one whose story is similar or whose strengths are just what she needs.

I quit going to every church gathering, every event, everything I was “supposed” to do. Instead I left room for myself to linger, to think and ponder and be alone enough to fill my introverted cup.

And I gave myself room to dream with God, to throw myself into what I love.

And Phil and I changed the course of our future. Our son’s words got us to talking and Phil quit too. He resigned a position he loved but that was choking the life out of him in order to start Intentional Parents, something we had talked about forever but would not have had the courage to dive into without these truths.

So I’m warning you. This book will give you permission to dream, to throw yourself into your God-assigned work, and to purposefully hit the pause button in order to give God one full non-achieving, non-striving, non-conflict day every week.

Read this book and you just might get messed up in your head. You might have to downsize your budget. You’ll probably make some changes. You might even quit.

And somehow I think God will be smiling, cheering you on as you dare to drink deep, to have courage, to know the hope of His calling… for you.

From a heart so proud of my son and so hopeful for you,

Diane

P.S. What is it you dare to dream about doing? My dream was to write, to overflow all that I have heard and learned to women. I so want to hear yours so I can cheer you on and pray.

P.S.S And if you do buy the book, and it does set you free to do and be what you hear God whispering in your soul, would you consider leaving an online review? For some reason I do not understand, those reviews mean something to publishers and booksellers. And they wouldn’t accept mine—can you imagine?! I guess they think I might be just a little bit biased…

This is a page of my journal from twenty years ago. A glimpse into who we were then and a revelation of who we have become.  Us:

A husband and a wife.

Four children, including two teenagers, one pre-adolescent, and one toddler.

Two cats. One totally disobedient dog. And two horses.

This is the make-up of our family.

Needless to say, with all our comings and goings, individual personalities, and distinct wills, ours is not always a peaceful place. There is plenty of teasing and laughter…and fun. And if I'm honest, quite a few thunderclaps of conflict as well.

And I love it.

Oh, I don’t always like it. I am, after all, a woman who thrives on solitude, order, calm, quiet, and peace (rare qualities in this busy household). Yet I love the richness, the ever-changing variety, the heart-stopping intimacy of shared thoughts. I find such safety in the “kindred spirits” I have found in each of my family members.

I know what they like…

They know what I like…

We know what we like together.

There is something soul-satisfying about a shared beauty; a favorite song on the radio, a breath-taking sunset, or better yet, the groggy-eyed wonder of an early morning sunrise. When I see a brilliant rainbow with my family, it takes on a deeper beauty because we gasp in wonder together.

This family of mine is nothing like the still-life portrait I once imagined it would be. For goodness sake, we can’t even get a quick snapshot of all six of us smiling with all 12 eyes open at once!

I am learning, ever so slowly, that if I let go and stop trying to get everybody to be quiet and still and orderly, I enjoy this crazy crowd a whole lot more.

Though I treasure order, they do not.

Though I love quiet, I have never known one of them to leave our noisy family circle to seek solitude for the sake of silence. They prefer noise, and lots of it.

And while neatness seems essential to my peace of mind, not a one of the rest of them care a whit if the house is in perfect order before they go to bed, or when they get up, or anytime in between!

I’m finally getting it.

That family peace consists more in letting go and accepting each other than in trying frantically to keep everybody calm, quiet, and tidy. I am learning that conflict is sometimes okay (will I ever really believe that?) and that closeness comes not by obliterating conflict, but by living with it comfortably.

We do not always agree. In fact, we rarely all agree. And that’s okay. It is when we graciously respect each other’s differing opinions and ways of doing things that friendship sprouts like well-watered weeds all over the relationships in this family.

So I am learning painstakingly slowly to let go and enjoy this crew of six. I am daily resisting the hundreds of urges to control and corral them into my version of the Happy Family.

They are they…

and I am me…

and together we are us.

Then there were six of us. Now there are fifteen.

In the midst of living real life we have grown and changed, wept and danced, learned, grieved, become real friends.

We are still Us, still in love with Jesus, still learning how to follow in His footsteps. And, perhaps most real of all, still in awe of the incomprehensible truth that He loves us just as we are.

May you delight in the truth of His love this week.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. I am away this week, road tripping and camping high in the Sierra mountains I love, with the man I have loved for well over 37 years. I'll keep checking in so we can pray, together, for those whose hearts need a touch from God. Leave your name- or not. As we hike and explore the beauty of the Creator, we would love to bring your hopes to Him who hears our cries.

We all need a small group of people who will echo God’s love for us and His belief in us.

In an ideal universe, these are the people closest to us, our immediate families.

But this is not the case for so many people.

The wounds so many people carry are not from the opinions of strangers

but from the opinions of the people they love.

Savor~ by Shauna Niequist

I read these words this morning knowing I have what everyone wants and needs and so few experience— a loving, affirming family who actually like each other.

I cry mama-tears as I remember the years and years of hoping for this, despairing that my children would ever get along, that maybe this ideal is unrealistic, impossible. How I wondered if they would grow up to hate me for all those broken edges that poked and hurt and sometimes (oh how I wish it wasn’t true!) – wounded.

The truth is, ours is not and never was the Ideal Family.

We are too willful, too wordy, too opinionated to avoid hurting each other.  But somehow the Spirit of God heard those not-possible prayers from all those years and did something impossible.

He created a family of us, for us, in spite of us.

And tomorrow my family will begin gathering in Southern California for a week of being us. Camp Comer officially begins Monday at Disneyland. Fifteen of us: Pops, John Mark, Tam, Beks, Steve, Beets, Brook, Matt-man, Simo along with the 5 Grands: Judester, Mo-man, Sunday-Love, Dukester, and baby Scar.

And me.

I’ll be there grinning, taking terrible pictures and being teased for it, heart so full I won’t know whether to laugh at the impossibility of us as we are or weep because of the impossibility of what we have become.

We are a family.

We belong, every one of us— those born into us and those married into us. We will be there for each other in times that include Disneyland and in times of tragedy or shame or loss or failure. We, better than anyone else, know each other’s worth. And each other’s less-than’s.

There is something incredibly safe about being all-together.

As if we are our own small democracy, a tribe of people who will defend each other’s well-being at all costs.

When, just this last week, we got the bad news about 5 year old Duke’s severe hearing loss in one ear, his need to get fitted for a hearing aid before he starts school this fall, the email thread thrummed with our collective grief— and with hope as well. That watching Mom go deaf has taken some of the terror out of what may lie ahead for this boy we all know has worlds to conquer. And who knows who else in our clan.

In the front pages of John Mark’s book is a real-deal endorsement from his little brother, written a year or so before John Mark stood in front of Matt and his bride to laugh and tease and preach just a little hell fire and brimstone at his wedding before declaring Matthew and Simona husband and wife.

All week Elizabeth will love us by cooking. Beks will bring books and stories, Steve will excite us about design, Simo will inspire us with her gentle elegance, Brook will have us laughing, Tam will understand, Matt will bring joy and balance, John Mark will get us thinking about things we didn’t know mattered, and Pops— he will make it all work.

And me? I will be filling up with this “small group of people who echo God’s love for us and His belief in us”.

I can’t help but think of all the young parents who are right in the thick of the part that feels impossible.

Moms who will get up this morning to another day of the same, wondering if all this work is worth it. Dads who had no idea how hard all this would be. May I just give you a peek into your future?

Fathers, don’t run away.

You stand to lose so much more than you can comprehend. Be faithful, be present, be loving, say loving things. Apologize when you blow it. Get help when you need it. Love on your wife like your future depends on it. Because it does.

Mothers, don’t be mean.

Be friendly to that man of yours even when you’re overwhelmed and think he could be, should be better. Love on those children even when you’ve reached your limit. Apologize when you blow it so they grow up knowing your frustration wasn’t their fault— because it isn’t. And please, watch your words.

Because someday, by God’s grace and a miracle or two, you will be planning your own version of Camp Comer.

And the fun starts now.

From an overflowing heart,

Diane

P.S. Do you have hopes for your family? Can you tell us?

Now all glory to God, who is able, through His mighty power at work within us,

to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.

Glory to Him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen.

Ephesians 3v20,21

NLT

Yesterday was an exhilarating day for me. Eleven years ago, on Easter morning, Phil and I saw the dream of starting a church come true.

With more fear than faith, we’d poured ourselves into the task, gaining confidence that God was really in it as He brought others—more gifted than ourselves— to join us. A retired finance guy to handle the administration, a gifted engineer to organize the set up and tear down, wise elders to lead, efficient women to manage and multi-task. So many willing to show up and do what needed doing.

But still we worried. Would it work? Would anyone come? What if they didn’t? What if we’d heard wrong?

So we worked harder than we’d ever worked before and prayed more than we’d ever prayed before. We knew we weren’t enough, but we were learning that God is.

And as the days and weeks passed, we learned deep the lessons of dependency, that…

When we don’t have what it takes to do the task God assigns us, He brings all that He is into the story and does more than we could ever do without Him.

Do you know that too?

This morning as you bathe and dress and feed that baby, wondering how in the world you will help him grow into a man after God’s heart?

When you wave your teenager out the door, wondering how in the world you will help her stay strong and pure and in love with Jesus?

When you sit at your desk and wonder how in the world you will get it all done?

The fact is, without Him you and I— we can do nothing of real value.

But with Him, in Him, following near and listening close, He can do so much more than we are capable of even dreaming!

Which is why yesterday was so exhilarating for me. To drive in and have to slowly follow people to their cars like a parking place stalker, then walk the long way into the jam-packed building, squeezing past lines of people waiting for the Gathering to dismiss so they could make the mad dash to get seats for the next one… then to raise hands in worship, bumping shoulders, hugging friends, hearing more stories of lives rescued, watching baptisms— so many!

This morning I wonder at our little faith. I apologize to this One I am learning to listen to. Again. And I feel Him smile, a little mirth added to our morning together.

He knows the task He’s put in your path is too big for you.

And He’s not worried at all.

But He knows that you are, and I think He wants you to know that…

He’s with you, fully present.

And that…

With Him… in Him… if you will listen and do what He says... learning to trust Him a little more…

He will accomplish what concerns you.

And I think you will be amazed. Astounded, just like I am, at what He is able to do with a man or a woman who is honestly all surrendered. Not perfect. Not super-gifted.

Just all His.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Do you face a daunting task today? I would love to pray for you. If you’ll leave a few lines in the comments I’ll join with you in bringing your worries to the One who answers so willingly and so well.

Christmas at our house is not simple. Or quiet.

A Comer Christmas is loud… everyone talking at once because there’s so much to say and so many questions to ask and so much we didn’t know.

A Comer Christmas is chaotic… Moses making the rounds of laps, Duke wrestling with the cousins, Scarlet telling everyone they’re “gorgeous”, Sunday grinning big, Jude commanding the troupes.

A Comer Christmas is presents, piles and piles of presents.

And I know that’s not in vogue right now. I read about the stoics who don’t do gifts, the unselfish who write checks to charities instead, the ones who give it all away in order to give the season more fully to Jesus.

And I love that, it’s beautiful, inspiring, grand— but that’s not our story.

Instead we have lists flying over cyber world, big brown trucks making deliveries, secret texts with ideas and links and let-me-check-with-so-and-so’s.

And I know right now that my daughters are talking about what to get who and where to get it. My sons are planning their morning-of-Christmas-eve coffee klatch. Phil is managing lists and package arrivals and airport runs and who goes to whose house when.

On this Christmas like every other there will be tears, and meltdowns, raised eyebrows, moodiness, teasing… moments.

Our day will be imperfect and messy.

But in the midst of it all there will be a family full of people who are fully present, passionate about each other, building a heritage for each.

And me? I’ll be savoring every moment. Wishing the whole world could have what I have— a family in love with the Savior… and each other.

I’ll sit in my corner of the sofa,

…wishing every mother could know that all she’s doing now will give her this someday. Not ideal or idyllic, but beautiful and good.

… wishing I could tell her that she won’t be sorry she gave up on order and stillness and perfection and gave in to messy, sticky, crazy love.

… wishing she could see that she won’t be sorry she worked so hard or stayed so present or forgave again or decided to decide.

All day, in the midst of my own family’s way of doing Christmas, I’ll be wishing that every mother could know that all those years of busy will come down to one day of enough.

From a heart bursting,

Diane

(image by Maria Lamb)

Last night we took Sunday to the Nutcracker. Dressed all up in her red cape, hair twisted into adorable puff balls, a smile so big she could hardly see through her squinted eyes… she glowed.

 

It was a double date… Pops and Amma, Uncle Matt and Sunday.

And we twittered and tweeted and Insta’d and flickered… while Sunday just grinned. She was the star and she knew it, like a princess knows her subjects adore her— of course.

Wide-eyed with wonder, our little grand-girl took it all in.

The glitter, the elegance, the crowd, the kids. She had no idea what we were doing, just that we were loving her.

Opening a world of beauty a little wider.

Taking her by the hand to experience something grand together.

She laughed and she clapped at all the wrong times. Just an outburst of joy at being there!

Sitting on my lap to see, Sunday danced and wiggled to the beat of a drum I could not hear. She seemed to go in all the wrong directions,  unbound by what she did not know.

And it dawned on me suddenly that just over 8 months ago Sunday sat in an orphanage on the other side of the world. Her life was confined and confusing, devoid of beauty, of wonder, of the love of family.

One year ago John Mark and Tammy called us to pray- they’d been assigned a child from the agency. Would they take her?

All we had was a picture. And just the barest sketch of a story. And the belief that when we pray for wisdom, for guidance, for grace… He gives it. Generously.

And He did and He has!

Sunday Love Comer is an unbearably generous gift from God to all of us. We love her. I mean, we actually, really, honestly love our little girl.

GENERATIONS

ONE OF THE GANG!

A SPECIAL BOND

And aren’t we all like Sunday? Adopted by a Father who loves us, who opens beauty and wonder each day.

Cherished, adored, disciplined, included, brought close, held tight, taught, shown off, given gifts, wanted.

Adopted!

God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family

by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ.

This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure.

So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us

who belong to his dear Son.

He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom

with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins.

He has showered his kindness on us,

along with all wisdom and understanding.

Ephesians 1:5-8

NLT

From my heart,

Diane

Eleven days ‘til Christmas. Eleven days to plan and shop and wrap and bake and cook and write notes and clean and get everything ready for our Comer Christmas.

Eleven days of joy. And maybe just a little stress and a bit of worry.

Will I get it done? Should I stop everything else to work more? Longer? Harder?

And I already know the answer.

No.

For the next eleven days I’ll just mix all these tasks with a heart overflowing with love and memories and anticipation of my family coming together to celebrate.

My favorite days with my favorite people in my favorite place.

Would you like to see? To watch what happens at our house?

(My grandma gave me this angel on my first Christmas- 53 years ago. She's frayed and crooked and full of rich memories just like me. I think she must be in style again... vintage.)

Leading up to Christmas Day and then on into the week after, I’d like to invite you into my home and heart. Let you see our Christmas, our family, our ways of celebrating the story of God coming close.

Let me warn you: we love Christmas. All of it. The extravagance of gifts for each other, the scents of cinnamon and ginger and chocolate and good things coming fresh out of the oven, even the mess we make in the midst of all this fun.

(pine cones from my parent's house in the Sierras)

We are neither minimalists nor perfectionists. We just love Christmas.

From my heart,

Diane

(source)

Sometimes I think life is like a chapter book. 

All the chapters connect to each other yet no two chapters are the same.

Some are filled with details and history. Some with drama and intrigue.  All are necessary to tell the story.

I tend to want to read ahead and see what’s next which can cause me to miss the right now.

I’m sure I am not alone. 

These past few months have brought about a lot of learning and growing and stretching and asking God “what story are you trying to write?”.

God has blessed me beyond belief with a wonderful husband, two growing-up-way-too-fast children and this incredible blog to be a part of.

Working with my mom and helping her spread the words that God has given her is something I treasure. Not to mention the fact that so many of you read The Kitchen each week... it blows my mind and delights by soul. Thank you. 

Yet somehow I have been finding myself in a place I don’t want to stay…. too busy to do the things that are the most important in my current chapter…

Loving, caring for, serving and making space for my husband and my family.

 

Because sometimes the most important things look like taking the time to have a dance party with Duke in the hallway.

(I can’t dance)

And sometimes they look like lying on the floor and teaching Scarlet to say “mama”

(the only word she will say is “Dada”. All day long.)

Other times they look like having a cup of coffee and talking to Brook instead of working on my “to-do” list.

A perfectionist at heart, I can sometimes get so focused on tasks and making everything just right that I miss the simple joys along the way.

In this next chapter of my life I know God is asking me to strip away all the things that aren’t the most important and simplify a bit.

So I will be doing a little less blogging and a few more park days, dance parties, impromptu dessert making and whatever else may come about in the day-to-day.

As for THE KITCHEN… 

This has been a tough one for me as I LOVE to cook and LOVE to share with all of you.

For now, I’m going to keep the conversation going and pop in every month or so with a new recipe or two.

I am excited about this next chapter and I would love to hear what God is teaching you as well!

I hope to be back right before Christmas with a cinnamon roll recipe.

Until we talk again,

Elizabeth

  Dear Son,

Your room is crammed with boxes, overflowing with piles of towels and sheets and supplies. Teetering towers of t-shirts and extra socks take up every square foot of space in what has been your man-cave for many years.

In just a few days you will sweep all that messiness into the back of your car and drive off to make a home of your own.

When you leave I will take all my mama-grief and scrub every corner of that square of space. I’ll patch holes where you poked pins into the wall to hang your posters. Cob-webs will come down, memories will be loosened, all our long talks will echo as I dust and shine and try to find a way to place all those memories somewhere safe.

And every moment I’ll be wishing I could have stopped the years, that I could go back again and tuck you into bed at night, run my fingers through that bristly shaved head you insisted on every summer when being a boy meant sweating and swimming and certainly not messing with such a silly thing as hair.

I’ll breath deeply of the scent of manhood and remember the boy you were. The nights of worrying that diabetes would rob you of the freedom you craved. The mornings of waking you for school and answering that question that came bubbling to the surface the moment you opened your eyes: Where is everyone?

How I loved your love for all of us! Your determination to keep connected, to know where your brother was and what your sisters were up to. Your full-fledged involvement in each member of this crazy crew we call a family.

I will miss you Matthew. And the tears rim my eyes even as I push hard to put them back.

This growing up is good, so why does my heart grieve?

And I know the answer, dare I say it?

I grieve because the full birthing of love always brings loss.

To birth you into the man you are called to be I must lose the boy you were. And I know because I’ve done this before. I know things will never be the same. That the closeness that comes from living and laughing and making you meals and waking you early and worrying when you’re late… will change.

You see, dear son of mine, I have loved being your mom. And I’m a mama still, I know, but it’s the every day I have loved best.

The serving and the soothing and the listening and the hoping and the teaching and the reading and the cleaning up of little boy messes and the wiping away of big-boy tears.

I have loved how you bound up the stairs , and how your bring your friends home and crowd into your tiny room to talk about who-knows-what and pretend I don’t know that you’re talking about girls.  And maybe they like you and maybe they don’t and oh how you and all your friends who are men now wish they would and someday… someday someone will.

Matthew, I have been writing these letters about that someone. That someone who will like you and love you and hope for you forever.

May she relish who you are as I have.

I love you Matt,

Mom

WEEK ONE

A couple of days ago I took four of my grandkids to the park. It was Jude’s idea initially, that one so full of ideas and possibilities and joy in relationship.

Why don’t we go to a new park together every week?

And then my little idea-man thought about it with twinkling eyes and added,

And we should go for ice cream too! A different place every week.

And so this last Monday I found myself with passel of kids at Ibach Park in Tualatin.

Three three-year-olds and one six year-going-on-thirty. And me.

And do you want to know what? It was the funnest day I’ve had in a long, long time.

I laughed so hard at their show-off antics, marveled at the pure joy of Duke’s running free and fast, stripping off his shirt when it got wet and in the way.

I giggled with Sunday as that girliest of girls played in the mud with her pink painted fingernails.

Watched Mo’s always-thinking face figure out how to get the trickle of water going in the direction he wanted it to flow.

And let Jude lead his troupes into another adventure.

And when I saw all those muddy hands— white and cream and olive and darkest brown— I could hardly catch my breath. These are mine!

My legacy.

My family.

Our day at the park may not be high impact in the scheme of things. I’ll never win a golden award for all the sand I washed down the bathroom sink. The likelihood of their even remembering the day is slim…

But it was my day to love and be loved. To revel in the Father who made us all- and likes the way He made us.

And you know, I just can’t think of a better way to spend my day.

From my heart,

Diane

And let the favor of the LORD our God be upon us:

and give permanence to the work of our hands;

yes, give permanence to the work of our hands.

Psalm 90:17

For the past several weeks, in between some great Love Stories, we’ve been taking a fresh look at four reasons for marriage… and four questions to ask yourself while looking for The One… and four areas, which must align in your relationship in order to make a marriage great. We’ve talked about the pillar of Friendship…and the importance of Mission…about Sexuality and how our choices in this area affect just about everything…

And today I want to talk about the forth pillar that lays a strong foundation for a vibrantly God-honoring marriage.

FAMILY

Right at this moment I am sitting three feet away from three of the most important people in my life. Their names are Jude, Moses, and Duke…my grandboys. They’re cuddled up in a ragtag assortment of love worn blankets watching Baloo the Bear dance across the screen in The Jungle Book.

(Jude)

(Moses)

(Duke)

These boys think I can do no wrong. They beg to come to my house, obey me better than their parents, believe everything I say and basically fill my life with more love and affection than I ever thought possible. And in just a couple of weeks I’m going to get two granddaughters to add to this rich tableau.

If that isn’t enough to convince me of the richness of my life with Phil for these past 33 years, I just have to look at the messages on my phone: John Mark telling me I’m just the greatest, Tammy asking for wisdom, Rebekah confiding her heart in me, Elizabeth asking me to join her in a shopping spree, and Matt wondering what time I’m planning dinner and can he bring a friend?

My life couldn’t be fuller. Or better. Or richer.

When Phil and I fell in love we didn’t know much more about being parents than that we wanted to raise our children to love God passionately.

We had no idea how, no clue what to do.

But we set out on a search for wisdom that soon became our center message. Together we read and asked questions and sought counsel and prayed and searched the Scriptures.

We made sacrifices and so did our kids.

We made mistakes and so did our kids.

But under Phil’s leadership and love our family thrived, our marriage became bigger than just us, and our ministry came to encompass a whole bevy of gifted individuals who are now leading their own families in the way of the Kingdom.

And it all started with a vision. And a prayer. And just the tiniest hope that maybe God could do something with us— something magnificent, something world changing.

It was 1981 and we were living in a dingy rental home near Multnomah University while Phil went to grad school. I had a six-month-old baby, no family nearby, no friends, no car, and no money. But just down the street was a fabulous used bookstore in the basement of a decrepit old house. One day while I was perusing the musty shelves for something to read, I stumbled upon an out of print book that changed my whole view of parenthood. With the unfortunate title of, “Marriage to a Difficult Man”, I’m sure Phil must have wondered what in the world was up with me! But this was a biography of one of America’s most influential theologians, Jonathon Edwards.

Towards the back of the book, the author had listed the impact that Jonathon and Sarah Edwards’ family had had on the history of our nation. Generation after generation of men and women of tremendous influence whose mission became bringing the Kingdom into the world in which they lived.

There were politicians and pastors and missionaries and culture changers. Artists and policy makers and ambassadors and even a Vice-President of the United States.

I was blown away.

Two painfully ordinary people who were used by God to affect extraordinary influence on the world.

And we wanted to do the same.

You see we’d come to know the Lord so late in life that the first many years were spent just figuring out what it meant to be Jesus followers. We assumed that our direct impact would be less than spectacular.

But we knew our children would have a different story. And so God put it on our hearts to pray for and work towards and make it our mission to raise up a generation of Jesus followers who would love Him and know Him and be equipped to serve Him in ways far beyond our own limited capacities.

And He did.

Crazy.

John Mark serves Him as lead pastor of Solid Rock. Rebekah and her husband Steve are bringing light and joy and hope right there in the middle of L.A.’s design culture. Elizabeth is pouring into her children and partnering with her husband who is a pastor. Matt spends his days studying theology so he can be equipped for the mission God calls him to.

And we all have huge flaws and embarrassing tendencies. Sin and Satan crouch at the door waiting for us to mess up, just like everyone else.

We do fail, we will fail.

But our family has chosen to hide in the shelter of a Redeemer who uses even people like us.

And now the next generation of passionate Jesus followers are being trained… what will they be? And do? Will their names someday be listed in the back of an out of print book in an obscure bookstore?

Phil and I have chosen to give our lives to this crazy Comer family of ours.

Together.

Because with Phil leading and me serving and both of us praying and talking and working and loving and doing hard things, we have formed something beautiful. Something important.

And that, my dear friends, is one incredibly valuable reason for marriage.

And one incredibly important reason to choose carefully.

From the heart of a grateful woman,

Diane