A Child's View from the Other Side of the Angel Tree

A Child's View from the Other Side of the Angel Tree

Thousands of years ago, the advent of Jesus became the best Christmas present that will ever be gifted or received. More than four centuries believers had waited with baited breath for his advent, His coming.

Coming. There’s a warmth and anticipation in that word. Most of us are only familiar with the word advent at Christmas time. But, it’s the coming, the conclusion of longing, waiting, pining, hoping.

As a girl, Daddy’s advent every night was a special time. My sisters and I would wait at the end of our long, gravel driveway jockeying to be the first to spot his car. Then, as he turned toward the house, we would race alongside the car. “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home! Daddy, I have something to show you!”

Also when I was a girl, my family did Angel Tree every year that I can remember. We would visit Wal-Mart and pluck a paper angel from the branches, usually a girl about our age. Then we scoured the brightly colored shelves for gifts that matched “our” little girl’s needs. When we  had packed the box to the brim, we took it to our church and stacked it among the hundreds of other shoeboxes filled by our friends’ families.

Back then, I didn’t think too much about the recipient of our gift. I didn’t really think about the gift that we couldn’t give them. The children of inmates who would open our Christmas presents might never celebrate their daddy’s advent. These children might wait night after night with no one coming home.

And I certainly didn’t have the capacity to wonder much about the incarcerated parents. They might never see the light in their children’s eyes as they opened Christmas presents, or feel the incomparable warmth of a child thrilled with their advent.

It’s been more than 20 years since I filled an Angel Tree shoebox with my sisters. My military husband and I have moved four times in our marriage and belonged to as many churches. But every single Christmas, my heart warms to see the Angel Tree in the foyer. My eyes water when the pastor announces the pending date for turning in our boxes.

I have been blessed with so many Advents. I have a wonderful father who came home to hug his daughters each night. I know the Savior whose Advent secured my eternity.

Angel Tree gives me the extended reach to love a child each Christmas and to show them the meaning of Christmas’ Advent. It gives me the opportunity to offer the anticipation of Christmas to a child missing their parent.

First posted at Faith Writers, Nov. 30, 2012

Broken Chains and Musical Altars

Broken Chains and Musical Altars

Some days it’s hard to remember that I bid anorexia goodbye. In those moments, I desperately need an altar to cling to.

In the Old Testament, altars were monuments, often erected as memorials to a theophany, or “God sighting.” In May 2000, the song “We Fall Down,” by Chris Tomlin, became my musical altar.

That month I had fought my college pastor tooth and nail. “I don’t have time to go to this Passion ‘One Day’ conference in Tennessee. I need to work, I need to study,” I told him.

I couldn’t admit that I was terrified of the bus ride, fast food restaurants and camping. And where was I going to do my morning workout?

Curiously, three days later, I found myself on a bus with 12 other hyper college students, driving from Oklahoma to Tennessee for the event.

I was in a bad place physically. Following two rounds of inpatient therapy, I had relapsed again, back to shaving calories, adding miles and skipping meals. I had no idea how I was going to survive this trip. However, I was long past denial of my eating disorder. Truthfully, I was scared of how far this dance with anorexia would take me. How long could I live like this?

Of that trip, I remember nothing, except for one song, the one night we camped at Shelby Farms, and one mysterious woman.

On this particular night, the organizers of the conference had arranged to call Botswana, Africa, to share our worship with them. As we began to sing “We Fall Down,” Christians on the other side of the world joined our chorus in their own language.

When people ask me today about my recovery from anorexia, the story is long. But there was that one night when I would declare: “God broke it.” That night, I found myself separated from my youth group, face down on the grass near a fallen tree, my heart wrenched with sorrow, exhaustion and hopelessness.

“God there’s nothing else I can do.” I cried out. “There’s nothing else that counselors can tell me or doctors can suggest. I’m dying and I can’t stop. God, God, please do something.”

I have no idea what she looks like, and I can’t remember her voice, but a woman came up behind me and wrapped her arms around me. I poured my despair into her shoulder.

When we got home, I didn’t look any different, but I know that my supernatural God had broken the chains on my heart. That one night I began a steady climb out of the mire of self-starvation, loneliness, and hopelessness.

A couple days ago, my husband uncovered a bunch of CD’s that had been lost in our last move; choosing one, I popped it into the player. Tracks melted into the air, slipping past my consciousness until track 10. In the live recording, Chris Tomlin announced, “We are going to call Botswana, Africa, and you’re going to hear them singing “We Fall Down” with us, in their own language.”

Hearing that song, my anxiety broke again. My eternal, Heavenly Father played the melody that recalled for me the day He broke my chains.

First published at Finding Balance, October 2012

Book Review: Unseduced and Unshaken

When I hear the word seduce, I think of a brazen vixen, oblivious to an innocent man’s wedding ring. With her long black lashes, polished lips and glistening skin she expertly maneuvers him away from all things chaste and moral. Unseduced, would be that man’s extraordinary willpower to resist such advances.

Rosalie De Rosset’s book, Unseduced and Unshaken, isn’t only about withstanding sexual temptation. The book is about that and so much more. Unseduced and Unshaken explains describes a postmodern culture as a seductress. De Rosset points out the predatory nature of advertising, pornography, peer pressure and other things that particularly young women must be wary to stand firm against.

De Rosset uses classic literature and well known movies to exemplify both desirable and unbecoming character traits. She enforces the need for dignity, modesty, self-confidence and strong, Biblical theology.

One of the most valuable aspects of the book is the extensive list of suggested reading in the appendix. De Rosset lists all of her sources and whets the reader’s appetite to know more about each one of them.

The book is easy to read and extremely well written, calling on a vast vocabulary. While the book is directly targeted at young women, De Rosset’s points apply to every Christian.

First Published on Amazon, 10/1/2012

Whatever It Takes

Whatever It Takes

How badly do you want to be thin? What would you trade? Would being thin make you ultimately happy – even if you don’t really believe that  - do you think that? Would life be easier, happier, more fun, (add an adjective) if you were thin?

A recent study revealed that many women would give up a year of of their lives to be thin.
Another study discovered that most women would give up sex to be thin.

In April, the New York Times, reported on a new, disgusting trend. Women, mostly brides, in a last ditch effort to be thinner (and therefore in their perception: more beautiful on their wedding day, make that special day happier, etc.) have resorted to feeding tubes.

At first, I was shocked. I remember being inpatient for my eating disorder. One of the sweetest little girls I have ever met, greeted me at the facility’s entrance. Alicia became a quick confidant and encourager for  me. But it was hard to look at her without crying. Alicia was 12, but she had stopped growing when she was about 5. Because of her refusal to eat and seeming determination to starve herself, Alicia wore a feeding tube. This disfiguring device looked just like it sounds. A long tube ran up her nose into her stomach. It was taped in various places down her little body until it attached to a pole, nearly twice her height, where hung a plastic bag of liquid nutrients. Everywhere little Alicia went – to counseling sessions, to watch TV, on pass into the the little town nearby, to bed, to worship – everywhere, her tube went along.

Now, imagine a grown woman, preparing for her wedding day, strapped up with a feeding tube. A little more visually appealing, these brides carry around a purse with their “food” bag instead of Alicia’s pole. Nonetheless, they have a rubber tube snaking up the side of their face, through their nose and into their stomach – to supply them with starvation’s subsistence – a mere 800 calories.How far have we fallen?

Here are some other facts for your consideration:

2/3 of dieters regain the weight they lost within about 4 years of any diet

About 44% of women admit to being on a diet at any given moment

And guess what! Despite all our paranoia, drastic measures, social mores, fitness obsessions, fad diets and self help books, political intervention and endorsement – despite all these things, recently an advocacy group reported that by 2030, more than half of the population in the majority of states will be considered obese. So, apparently, our strategy isn’t working.

Happily, there’s a small, underground minority that is working hard to reverse the trend. Have you heard of Intuitive Eating? Sounds interesting and logical, doesn’t it?

How about a new book, by Greg Archer, whose provocative title (albeit accurate) I’ll encourage you to check into yourself.

Another wonderful person whom I consider a champion of this movement toward reprioritizing our weight, our diet, our life goals, is Emily Wierenga.  It was a recent article on her blog, Chasing Silhouettes, that launched me onto my soapbox again.

Enjoy her words of wisdom:

No longer [should food be] an object to be feared. It is a necessity to be enjoyed and embraced.  It is another form of communication, another way of sharing in this thing called life, of relating with other humans through a means devoid of words. It is the breaking of bread, which Christ calls us to.

So, as you wisely set health goals, lace up your sneakers, breathe deep during a jog or slice your paring knife through the pale green skin on a tart, fresh apple, wonder : Why am I doing this?

And then do whatever it takes to honestly answer that question with:

So that I might, “present [my] bod[y] as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is [my] spiritual worship. [I will] not be conformed to this world,but be transformed by the renewal of [my]mind, that by testing [I] may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. Romans 12:1-2

First published at: Moms Who TRI Blog, Sept. 18, 2012

Awake and Feeling Sick

Awake and Feeling Sick

I’m a Bible study drop out. I’m sick to death of church. I feel more fake around my “Bible study girls” than anyone else in my life. Last year I was a small group leader. People tell me I should do women’s ministry. How can I, when I feel like corporate fellowship is shallow and contrived?

I’m sick to death of cute clothes and shiny flats. 

I’m sick to death of name tags and place cards and frilly coffee. 

I’m sick to death of perfect hair and matching purses and smart-looking workbooks. 

I’m sick to death of small talk and polite sharing. 

I’m sick to death of angled prayer request and sappy guitar songs. 

I’m sick to death of assigned greeters with coral colored lips and childcare volunteers and homemade cookies. 

I’m sick to death of everything that all church looks like. 

I am sick to death of making time for one more volunteer opportunity. 

I’m sick to death of being plied for my spare minutes, my spare change, my spare pens. I’m sick to death of bigger parking lots, potlucks, church gymnasiums and special VBS props. 

I’m sick to death of big screens and four services that say the same thing over and over and over and over...

Forever, I have believed conventional church had a place. Forever I have believed that fellowship with godly women is essential. For each of our military moves I have related my loneliness with not having found a “home” church. So where does this repulsion come from?

I am almost scaring myself. I had already signed up for a Beth Moore study. I had already started emailing with my BFF’s about which study we were taking, where we would sit and see each other, how busy our summers have been. I had already emailed the committee leader promising to be a bubbly, name tag slapping, coral lipped greeter. And then I quit. 

I just quit. 

And the first Tuesday, when I should have been in Bible study came and went. I noticed the time, 10 a.m. and realized that my BFF’s were probably searching up and down plush rows searching for me - me - the quitter. 

For one second, I imagined the twittering among rows. “You know, she’s been withdrawn this summer.”

“I wonder if she’s OK? I wonder if she and her husband are fighting?”

“Do think she’ll still be involved in ministry and growing? I’d hate to see her grow away from the Lord.”

“You know how important Bible study and fellowship is.”

For a split second, I worried that they would all pity me or tisk-tisk in disappointment. My cell phone erupted in bleeps and bings of texts, “Where are you?” 

Where was I? 

Shameful. 

I was standing beneath a broad shedding tree on a cracked sidewalk a mile from my home. The grinning puppy at my feet was ridiculously happy that had chosen a walk with him over the more “perfect” option. The edges of fall lapped at my goosebumps. It was 50 degrees when I woke up. I had brewed a slow cup of coffee, opened my windows, plugged in Pandora radio and sat at the feet of Jesus for an hour and half. I hadn’t gotten ready - in fact, I hadn’t even showered by the time Bible study was letting out. 

That wasn’t my first rebellious act - the first sign of my awakening. My husband and I skipped church two weeks in a row recently. Instead, we opted for a slow morning curled next to each other with cups of banana nut coffee. Late, we watched a sermon online. 

We went back one week later. I was afraid, certain that I had probably missed something life changing while I was playing hooky. People must have been whispering that our seats were empty. Or were they?

Surely, I should feel rotten about missing worship. Then why did I feel like my quiet worship at home had been so much more real and fulfilling?

Later that afternoon, after I had skipped Tuesday morning Bible study, I started getting emails from sweet girlfriends. I don’t mean to imply that they are fake, but I think they are duped. I think most of the conventional American church has drunk the Kool-aid. I think my stupor is suddenly wearing off. I’m waking up, and that’s terrifying when everyone who validated my religious life is still content in slumber. 

“Abby, Bible study is right up your alley! You of all people can make time for this. I know you’re spending time with Jesus, but quiet time is with God. Fellowship is with others.”

Really? Is Jesus not enough real, tangible enough for me to fellowship with him? And I am sick to death of making time for things. If there’s not enough time in the 24 hours of my God-given day, do I have the right to try to make time for other things on my personal agenda - the agenda I think God should have?

I’m sick to death of begging, “God what is it you would have me do? What is my calling?” And then charging off on my righteous steed to analyze headlines, and argue about conservative politics and seek out my next opportunity to “be there for someone.” As if my calling, my purpose were so incredibly unique that if I miss it the world is doomed.

The going notion is that Christians must determine what God has called them to do. How can we serve the Lord? How can we minister? Who needs us?

Here’s the rub: The driving force behind each of those questions is pride. Yep, that ugly invader of Paradise is alive and well and thinly disguised behind our masks of ministry. 

What if we quit isolating others’ needs and targeting our resources to help those “less fortunate”? What if we quit pointing out where we can be of assistance and creating repeatable, efficient programs to meet them? What if need doesn’t want to be met with charity? What if we met need with need and then humbly shared from the place of need? 

Remember the widow and her two mites? The poor, marginalized woman gave out of her nothing, gave what she had without show or pledge card. And after, Jesus didn’t run out and give her coin. Jesus didn’t instruct his disciples to buy her a meal or cover her with their cloak or take her into their home. 

Did you ever notice that Jesus didn’t establish a program or system for preaching? Jesus didn’t seek out the hungry, lame, blind, leper or dying. Jesus didn’t set up a podium, send out fliers or provide transportation. Jesus went to the people and sent out his disciples, plain, poor, ordinary men and women. He never called people to him. He never announced a special message or a seeker sensitive service. 

I feel like I have woken up to a screaming alarm clock. It’s the kind of startled wakening when you don’t really remember where you are. I have been jarred awake and I’m hungry. I’m starving for something real, something new. 

I want to be with real people. Real people who KNOW they are hungry. I want to touch and be touched. I want to bleed and be bled on. I want to break crusty bread and sit on the floor. I want to hear whatever someone has to say, not ask them prescribed questions that relate to eternity. I want to be needed and I want to be fully free to need. I want to do relationship. 

And I think that’s how the church in America was sung to sleep. She heard the same consoling music over and over. She dined on lush foods and never bit into something so bitter it made her sick, purged her heart and made her hungrier than ever before. 

She moaned about scratches and discomforts. She has never had to walk on raw, blistered feet. She has never known pain that prevents sleep. Maybe that’s another privilege of pain. We bleed to know that we’re alive. 

First Published at Predatory Lies, Sept. 14, 2012

It's A Small World After All

It's A Small World After All

As a kid growing up in Oklahoma, my primary diet was dust. So, it was remarkably refreshing after an evening softball game, or an afternoon spent mowing the lawn, to pour a glass of cold water. In nearly any room of the house, my sisters and I could turn a shiny silver knob and and lavishly splash cool, clean water over our faces, arms and neck. Then, reaching for a brightly colored cup, without a second thought, we gulped the life-giving liquid. 

Nearly every summer, on the evening news, I remember hearing about a seasonal water shortage. Neighbors began to take turns watering their lawns. Daddy didn’t wash the cars. But never for one second did I fear that we would run out of clean drinking water. 

This year has been record setting in Oklahoma. In August, the temperature soared to 113 degrees. More than 30% of the state is experiencing an exceptional drought. But, in my family’s garage there are still cases of clean water. Every evening we take long showers. Here in rural Oklahoma, I have never known anyone dying for water. 

In 2008, a non-profit foundation called Water4 , was founded in Oklahoma City by Dick and Terri Greenly, to address the global water crisis. A water crisis that most of us in North America have never even considered. We certainly don’t worry about dying children every time we enjoy a cool glass of ice water. 

Water4 exists primarily provide water to impoverished, thirsty areas. At the same time, Water4 educates and trains nationals to be intricately involved in the effort to provide sustainable, clean water sources to their villages. Already working tirelessly in Haiti, Sierra Leone, Uganda and Rwanda, Water4’s goal is to provide clean drinking water to a million people by 2014.  

Statistically, the majority of Oklahomans are pro-life. Consequently, voters are well aware that about 3,322 children are aborted everyday. However, few people know that 4,320 children die everyday due to a water-related illness. 

Many states across America are withering with drought this summer. Farmers are fearful for their crops and consequently, their livelihood. The entire globe is feeling the economic pinch. But when we feel the parched tongues of children in third-world countries, when we see the countless tiny graves of thirsty children - we have to be grateful for our relative abundance and wonder...

What can we do?

While the cost to build a private well in Oklahoma is upwards of $2000, you can donate a well and supply water to an entire village through Water4’s program for $900. You’ll never turn that shiny silver knob mindlessly again, and neither will your children.

Originally posted at FaithWriters.com on August 29,2012

SPIN - it's more than a workout

SPIN – it’s more than a workout

If I say SPIN, what do you think of?

If you’re reading this in the framework of fitness, you probably just imagined a room full of low-profile bikes. Dozens of sweaty people are pedaling as fast as they can and getting absolutely nowhere! But they’re loving it. Someone is at the front of the pack screaming directions over the crush of loud, motivating music.

And you’d be right, that’s definitely SPIN.

Or you might think of the bajillion proverbial plates you have in the air. Somehow, in a superhuman feat you manage to keep your life precariously balanced and a serving of every friend and family member’s happiness whirling at all times. Good for you! Right? Is that good?

In light of a greater fitness – your soul’s fitness and your mental health, I want to propose another definition of SPIN. I recently heard an interview with a couple, the authors of a new book, From Hectic to Healthy. As time marches on and we are entering into the unrelenting demands of a new school year, I think this is appropriate.

Seasons: We often refer to our lives in seasons. There’s the season of singleness, newly wed, parent, mid-life (crisis), retirement, elderly, etc. Cognitively, we’re OK with that, except for always wishing we were younger. But do we live happily in the season God has given us? The authors of this book suggest that we begin to feel overwhelmed when we try to live outside our season.

If you’re struggling to find time to fit in your workouts, or any other important aspect of your life, ask yourself if you are trying to
do this thing in light of your current season. Be reasonable, give yourself some grace. Challenge yourself, yes, but remember
there is season for everything and the time for all your dreams and goals will arrive in God’s timing.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven,” Ecc. 3:1.

Priorities: set your priorities according to your season. By the way, your health is YOUR responsibility and it’s important to your family too! So don’t put that at the bottom of the list. God has been persistently reminding me lately that REST is a key component of health!

Isolation: You probably feel like isolation is something you would pay to have! Many women are in the season of kiddos and chaos; happy family times, but tiring nonetheless. Or you may be feeling isolated from adult companions.  Spinning your life faster to include more things isn’t the answer! Find one thing, start with just one, from the bottom of your priority list and draw a big black line through it! Now, go join a Moms Who TRI bootcamp – get your friendship and fitness in one, enjoyable hour!

Neglect: This is MOMS Who TRI, and the only things moms frequently neglect is themselves. That’s what Moms Who TRI is all about. It is an environment for busy moms to prioritize their health, spend time with their children and enjoy fellowship with other women.

SPIN – This fall, ditch that feeling of spinning your wheels and getting nowhere. Discover and fully live in your SEASON. PRIORITIZE and let something go! Don’t ISOLATE yourself, or maybe you need to eliminate something so that you can hide away by yourself and refresh for just a moment. Don’t NEGLECT your health behind the guise of being too busy to workout. You are important, too!

Posted at Moms Who TRI blog, August 21, 2012