But you are

a chosen people,

a royal priesthood,

a holy nation,

God’s special possession,

That you may declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness

into His wonderful light.

I Peter 2v9

I am just now emerging from that fog called jet lag. We arrived home from Albania in the wee hours of last Tuesday filled to the brim with thanksgiving for what God did in our midst.

Phil and I had been invited to come to Albania to teach the Intentional Parents: raising passionate Jesus followers conference to a group of leaders who would determine if our material would effectively cross the barriers of culture, making it applicable to the Church in Albania.

On the last night of the conference, one of the leaders who invited us asked people to come to the front and tell us how our teaching had impacted their lives.

We listened in awe, humbled and energized by their words. What we heard made all the work of preparation and study and speaking through translators and jet lag and fatigue… worth it.

Over and over we saw mothers and fathers who caught the vision of intentionally passing on their faith to the next generation.

Parents who now see their children as the hope for Albania- and as bearers of the Gospel to a side of the world that needs Jesus desperately.

Albania is a nominally Muslim country with open doors and friendly relations with nations that are closed to most westerners. Turkey loves Albanians, Syria welcomes them with open arms. They have the support and sympathy of nearly every Muslim country in the world— countries closed to Americans and most Europeans.

Because of that, we realized together that-

If this generation of Jesus following Albanian parents

make disciples of their own children,

they can quite possibly change our world!

Which is why I am already looking forward to going back next year. Their plan is to have us come back with a team (more about that later) and put on the Intentional Parents conference in the capital, Tirana, and then for a gathering of churches in southern in Albania.

On the long flight home, all I could think about was this idea of God giving us dreams that are too big for us.

How…

He takes our barely there dreams—

the ones we hardly dare voice out loud,

the dreams we know we don’t have what it takes to do—

and He infuses us with more than we are, and does more than we dare dream.

Why aren’t we talking about this every day of our lives?

This great thing, this magnificent work of God… in us and thru us and for us and to us.

I have absolutely loved hearing about your dreams. Not one of them has sounded outlandishly impossible to me… and yet so many of you are just like me… sort of apologetic about the dreams you harbor.

Why is that?

I think it’s because we are afraid: of failure, of mediocrity, of standing out from the crowd, of looking foolish, of our not-enoughness.

We are afraid because we think these God-inspired sparks of compelling desire are our own responsibility… and we know we are not up for the task.

Look at me: A shy introvert who quakes at the very thought of people turning to look at me. A back row kind of girl. Super serious and introverted, born without a funny bone, who rarely grasps the punch line of a joke. Who doesn’t actually like to travel. And on top of all that? Deaf.

That woman— the me that I am in real life— went to Albania, spoke in front of a room full of leaders… who laughed at my unplanned jokes… and learned from my raw stories.

If I can dream, just think what God might do with you?

From a heart still tired but immensely satisfied,

Diane

P.S. Okay, please, I am craving a few more honest, hope-filled possibilities of how you dare dream God may use you and your story. 

Your courage just  might light a fire of desire in those of us who are held back by fears.  

This morning I woke up far away from my cottage in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. Instead of the pungent smells of pine and cedar, I drink in the scent of the sea. And instead of my pot of steaming tea, I sip slowly from a foamy bowl filled with cappuccino served with a spoon. In just a few hours a group of hand-picked parents will make their way from Albania’s capital city, Tirana, to the coastal town of Durres, on the edge of the Adriatic Sea.

These are leaders— in business, in government, in NGO’s, in churches. They are followers of Jesus in a country that is nominally Muslim and predominately atheistic.

And they have kids. Children they love who are being raised in a culture that goes against everything they believe.

Sound familiar?

In just a few hours Phil and I will tell our story. How we met and married with high hopes. And how, when pregnant with our first child, we realized we had no idea how to raise children who want Jesus. And how that scared us.

And I’ll look into the eyes of the mothers and I’ll see that same fear. We’ll know each other in that long look. The camaraderie that comes from a shared passion.

Every parent there wants what we wanted: children who grow into people who are passionate, all-in, wise, fruitful, faithful followers of Jesus.

We will spend hours talking and listening and teaching and delving into the Scriptures and praying and sharing stories and laughing at the ridiculousness of our dreams for our children.

And God will be here, bending down to listen.

I will tell these parents, so like us when we were young, about how we prayed, over and over again, for wisdom. How we held hands and cried out to the Father for what He promised in James 1v5:

If any of you lacks wisdom,

 let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach,

and it will be given to him. 

And then we’ll share with them the treasures He gave with so much generosity that we’re overwhelmed and overflowing. I’ll watch in wonder as they scramble to write it down, filling the notebooks with letters I cannot read.

And I’ll tell them that He’ll do the same for them, here, on the other side of the world. With Macedonia’s snow capped mountains off in the distance and Greece right behind us, Phil and I will pour ourselves into a new generation of parents in the hope that they will pour into a new generation of Albanians who will, in turn, raise up a new generation of leaders who will bring Jesus to a country that desperately needs Him.

Will you pray for these people? These parents? This generation?

And will you pray for me? For us?

I have relished praying for those of you who dare to dream with God. Keep telling me those stories and I will keep hoping with you and praying for you.

From my heart far from home,

Diane

One day, a while back, I asked a group of friends this question: If someone gave you a million dollars, and told you that you must spend it on yourself within one year or you’d have to give it back… what would you do with it? 

I didn’t leave them much time to think about it lest everyone get too lyrical and logical about the idea. I was after visceral reactions. I wanted to hear dreams.

One by one we went around the circle of fifteen, each woman dream-spending one million dollars on themselves. What the solid majority of my friends (young and old[er}) wanted was….

To travel.

I was stunned. Really? Because, you see, I grew up traveling all over Europe with my family. When we came home from our time of living overseas I was in high school and I promised myself that I would never travel again. Ever.

I am perfectly happy staying in my cute little cottage with occasional forays to the mountains or the seaside.

If I had a million dollars that I just had to spend on me… I’d find a vintage A-frame cabin on a lake and fix it up just so, then host Comer family and friend vacations as often as possible. And sometimes I’d go alone, all that introverted side of me flourishing in the silence.

When I told my daughter, Bekah, (who absolutely loves to travel whenever and wherever possible) about my surprise at my friends’ dreams, she couldn’t stop laughing. “Mom, everyone wants to travel!”

And though she didn’t say it, I could hear her thinking just what you’re thinking now: that I am really, really weird… or odd… or something along those lines.

Do you want to know where I am right now?

On a plane bound for Albania.

I know, I know, I don’t deserve this. Or the two days we’ll explore the rich history in Thessalonica, Greece. And certainly not the weekend we’ll stay in Donnes, an Albanian resort town on the Adriatic Sea.

And I’m asking myself the same question you’re asking: Why me?

In the past couple of years I have traveled to Uganda, Brussels, Haiti, Hawaii, Germany, Austria, Italy, Indonesia and Albania. Plus, on the home front, I’ve spent time in Santa Cruz, L.A., Palm Desert, San Francisco, Vancouver, Eugene, and Newport.

And I don’t (or at least I didn’t) like to travel!

Here’s what I know:

God is a giver of dreams… and God is bigger than our dreams.

Which is why I am drinking coffee at 30,000 feet.

My secret dream was born over thirty years ago when I began to ask God for wisdom I didn’t have. A fairly new follower of Jesus with our first baby in my arms, my asking was pretty desperate.

What do I do? How do I do this? Help! 

I had no idea how to raise children to follow Jesus— I hardly knew how to follow Him myself! And so I prayed and then I introduced myself to the mother of the godliest teenagers I knew and asked if she’d teach me. Laurie Keyes was everything I wanted to be: wise, godly, consistent, joyful, so full of passion for Jesus that just to be in conversation with her was like being at a retreat. And she was (and still is!) strikingly beautiful, with that kind of glow that all the fancy clothes and cosmetics in the world cannot create.

I listened and I learned and wrote notes and read every book I could get my hands on that had anything to do with the spiritual nurturing of children. For decades!

And somewhere in there I started to want to find a way to pass on all this richness to others who, like me, don’t have a clue. 

The wanting led to dreaming. The dreaming led to praying. The praying led to a whole lot of work. The work led to… a dream come true.

This morning as I hustled about tidying up my cottage (because everyone knows that you’ve just got to leave your house absolutely perfectly clean when going on a trip! Which, surprise, surprise, Phil thinks it utter nonsense!!), something dawned on me… something profound… something it’s taking me far too many words to tell you…

God knows the me that I am.

I thought I wanted to stay in my cottage in the woods, to live simple and quiet.

And that is, indeed, a part of who I am. But there’s more, and I didn’t know it. Now I know…

I was made for this.

I love this adventure. I love packing my bags, reading ahead about where we’re going, saving up frequent flyer miles so I can take my now-grown kids with me someday.

I love meeting new people, making new friends, finding soul-sisters all over the world. I relish tasting new foods (Albanian food is the best! All feta cheese and fresh peppers), I love learning how people around the world do life.

Most of all, I love doing this with Phil, whose love of travel and willingness to lead the way makes him the best companion imaginable. (Plus, he gets up every morning no matter where we are and finds the absolutely best coffee to be had and brings it to me so I can drink it in bed. How’s that for the real deal kind of love?)

Today we fly across the world to teach parents in Durres, Albania how to raise children who are passionate followers of Jesus. They are the first generation of Believers in a country that was officially atheist until just over 20 years ago. They don’t know what they’re doing any more than I did. And they want to learn, just like I did.

I can hardly wait to get there! Me, the woman who made that ridiculous promise to myself. Do you think God may have been chuckling?

Do you have a dream? 

Because I think— no, I know— that…

God has tasks for you that combine all of who you are with all of who He is in a dream big enough to change the world. 

There’s probably risk involved and you’ll undoubtedly be way out of your comfort zone at times. You may have to try some things you don’t think you like, and you’ll certainly have to work hard and long.

And oh, the joy! Because…

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, so fun as doing the dreams God has for you.

From my heart, high in the sky,

Diane

P.S. Okay, here’s your open door:

Will you dare to dream right here in black and white? Write it down for all to see, this dream you barely dare. I, for one, will pray for each and every one of you. For courage, for hope, for help— for joy.

The Quiet Series: Too Weak 

“… They were all trying to frighten us, thinking,

“Their hands will get too weak for the work, and it will not be completed.”

But I prayed,

“Now strengthen my hands.”

Nehemiah 6v9

Now… strengthen my hands.

God has given me work to do, of that I have no doubt. That work gets me up early every morning, eager to get to it. It is a vocation that I love, but it’s still work. And sometimes the work wears me out.

Yesterday was one of those worn out days.

And so I slept in, drug myself sluggishly to my cabin in the back where most of my work is done, dinked around, wasted time. I started things, then abandoned them at the slightest hint of resistance, leaving a trail of messes along the path of my day.

It happens to me sometimes. More often than it should.

Yesterday’s malaise had nothing to do with my work… and everything to do with me. Sure, I was tired. I didn’t feel good, hadn’t slept well, needed a bit of rest.

More than anything else, I just lost steam… why is that? 

And so I got up this morning, asking my Father. I came to Him needing to hear, wanting to know so that this day would be different. I asked timidly, like a naughty school-girl expecting a finger in my face.

Instead of reprimand, I heard compassion, grace. I sensed His heart, so much nicer towards me than my own heart is.

I heard Him say… that He knows how that thick wall of opposition sometimes slows us down… to a crawl.

While I was lambasting myself for being lazy… He was seeing the unseen.

He knows what I didn’t even notice— those enemies of my soul, disguised and hidden— who, behind a smokescreen of silence— threaten, defeat, frighten, and discourage me.

And you.

Nehemiah knew them as strength stealers. Paul knew them as conflict conspirators.

Sometimes, as in Nehemiah’s story, the strength-stealers come in the form of a letter… and e-mail… a phone call.

At other times, those joy-zappers come wrapped in guilt. Or comparison. The fiery darts that defeat us before we even begin.

Mamas know those enemies too. The ones that keep you up at night, wrapped in worry.

The voices that scream inadequate! with every mistake you make.

But here’s what woke up my morning: all Nehemiah did, when he realized what was really going on was this—He prayed a simple prayer, with simple words:

Now, strengthen my hands. 

And so as this new day beckons with new lists, new worries, new challenges, I bring these simple words to the Father.

Now, strengthen my hands.

And then I come again and bring these words for you, all the wearied ones, the ones I know and love, whose work sometimes wears them out:

Now, Father, right now, will you strengthen her hands?

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. May I pray for you? If you will let me know in the comments, it would be my honor to bring this simple prayer to the Father who hears.

P.S.S.  Read Nehemiah’s story in Nehemiah 6, and Paul’s story in Acts 9:19-29 because what He did for these men, He offers to you— and me.

(Image by Abi Porter)

 “Does He not see my ways and count my every step?”

Job 31v4

“You are a God who sees me…”

Genesis 16v14

“Every moment You know where I am.”

Psalm 139v3

This morning the woods are awakening. Squirrels have emerged from their winter hiding to scurry and scramble up the trunks of the firs and cedars that surround my cozy cottage. The black spruce right outside my window trembles gleefully, dancing in delight as I watch. Gnarled ash trees unfurl new leaves in incremental waves of life.

Fresh, vibrant, resurrected life.

And I wonder, as I tuck myself into this safe place—my cabin in the back, about you.

As I pray for you, my girls, and as I lean in close to the Father’s heart to listen, I hear stirrings. I wait— still, craning to hear. A watcher in the woods.

What is it, Father? Creator of all this tangled beauty, what are You saying? To me… to the women I love… the ones I write for?

And one phrase won’t leave me alone. A handful of words jingling like change in my pocket.

… your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

Matthew 4v4,6,18

His words warm me through on this chilled morning, because He sees you….

In your giving to those who need you— again and again and again— until you feel turned inside out from the giving…

In your nighttime vigil, pacing the floors, praying for someone in your life who needs more than you have to give…

In the intensity of your fasting, forsaking what you need for that one whose needs overwhelm your soul…

Three times these letters in red dance like squirrels delighting in new-found freedom.

Your Father, who sees in secret… Your Father, who sees in secret… Your Father, who sees in secret… will reward you.

A promise. A pledge.

And I wonder who needs to know this.

Who are the hidden ones— giving, praying, doing without— who need to know, right now, that You see?

I don’t know who you are or what you’re giving.

I can’t see what you’re doing or what you’re doing without.

Yet as I sit in my cabin surrounded by swaying branches and dancing squirrels, I bring my heart for you to the Father who sees and knows— who rewards the secret things.

And I feel Him bring me in close to say…

He is proud of you. 

He knows it’s hard to keep going.

He understands loneliness.

I pause and I pray. I make my way into the house to warm up my now cold coffee, all the while wishing I could hold you close. Feeling the weight of this burden that is yours alone. The burden no one else sees and even if they could, they wouldn’t understand— not really.

I hear more…

He is with you. He is for you.

He wants to feed you and strengthen you.

He, only He, is your rest.

The woods are still now. Just the barest whisper of wind sways the branches above my watching place. They’re working now, those squirrels. Doing what they need to do: gathering food, burrowing holes, feeding young.

My day beckons with work that won’t get done without me, as does yours. And so I leave you with the One who sees and knows and is with you always.

May you know that sweet there-ness of God in your secret place of giving,

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. I am here to pray for you— and would love to hear how He is meeting you in that place no one sees.

(Image by Bethany Small)

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.

I woke up this morning haunted by my own inadequacy. All the things I should have done, ought to do, want to accomplish— and haven’t.

Curled up in the corner of my oversized chair I stared into the still-dark woods sipping tea and swallowing poison words.

Words like…

I am not enough

not good enough,

not capable enough,

not motivated enough,

not organized enough. 

True words… and yet not the whole story.  

These are the echoes of the Accuser’s truth-that-is-not-the-whole-truth. The one who writes a convincing biography of me and all my less-than’s.

The one who wants me to believe the lies that resonate somewhere deep in the hidden, hurting depths because if I do believe he wins.

And you hear it too.

I know you do. You’re a subscriber, just like me, to that hellish library where all your mistakes are categorized and catalogued, footnoted and never forgotten.

This morning just as the sun’s emergence began to dissipate the dark, my Savior began to dissipate the lies-that-sound-so-true.

You are who I created you to be. Not like her… nor him.  I did not craft you into the kind of person who is lauded and applauded in today’s version of heroics.

I made you different because I like different. I like you. 

And these words I think you, too, need to hear:

I need you… as you are

because… without you

My Kingdom would be a little less… beautiful.

On the last days of His life, Jesus looked into the faces of His people and He saw their beauty. He saw your beauty. And mine.

And He shuddered at the enemy’s plan to forever uglify us, His created ones. The overarching plan of the one who wants me— and you— to believe that our not-enoughness disqualifies us from usefulness.

And this morning as I wrestled— without even knowing I was— with that enemy whose version of my story shrivels my soul… the Father whispered words of worth to me.

Why?  because…

He sees your beauty.

And mine.

Shocking, isn’t it? And yet it’s true— the truest truth.  The truth that led Him all the way to the Cross.

For this reason, I bow my knees before the Father,

from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name,

that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man:

so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love,

may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth,

and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.

Ephesians 3v14-19

NASB

Praying that you… and I… would experience the love of Christ in real life this week.

From my heart,

Diane

(image by Bethany Small)

Dear girls, I’m back at my desk after a month of mourning. Not that I’m done with sadness, but I’m sensing the invitation from the Spirit to get back to my calling to write. And so I sit, this morning, at the desk my dad made in this cabin tucked under the scented boughs of an enormous redwood tree. This spot is my refuge, a safe place where I hear God clearer than any place else.

The glimmering candle on my desk reminds me of the beauty of the friend who gave it as a gift of love. My new daughter-in-law’s mother, Natalia, is one of those rare treasures who sparkles with joy in the midst of a story she didn’t want. I am reminded of her as I do the final edits on my own story. Of how the Redeemer we follow weaves texture and color and loveliness into our lives in spite of— or perhaps because of— difficulties.

He is the Beauty-Maker and as He draws us close, we become like Him.

Beautiful.

This morning I thought I’d bring you into my cabin to peer over my shoulder as I smooth and polish and pray and ponder over the words that will soon be put to print.

This is a glimpse of the me-I-was just before I was diagnosed with a progressive hearing loss that would eventually lead to total deafness. I was 26, enveloped in the world of babies and toddlers, homeschooling a first grader who gulped up knowledge like a starving lion.

I loved my life. But something left me empty and longing for more…

I wasn’t happy, not really. And I knew it.

And so I began to do the only thing I knew to do, the only thing a good Christian girl could do—I prayed. Every day, I asked God to do something, anything to change my heart. I prayed when I woke up, while jogging, while shopping, while cooking yet another family meal on yet another day of doing right.

I didn’t pray once. Or even twice. I prayed every chance I got, as if by begging God, I’d get Him to hear me and He’d have to give me what I craved.

I needed more. I wanted more. I had to have more!

God knew I would need all of Him to face the days ahead. He also knew that in order for Him to answer my cries for more, I would first need to let go of the pervasively self-serving idea of my own goodness.

The journey that lay ahead of me was going to be more arduous than all my rule abiding good-girl-ness would be able to handle.

I would face dark days, days of discovering that I was not as good as I’d thought, that my façade wouldn’t hold up under the pressures of life gone wrong, that a desperately “bad” girl lurked in my soul. 

That I was a woman who didn’t know her true colors until she didn’t get her way.

I was about to embark on a journey of facing the worst about myself and finding God in the rubble. In that place of desperation, I would discover that what God wanted more than all of my exhausting efforts to be good was me, just as I am. 

The real me.

And though I would flounder and fail, though I would shake my fist in His face, He couldn’t wait to gather me in close to show me what I’d been wanting all along.

As I edit these words I am praying for all of you who know the hunger that haunted me then. That emptiness, the sense that having everything I ever wanted was not enough.

I am praying that you will hear and know and experience the love of God down deep in the marrow of your bones.

That you will crave Him, longing for the beauty He alone brings. And that you won’t stop seeking until you’ve found all He has for you.

From my heart,

Diane

(image by Abi Porter)

With my dad so recently residing in the presence of God, I’ve been thinking a lot about heaven. Trying to figure out what it means, this “going away” or “falling asleep” or “departing”. All of a sudden I want to know:

What is he doing?

Can he see me?

Who else is there?

What would he say to me if he could?

And then this morning my time set apart for listening in God’s Word took me from Colossians 1v1-6 to I Thessalonians 5v8.

Paul is commending his Colossian friends for their faith in God and for their obvious love for “all God’s people everywhere”. Which, he says, “spring from the hope stored up for you in heaven”…

The words strike me.

Faith springs from hope?  Hope in heaven?

Truth is, my faith seems so shaky as I worry my way through everyday life.

Do we have enough savings? Can I write the Intentional Parents book adequately or will I fail? Do I have time for everything I think I need to do? Is Mom going to be okay? How can I help her? How in the world am I going to find a home for their dog, Barney?!

And my love for “all God’s people everywhere” is more like a love for a few of God’s people right here as long as they’re nice to me.

How, I ask Him, did these people become people of great faith and generous love?

And how can I?

And how does hope in heaven have anything to do with my todays?

I stumble on the answer found tucked at the end of a sentence in I Thessalonians 5v8:

“… let us put on… the hope of salvation as a helmet.”

It dawns on me suddenly, this helmet metaphor: A helmet protects my head.

By purposely putting on hope- not just any hope, but hope in salvation, in forever, in what all of life is leading up to—I actually protect my mind from wrong thinking that leads to worry.

Wrong thinking which creates fertile ground for  fretting and frustration when all of life isn’t neat and tidy, just the way I like it.

Wrong thinking that convinces me God owes me more… more money, more time, more ease.

Wrong thinking that makes me self-protective and prickly with people who poke at me, or who express their disapproval of the way I do life.

I need this helmet! 

Because without one I wind up with a sort of spiritual concussion, with ringing in my ears that drowns out the sound of God in my soul.

And so this morning I purposely put on my helmet of hope.

I imagine the way life will be when a new earth replaces this one and God invites me to take part in life as He meant it to be.

I think beyond the deadline that weighs heavily on my day, to the coming day when my life begins again.

I choose to remember what I’m really about: Jesus and His kingdom, His work, His will, His way.

And suddenly everything changes. Hope fuses me with energy to complete the tasks assigned to this day, to do what needs doing while I look for signs of His coming— for signs of Him.

Those blossoms on the tulip tree out back remind me that He is unfolding this day and that beauty comes not from striving but from resting in His working.

Hope rises to turn my tasks into joyous work, to infuse my day with purpose. It won’t always be this hard, Someday is coming.

And in the meantime I’d better scurry because He’s called me to things that will last forever. And I’d better look closely at my lists lest I waste time on things that don’t matter in light of that Someday.

He beckons me towards giving and serving and worshipping and listening close to His words to me. He invites me to protect my mind by keeping Someday in sight.

And my dad is there. He’s stepped into the Someday that lasts forever.

See you there, Dad! Someday.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. I’ll resume my letters to Matt and Simona about OUR HOUSE soon. For now I’m just letting you in on my mourning. Thank you for your beautiful messages of condolence to me. Your kindness soothes my soul.

For a week now, I have been swimming in the fitful waters of mourning. Sadness surrounds me. Loss weighs so heavily sometimes I find it hard to breathe.

I have been pulled up short—surprised by this unpredictable ebb and flow of tears.

I sit at the desk my dad made for me with his own hands. For a man of few words, the eloquence of his handcrafted message was just the affirmation I needed to gather up courage to write. He approved, and I bask in both the affirmation and approval even as I grieve the fact that he will never run his hands over the cover of my book as I run my hands over the surface of this desk.

Somehow I had convinced myself that I wouldn’t really grieve Dad’s death. After all, he’d been diagnosed with this terrible terminal disease of the lungs four years ago. I’d watched the devastation, prayed for his release, begged God to take him home.

“I’m grieving with Dad,” I’d said, “so that when he’s gone I’ll just be happy for him.”

Mmh.

I’ve heard of people who have a definite sense of their loved one’s presence even after death, but I only feel his gone-ness. He isn’t here, hasn’t been since I held him in my arms frantically searching for signs of life.

I know where he is. I know without even a hint of doubt. But as assuring as that is, I am still reeling with the realization of the separation.

And so I mourn honestly— not the man who was so terribly weak and struggling for air— but the J.H. Waterman who gave me life, whose love never wavered, the man whose steadfast faithfulness informed my view of God.

It is His presence I sense so near in these hours of sadness. As if the Father is nearer or clearer, as if He pulls me closer in my longing for Dad. As if I hear my Father better because my dad is with Him.

There is a strange sweetness in this place of mourning, a deep rest. A togetherness with God.

Because I think He is sad too, that He weeps with me. It wasn’t supposed to be this way and that’s why we mourn.

That’s why tears redden my eyes and sighs escape unbidden. Why grieving and loss of any kind cannot be stuffed into a nice clean package and tied with a tidy bow. Why life screeches to a halt and only resumes at half speed.

Why we dread death.

Life was supposed to be a grand celebration in His presence, a great cooperation with God. Life was planned as an endlessly eternal connection with the One who made us in His image, for His delight.

And Someday it will be again. Because of Jesus. Because He chose to die to make it all right.

While we wait for that Someday, sadness is part of our stories. We cannot will it or wish it away. We dare not pretend or push it from sight.

But we can invite Him in to mourn with us; we can sit in the quiet of loss and hear Him speak. And we can listen to His words in the silence and let Him pour oil on the raw hurt.

I’m listening now, finding joy in the midst of sadness. Relishing His presence here.

From my heart,

Diane

Have you heard Him in the silence of sadness? Have you seen Him at work even when life stops suddenly? Can you tell us how? Remind us what to listen for as we navigate our own stories?

(image by Bethany Small)

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.

There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain,

for the old order of things has passed away.

Revelation 21v4

My dad died yesterday.

And today I am sad. Not despairing, not grief-stricken, not angry that life isn’t what I wish it was. Just sad.

And I feel a little spoiled in my sadness because I am fully aware that what I lost is so much more than most of you have ever had. 

And mind you, I have not lost my father. Because in the early 70’s at a church in California, my dad changed the course of our lives by becoming a follower of Jesus. And now he’s followed Him right up close into His presence, the place I’ll go someday too.

No, I haven’t lost Dad, but I have lost his presence with me.

He’s not here this morning having coffee with cream and two scoops of sugar, talking about what I want to talk about: because that’s what good dad’s do.

And I wish, oh how I wish, that each of you had a dad like mine.

I grieve for you with the Father because He wishes that too. And if you’ll indulge me just a bit, can I tell you about good dads?

Here’s a list:

1.  Good dads fix things. My dad fixed my broken hair dryer, my flat tire, my inadequate study habits, my teenage drama with my mom. He made life right for me when I couldn’t turn myself right side up. And even though I told him over and over, I don’t think he ever thought any of that was a big deal. Just dad stuff.

2.  Good dads get it. My dad certainly did. He got that I was different, would always be different, and that difference was okay by him. A contemplative feeler, ponderer, thinker, reader in a family of highly competitive task oriented doers. He normalized me to my “lets-get-to-it!” mom and paved the way for us to become friends. Because of him we grieve together without tension.

3.  Good dads are present.My father was a brainiac nuclear engineer. Yet he bought cowboy boots when he helped me achieve my dream of having a horse. He learned the lingo: palominos, bits and tie downs, dressage and hoof rot. And I don’t think he actually ever did like that whole equine world, but the truth is, wild horses couldn’t have pulled him from being part of it with me.

4.  Good dads stay faithful. My dad did. In good times and bad, he chose to love my mom and to eschew the “grass is greener” temptation to find happiness elsewhere. As long as I can remember, Dad did his level best to love mom well. Dad would have been appalled at any suggestion otherwise.

5.  Good dads take care of their own. When he married my mom he was a 19 year old with one goal: to never be poor again. With that in mind he put himself through college, poured himself into his career, lived beneath his income always so that he could give us what we needed. At the same time, his aversion to the risk of credit and the flash of status spending kept all of us grounded in fiscal reality. He bought his jeans at Walmart and his cars used even when he could have afforded much more. He was fiddling with his finances the day before he died, just to be sure mom would be well cared for.

6.  Good dads provide safety. My sister’s words to me this morning: “We had a great dad. He made me feel safe…” He did. And I’m not even sure how he did it, though I’m going to think long and hard about that. But mostly I think he was just good and a good man becomes a safe place for his family.

There’s more of course, but this day demands my attention and so I’ll end here for now. Somehow just writing these words helps me to understand why I’m sad today and why that’s okay.

I miss my dad already. I’ll miss him for the rest of my life. And then… my real Father will wipe away every tear and I’ll join my dad in spending the rest of forever in awe of Him.

Waiting with honest eagerness for that Day…

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Thank you to the many of you who have already emailed and texted your heart-felt condolences. I’m relishing every word, drinking in your kindness.

Dear girls,

As you read this I am on my way to California.

I’ll leave my cozy cottage nestled in the woods and spend a few days at my sister’s house in the sunshine.

And since she’s about the best decorator/home creator I know, I will no doubt spend every spare minute oohing and ahhing over beauty. I’ll take pictures and make notes and go home full of ideas for creating loveliness. We’ll stay up too late and she’ll get up too early to go to her job that is really a calling. (remind me to tell you that story some day— for all of you who work hard to help people. But for now, follow her on Pinterest for design inspiration! @darcyscott)

But that’s now why I’m going.

My dad— the one I’ve written stories about is sick. Very sick.

While his brilliant engineer mind is still working at full throttle, his once strong, always-up-for-a-challenge body is failing. And so he is saying good-bye to his beloved Sierra mountains and moving to the Northwest.

A bittersweet journey.

I’ll tuck my parents into their sweet red Lexus (another story about love I’ll need to be sure to tell you soon), load in their luggage and their dog and Dad’s great big oxygen concentrator, and we’ll head north. I’ve got John Mark’s podcasts on heaven loaded and ready for listening. 

And I’ve got myself ready too- for remembering and reminding and reminiscing.

I’ll remember all those stories still vivid in my mind…

Of Dad at the wheel of our Opel sedan, setting off to discover strange and intriguing ands while we lived in Germany. How a poor farm boy choose to succeed by hard work and loyalty. How my mom made every adventure seem magical, green Bedecker guide books always open as she rooted our imaginations in history.

We’ll reminisce about those days of discovering Jesus for the first time. When a traffic jam made us want to go to that church causing the long wait. Why, we wondered, were so many people headed to that warehouse? And how, over the next months, one by one, the five of us each walked down the aisle with “Just As I Am” playing softly in the background. We’ll talk about how Jesus changed everything. How the best stories started then.

I’ll remind them what they know, but need to know again, that Dad is not really dying, though his body will soon. That eternal life is just that- eternal, forever, uninterrupted, ceaseless. That he will step into the presence of the One who changed our lives by His own death. That One we love because He loved us first— that One whose love made it possible for us to love each other even in all the ups and downs of our own brokenness.

And I want to talk and imagine and dream about what life will be like when Jesus comes back to redeem all of creation once again.

Because hope for what’s really ahead brings hope for the hard steps before we get there.

And those hard steps are getting closer now. We won’t have Dad much longer. While we do I want to drink him in, to make more stories, to bring my grandboys and grandgirls to sit by his side as I did as a little girl. I want them to feel the safety of who he is. I want them to know that they belong to him, that his faithful love courses through their veins, giving them a bent towards courage and greatness.

I want my children to remember the kind of man who is their heritage so that when life gets hard they know to put one foot in front of the other just like Papa and then to just keep giving and loving and taking care of their own.

Like Dad.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. I am hoping that some of you who live near me can meet my dad before he goes there. I long to share him with some of the young men I know who’ve never seen his kind of faithfulness up close and I want young women to know the kind of man who loves for a lifetime. I want you to see why I wish everyone had a dad like mine.

(photo by Bethany Small)

OUR HOUSE: The Bedroom

Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children

and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us

and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people.

Ephesian 5v1-3

NIV

Dear Matthew and Simona,

I sit in my tiny cabin in the woods and I wonder what you’re thinking as I write these words about intimacy and sexuality. Are you understanding the depth and beauty of intimacy? Do you get the need for purity?

You’ve both been so patient… and encouraging as I’ve stumbled my way through writing about The Bedroom. These are words I want to say, words I know need saying— but still… it feels awkward and just a little uncomfortable.

Matt, with your wide-open way of guileless transparency, you invited me into the fringes of your conversations with your dad about every man’s struggle. Listening to the two of you talk only increased my respect for you— for both of you.

I got to listen as you and your dad talked about…

why to stay pure and…

how to keep yourself pure and…

when that commitment to purity got hard and …

what to do then.

I think sometime last year when you and Simo were engaged we started talking about purity beyond virginity. About staying pure when you’re married and actively invited into a full expression of sexuality. I remember the look on your face that meant, What in the world are you talking about, Mom?

Somehow we get the idea stuck in our heads that purity and virginity are one and the same. That marriage solves the struggle. Not true.

Not even close.

In fact, I would argue that the giving away of one’s virginity opens the door to a life long struggle for purity. Because sex is just so great, so satisfying, so right and good and… okay, you know what I mean. And because of that something in us always wants more.

Yet God’s design for sexuality always requires intimacy. And intimacy takes work.

Intimacy is inconvenient.

Intimacy begs for humility and consideration and an extra shower and…

More effort than sometimes you’re up for.

And in creeps the temptation to take a short cut. To forego intimacy in favor of pornography… and masturbation… or fantasy… or to be in some subtle way less available to each other because all the giving implicit in the intimacy part of sexuality just seems exhausting sometimes.

What then?

What do you do when you want sex, need sex, crave sex… but things aren’t working for the two of you and you’ve not enough energy to solve it all right now.

That’s real life. Normal life. Less-than-ideal-life.

Here’s my list of…

What To Do When Real Life Interrupts Real Sex:

1.  Surrender your body to God, allowing Him full control over your sexuality— whether that means you want more from your spouse or you’d prefer less.

2.  Be careful not to hold back on sex as a sort of barometer of your relationship. In other words, be willing and warm even when the other is being a little… unlovable.

3.  Make a covenant with each other to be committed to fully meeting each other’s sexual needs. Which means masturbation is out. You’ve got each other for that now. Don’t be embarrassed— you love each other.

4.  Talk about that. Be honest. Be kind. Be welcoming. Laugh a little. It’s not the loving thing to do to be silent or subtle about your need and then try to meet it yourself.

5.  Be creative in sexually loving each other when real life makes real sex challenging or impossible. This is your way of honoring each other’s genuine need for sexual expression within the safety of just the two of you.

6.  Never, ever, ever, look at pornography. Ever. That’s not real. It will sicken your appetite for satisfying sexuality. It will destroy your confidence in each other’s ability to delight and satisfy.[1]

7.  Stay faithful. Don’t even let your mind go there— banish lustful imagination or fantasy. If you’re attracted to someone else, avoid them like the plague. Focus on each other. Flirt only with each other. Keep wooing and wanting and watching out for each other.

You both want that rare and beautiful treasure: a lifetime of love. Never give up on that. Do what it takes. Stay faithful.

Give and give and give and then give just a little more.

Keeping your selves pure and your bedroom vibrant is an investment in the future of your relationship, in the future of your family, in the writing of your story.

From a heart that wants so much for you,

Mom

P.S. For those who are reading:

What can your husband do to open up this area of your lives for an honest clearing of the air?

What can your wife do to show you she means it when she says she “wants all of you”?

---

[1] If you do get caught in that hard to avoid web of porn, get help. Seriously, don’t try to undo it on your own. At our church and at many others there are groups of men— and women, who meet together for accountability and freedom over the death lock of pornography. Be brave enough to join them.

(image by Hillary Kupish)

OUR HOUSE: The Bedroom #4 Dear Matt and Simo,

I used to think that communication was the key to a happy marriage. Isn’t that, after all, what the experts say? And so I set about to communicate with a capital C. Every grievance, each oversight, any hint of bump up against my ever wary feelings— all very carefully communicated lest we miss out on the kind of marriage we both wanted.

It didn’t work.

Instead of bringing us closer, my determination to tell all drove a wedge between us. My constant “nicely said” rebuke left Phil feeling defensive and brittle around me. I was building a wall between us and for the life of me, I didn’t know why or what to do about it.

Until I noticed a pattern.

Every time we made love, the wall fell down… at least for a while. My feelings stayed temporarily safe from that tendency to make a big deal out of everything, and your dad just got nicer, with a certain sweetness that made him easy to live with.

Mmh.

And I began to wonder if maybe communication might not be the only key to a happy marriage. In fact, I began to suspect that intimacy— safe, satisfying, sexuality at it’s best— might be at least as important as all that talking I’d thought we needed.

Years and decades later, I’m sure of it. And because I now believe that the quantity and quality of your lovemaking bears a direct reflection on the quantity and quality of your communication, I have some advice for those just figuring it out.

For the men:

Respect the role beauty plays in her sexuality. If you can help her know her own beauty, see herself through your eyes, and shield her from the biting criticism she sees in the mirror, she will respond with the passion you know is in there.

How To Respect Your Wife’s Need For Sensual Beauty:

• Tell her she’s beautiful. Often. More than you think is necessary. Be specific.
• Smile at her, admire the way she swings her hips when she knows you’re looking, tell her what that does to you.
• Shower her with the feminine beauty that she craves. Bubble bath, perfume, lotions, candles.
• Make room in your budget for pretty things: underwear, lingerie, fresh sheets. Beauty matters— to her.
• Keep your office out of your bedroom and your clothes off the floor. Help her create a haven in your room- a place not for work but for play.
• Give her time to cultivate beauty. A woman who works all the time and doesn’t take time for beauty is not a woman who is thinking about her sensuality.
• Beware of crass humor, it’s a sure turn off for women. Instead, lighten the tone of your romance by laughing with her.
• Clean yourself up so that she wants to be near you. Take stock of what you look like and smell like from your teeth to your toes. It matters.

For Women: 

How To Respect Your Husband’s Need For Sex:

• This is not some sort of base animalist urge, but a God given need for intimate physical expression.
• Tell your husband that you are always available, that you always want him even when sometimes you don’t feel like you do.
• Determine to partner with your husband in his fight for purity, it’s your battle too. Let him know you want all of him, always.
• Be the willing, eager recipient of all he has to give while you guide him in giving you pleasure too. No man wants to make love to a martyr. His pleasure increases exponentially with yours.
• Save your energy for sex. Budget your time, your day, your availability so that he knows you’re willing and waiting and eager.
• Seduce him on a regular basis. A phone call, an invitation, a note.
• Fill his memory with sensual pictures of your sensuality for when he doesn’t have you near.
• Cultivate your own sensuality. You are made for this, biologically and emotionally. Own that. Enjoy it.

And remember this: When all is well and vibrant and satisfying in the bedroom, all those annoyances and bumps that happen in real life just don’t seem to matter as much.

And this: If it’s not working, don’t give up or pull away. Get help.

From my heart,

Mom

P.S. Thoughts? How can your husband bring beauty into your sensuality? And how can your wife respect your sexuality? It’s high time we started talking about this area of intimacy.

(image by Hillary Kupish)

Since ancient times

no one has heard,

no ear has perceived,

no eye has seen

any God besides You

who acts on behalf of those who

 wait for Him.

Isaiah 64v4

My listening in the Word this morning took me on a wild ride that started in Matthew chapter 3 at the fascinating moment of Jesus’ baptism. My heart caught at these words:

At that moment, heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.” (v16,17) 

It’s that “well pleased” comment that has always drawn me. The idea that now, because I am adopted by His Son, I am included in that phrase. Not because I’m good or I try hard or I somehow stand out—but just because Jesus brought me into Himself.

Will I ever grasp that?

But this morning I heard that softest whisper from the Spirit on this phrase:

At that moment, heaven was opened…

I’ve seen heaven opened.

And the story is longer than I can include here, but it’s true. When the elders of our little church in Santa Cruz circled ‘round me to anoint me with oil and pray that God would heal my broken ears… right when I hit bottom and the blackness in my heart threatened to sink me,

I saw… or felt… or experienced… heaven opened.

Light streaming through, engulfing me, surrounding me, warming me in those frigid recesses of my soul. My rebellious, angry, blasphemous soul.

And ever since then I have been different.

Like Moses when he stumbled down the mountain after meeting with God… Like Peter and John and James when they heard and felt and experienced God on the mountain. Like Paul when he was “caught up” and saw things he could barely describe.

Imperfect, mixed up, broken people who caught a glimpse of… Glory.

This morning as I curled up with tea and a soft blanket out in this cabin in the woods where I meet Him early, I realized something wonderful, something I’d not noticed in all the telling of my story. Just this:

Every time we turn to Him, every time you or I open His Word and ask Him to speak. Every time we ask Him to show us His glory…

He does.

Not normally in a nice zap that would make for good T.V…

Nor usually in grandiose Las Vegas style glitz…

Simply because His glory isn’t mostly like what we think…

His glory is Himself.

When we come messy, needy, desperate.

When we know our own limitations and despair at our ineptitude.

When we get to the place of such poverty that we cannot go on.

And when we wait, hands open, heart yielded, wanting only Him,

That’s when He shows us His glory, Himself.

I want to be that one He finds waiting.

I think you do too.

I want to wait every day, not passively wishing for a zap, but actively waiting on tippy toes for His glory.

Listening, looking, hoping… for Him.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Can you tell us how you hear Him? How you see His glory? Because He speaks in the ways we can hear and shows Himself in ways we can see, sharing His glory with each other opens our ears and eyes to Him in new ways.

(image by Abi Porter)

OUR HOUSE: The Bedroom #3

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

John 8v36

 Dearest Simona,

On Saturday Jude and Mo and Sunday spent the night. We had our usual fun with Pops: eating quesadillas and popcorn, trekking out in the dark to walk to the park around the corner, watching The Apple Dumpling Gang.

As I puttered and ordered my home, I relished their laughter over the silly innocence of the Wild West as Disney depicted it. Simple, harmless, fun.

The next morning they each took their turn in the bathtub. Sunday first, with pink bubbles and Amma’s lotions. A girl in all her glory, beautiful and sure of it.

Then the boys. They wanted G.I. Joe’s in with them, asked for the green bubbles that smell of pine trees and adventure.

I poked my head in just to be sure the water stayed in the tub, and they hardly noticed me. Jude, I’m sure, was dreaming up a story. There were battles to fight and bad guys to vanquish.

What struck me as I bustled about getting ready for church was this: they are free. Free of inhibition, free of shame, free of that pressing need the rest of us feel to be perfect, to measure up, to conform.

If I could only hold these moments forever. Just pause right here in this place of innocence, of freedom.

Because I know what’s ahead; the hurt, the bruises, the embarrassment, the mockery.

The world of boys becoming men is brutal.

I watched it with my own boys.

How John Mark’s passionate enthusiasm was made fun of. How Matt’s gregarious greetings were sometimes met with sullenness and how he learned—the hard way— to restrain his joy, to hold back.

I ached as only a mama of boys can ache, over how the assault on my sons bound them with cords of shame. How, too often, they seemed pressed into less than who they were made to be.

And I ached for Sunday too, because I know that…

The whole world seems to conspire to steal a woman’s freedom.

I remember when my daughters knew their own beauty— when the mirror reflected loveliness, not flaws. I miss those days when my daughters knew they were princesses and warriors all wrapped in one, fearless and free.

What happened to my girls? To my sons? To me?

What happened to the freedom that marked us as children? Where did we lose our firm belief in our own beauty? When did we lose sight of our strength and begin to cower under the gaze of a merciless world?

And more important:

How can we get our freedom back? 

Because, my dear daughters, that is what our husbands need from us more than anything else— freedom.

Freedom to love and be loved, freedom to find our own strength, freedom to be ourselves without inhibition.

And I know it’s complicated; I realize that simple steps don’t work. But I also know that it is up to us to clear the obstacles in our path to freedom. First we ask God to show us, to give us insight into ourselves and what is holding us back. Then we obey…

1.  Forgive freely because nothing binds us tight like bitterness. Forgive every man who has hurt you lest you build walls that no man can penetrate. Forgive your husband for not being what you’d hoped he’d be. Forgive yourself for not being perfect enough or skinny enough or simply enough.

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving the other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” Ephesians 4v32

2.  Encourage freely because to give words of courage to your husband and to yourself is to set the both of you free of unrealistic expectations. Telling him that you love him, that you like him, that you love his touch and welcome his body, that you’re so glad he’s yours… those are freedom words.

“Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love.” Ephesians 5v1

3.  Give freely because in giving we receive. When we give without holding back, with passion, with generosity—that’s when we receive. Give and give and give until he’s satiated with your loving, and you’ll know that freedom of absolute abandon.

“…Freely you received; freely give.”Matthew 10v8

 4.  Give sexually because when you freely embrace your own sexual passion, he is set free to be who he is. He knows that when you give with abandon, you’re loving him, enjoying him, wanting him. Nothing speaks courage to a man like a woman who wants him.

“Come together again” and again and again “lest Satan tempt you…”

I Corinthians 7v5

Your freedom is the key to unlock courage in your man.

The man whose wife is sexually, emotionally, and spiritually free knows a boldness of soul that releases his own inborn manliness. He becomes that little boy in the bathtub— able to conquer, eager to explore, fearless.

Against the backdrop of your freedom, he becomes free again. Free to love with abandon, free to feel intensely, free to pursue and respond, free to fail and to risk and to try again.

Praying, and hoping, and wanting you and every woman to know freedom,

From my heart,

Mom

P.S. I want to wrap every girl-woman and every boy-man close and hide them in the safety of a mama’s love. But I can’t. My arms aren’t big enough. The real world is too big, too unsafe for unsuspecting innocents.

But I know who can.

I know the One who keeps us safe, loves us sure, likes us as we are. He’s the One who relishes geekiness, infuses souls with warrior like strength. The One who sees our beauty and celebrates our loveliness.

Jesus.

Can you tell us how He is setting you free to love with abandon?

(image by Hillary Kupish)

OUR HOUSE: The Bedroom #2

And you husbands

Love your wives with the same love Christ showed the church.

He gave up his life for her…

In the same way,

Husbands ought to love their wives as they love their own bodies…

This is a great mystery

Ephesians 5v25,28,32

NLT

Dear Matthew,

When you were a little boy you lived for the moments when all of us were all about you: Vanquishing your older brother with a wrapping-paper-tube-turned-Star-Wars-light-saber. Taking piggy-back rides on Bekah’s back, reading stories on Elizabeth’s lap.

Those were your happiest times, the moments when you were fully yourself and wholly free to be anything you wanted to be.

And now you’re a man— and a husband.

As a husband, your are tasked by God Himself to partner with Him in setting your wife free to be fully herself and wholly free to be everything God created her to be.

Your God-given instructions are found in Ephesians 5vs 21-33, but for today there’s just one word I want you to think about:

Radiant.

God instructs husbands to so love their wives that they become radiant women.

That, my son, is a task for a lifetime.

Because for a woman to radiate, she must be washed and soothed and immersed in true love, in the kind of love that only God can give. And yet… He tasks you to represent Himself to your wife.

He goes so far as to tell husbands that they ought even to love their wives as their own bodies. Which leads me to suggest that He’s hinting at sexuality here too.

God is saying that your coming together in the bedroom is not so much about releasing your pent up, pulsing, driving need, but about unleashing her more hidden, yet-to-be-fully-discovered passions.

But how? Men and women are so distinctly different. A man is aroused primarily by what he sees, while a woman is aroused first by how she feels.

And so I’ve put together a list, of course. And I’m hoping the women who read this post will add their own ideas in the comments.

Six Ways To Set Your Wife Free:

1. Be nice— all day long. A nice man, one who is kind and thoughtful and quick to give way rather than demand his own way, is incredibly appealing to a woman.
2. Be humble— learning the art of the apology. The minute you’re short or disapproving or critical or in any way rejecting, apologize profusely. “I was wrong.” “I was a grouch.” “It’s not your fault.” Those are the words of allure to a woman.
3. Be generous— with words. You don’t have to be poetic or prolific, but she craves your words, relishes them, blossoms under her husband’s generosity— and freezes under his silence.
4. Be generous— with beauty. She needs beauty. She was created for beauty. She needs you to get that and to figure out a way to recreate the beauty of Eden in order to thrive. And she needs you to tell her she’s beautiful over and over again until someday she believes you.
5. Be affectionate— the kind of touch that isn’t (initially) for sex often leads a woman to want all of you. Women respond to touch, it is part of her sensuality mechanism. Purposely showing fondness in words and touch and flowers and kindness goes a long way.
6. Be honest— “I am entrusting my sexuality to you and to you alone. That scares me because my need is so great, but I am trusting you.” She has no idea how much you need her, how often you think about making love to her, how often you really want her but don’t approach her because you’re afraid of rejection. Tell her. More than once. Tell her honestly and vulnerably. That’s actually strangely exciting for a woman.

And one last word: go slow. Seducing your wife to her fullest freedom is a form of art. It takes time, it takes learning, it takes practice.

But hey, you’ve got the rest of your lives!

From a heart that wants the best for both of you,

Mom

(image by Hillary Kupish)

OUR HOUSE: The Bedroom #1

Eat friends;

drink and imbibe deeply,

O lovers.

Song of Songs 5v1

NASB

 …drink your fill of love

NIV

Dear Matt and Simona,

God likes sex.

He approves, He smiles, He delights in seeing His created ones drinking deeply of this gift from Him.

In fact, He likes what He made so much that He dares use it as a metaphor for the intimacy He invites each of us into with Himself.[1]

But here’s what worries me:

Lots of married couples act as if sex is really not that big of a deal.

They don’t talk about it much, don’t try that hard, don’t wonder why they’ve settled into a less-than-terrific routine of barely enough and barely good enough sex to satisfy either of them.

And I think that makes God sad.

Because He makes a big deal about sex. Good sex (the married, mutually satisfying kind) and bad sex (the adulterous or manipulative or enslaving kind) are woven throughout the narrative of God’s story.

In fact, mid-way through the Bible, He stops and writes a whole book about sex. (The Song of Solomon) As if to say, “Really, you guys, this is what you need!” Yet sadly, throughout history, people have blushed their way through the Song of Solomon, trying to pretend that He didn’t mean sex… surely!

And of course, the two of you know this. You are imbibing deeply, the honeymoon isn’t over, you’re delighting in each other and learning the language of a love you hardly knew possible.

But just in case… just to store away for another day down the road when you’re tempted to minimize intimacy because life gets in the way… I want to remind you…

Why Sex Is Really A Very Big Deal

1.  Sex creates intimacy. Sex creates a mystical moment of intimacy so intense, so momentarily out of control— that your hearts burst with the wonder of it. Together.

2.  Sex releases hormones. Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, all of which flood your bodies with feelings of love during and immediately after sex. Which means that frequent, passionate sex actually keeps you feeling in love with each other.

 3.  Sex makes you nice. The vulnerability, the satisfaction, the ecstasy of sex, all combine to leave the both of you feeling… nice: full of grace, uncritical and kind.

 4.  Sex keeps you loyal. Two, now forged into one can take on the world! A woman who gives that kind of passion, a man who gives that kind of pleasure— there’s no stopping them.

 5.  Sex is thrilling. That unrestrained passion between a man and a woman who have pledged to be with each other forever is better than any other rush life has to offer.

If someone could market a pill that created intimacy, released mood enhancing hormones, made people nice, kept couples loyal, and guaranteed a rush of out-of-control but not-life-threatening thrill… they’d be rich!

And Someone has.

So please, my dear son and beautiful daughter, make sex a big deal.

A really big deal.

When it’s less than great, get help. Take someone you feel comfortable with aside and ask questions. Read books. Keep at it. Don’t stop. And whatever you do, never, ever let life get in the way of this gift God has given the two of you together, forever.

From a heart that wants your love to last and thrive over a lifetime,

Mom

For those who are reading: I will be writing about sexuality and intimacy for the next several weeks. If you have questions that you think I may be able to answer, please email me at hespeaks@gmail.com

Some great books:

1. Sheet Music by Kevin Leman

2. Intimacy Ignited by Dr. Joseph & Linda Dillow and Dr. Peter and Lorraine Pintus

3. Intimate Issues by Linda Dillow and Lorraine Pintus (for women)

4. Intended For Pleasure by Dr. Ed Wheat

Do you know of others? 

(Image by Hillary Kupish)

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[1] see Ephesians 5v21-33

A wisp of cloud brushes the bluff towering imposingly above the silent valley; a filter softening rough edges, like the Spirit softening me. Barely there, gentle, a  cool mist rising. Whispers in the wind. I hear Him here, in this quiet place, His voice as gentle as that cloud. Not telling, not even really saying— just soothing, stilling.

Shhh…

The tightness in my chest loosens. I breathe deep the crisp fragrance of winter’s chill.

I remember.

Shhh…

In the stillness I hear words— His words, from His Word. He paints a picture for me to see.

He tends his flock like a shepherd:

He gathers the lambs in his arms

And carries them close to his heart;

He gently leads…

Isaiah 40v10,11

And I do see! I see Him here, walking hills He Himself formed beneath cliffs carved of His own hands—

tending, gathering, carrying, leading… me.

Shhh…

I see myself too: that wayward, wandering, worry-filled one. The one who rolls in wrong places, wants the wrong things, the one who woke up in the early hours, fretful, fear prone, fussing.

That I am not enough, that I cannot be enough, that my not-enoughness will sink my hopes, my plans, my year ahead.

Because it’s too much and I know it. And I am too little, I know that too.  And all these things I hope to do won’t be done because I cannot and I know it and so does He.

Failure looms and I am, down deep where no one knows, afraid.

That’s when I hear the whispers; words misting, cloud like, calling…

Come, climb up here, follow Me to these heights. See what I see. There is beauty here.

But those cliffs are far away, too far. I don’t know how, don’t have time, cannot go alone.

I am not enough.

And the light dawns, my mind sees, that Spirit seeing, knowing, speaking sureness.

I cannot do, but He can. I dare not try, but He does. I am not enough, but He is.

He can accomplish what concerns me.

He does dare use me— this less-than, unable, worry-prone me— to do my “assigned task” (Mark 13v34)

He is enough, and so am I when I go to Him, listen to Him, hide in Him, abide. (John 15v5)

And now I hear. I know. I pull out that pad of lined paper- yellow because somehow it’s supposed to help me remember. New- because this is a new day, a new year, a new plan.

I ask:

Lord— Abba— Shepherd of this worried one, please—

Plan this year for me.

Write my list.

Assign my tasks.

Fill this record of my days with Your faithfulness.

Not my will— please, never that!

Just Yours.

I’m ready now— not to plan, not to project, not to pretend I can do more than I am able, but to follow.

Like His sheep: gathered close, carried, led. 

Listening,

Diane

Do you feel inadequate for the task you’ve been assigned?

• Babies that keep you up at night and tired all day?
• A job in a place that sinks you?
• School too hard?
• Relationships you can’t figure out?

Have you heard His whispers? We gather hope by knowing…

(image by Bethany Small)

FRIENDS: Who To Keep and How To Keep Them

A friend loves at all times…

Proverbs 17v17 

One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin…

Proverbs 18v24

Dear Matt and Simona,

When your dad and I married, we had no small amount of difficulty with friendships. Most of my friends were in college, most of his well into their careers. I was the first of my friends to marry, he was among the last of his to tie the knot.

Soon after we were married, a couple of my friends set about to set me straight. I was no longer acting the way I had before and so they assumed I wasn’t being me.

What they couldn’t see was that the once shy-me was gaining confidence. I was growing up, struggling to break out of my shell, wanting to learn the art of open-hearted womanhood. Being married to an extrovert, I pushed myself to try to be more like him, to break out of the bars I’d hid behind.

And, no doubt, I did it awkwardly. Being warm, open, affectionate, encouraging didn’t come naturally. I had to work hard at it, to watch and learn and get up my nerve to push beyond my reserve.

These friends didn’t like the way I’d changed, felt I ought to be someone I no longer was.

And that hurt.

I felt scrutinized, condemned, misunderstood.

And so I more or less decided to do without friends. After all, we had each other, and wasn’t that enough?

And the answer to that question is NO! It’s not enough to have each other. In fact, I would argue now that we needed friends in order to be better friends to each other.

Now I know that the problem wasn’t having friends, but the kind of friends I had. No one told me that all my friendships would change on our wedding day. And so I wasn’t prepared, didn’t know what to do with what was no longer working.

I want to share with you some things I know now that I didn’t know then.

1.  Keep friends who help you love each other better.

There are friends who demand too much of you, leaving you limp and depleted after too much time with them. Or whose caustic attitudes you catch, whose bitter viewpoints come out in the kind of sarcasm that rubs off on you.

Listen to each other about this. If one of you comes back crabby or distant from an outing with a friend, that may be a clue to be concerned about.

May I suggest that you ease away from such friends? That you protect your friendship with each other rather than allow people in who may leak their toxicity onto your love?

2.    Keep friends who help you be better.

I have a circle of friends now who make me want to be kinder, braver, stronger, gentler. We laugh and joke and cry and open our hearts to each other, but each of us knows that there are some topics that are off limits.

I have never heard any of them criticize or complain about their husbands, nor would they me allow me to gossip or vent or generally give in to ungodliness.

After I’ve been with these women, I come home ready to love my husband better- I come home more encouraging, more understanding, more willing to serve with flair and beauty.

3.   Keep friends who allow you room to grow and change.

A man or a woman who stays forever the same is pitiful, stagnant, uninteresting. Yet it is not uncommon for friends to want you to stay the same because change is also threatening. You need friends who give you room to change your ideas, your approach, your interests, your level of commitment.

Growth and change create beauty in you. Friends who allow that beauty to emerge without insisting on controlling you are treasures.

4.    Keep friends who get that your best friend is now each other.

Being best friends takes time. It takes talking, playing, doing life side-by-side. It requires planning, waiting, being there when the other needs you.

To stay best friends will require that you don’t leave each other alone too much. Which in turn will mean that your other friends will need to give you lots and lots of room to say no without lengthy explanations that come under their scrutiny.

Hang on to those friends who want more than anything for your friendship with each other to stay strong.

And remember this: 

No one gets to come through that Front Door without your invitation.

You decide who to welcome into the Entry of the house you are building together.

Some friends will come often, some every once in a while, and some will not survive the changes that your marriage brings. And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you— or them. It’s just the way of life. A natural consequence of growth in you and in your friends.

Some friends are for a short season, a few are for a long time, but the two of you… are friends forever.

From my heart,

Mom

P.S. For those who are listening: Do you have friends who help make your marriage better? How do they do that? What would you advise for those who want to say friends after marriage?

(image by Hillary Kupish)