Category: anecdotes

to change a life at its root

I spend a good amount of time considering the power and possibility of change. I suppose I’m in that kind of business – the kind where success depends on people changing from bad to better.

But we’re all in stages of bad to better and change is really something everyone is obsessed with – more like this, less like that, etc. And then we funnel our obsession into determination and make every effort to move forward on that sliding scale towards better.

Change, the positive kind that moves us towards something better, is a slippery and untamable little animal.  Keller writes in Jesus is King, “…no one has ever been deeply changed by an act of the will. The only thing that can reforge and change a life at its root is love.”

I’ve spent many frustrated seasons rustling up impressive acts of will in an effort to change (the “many frustrated seasons” should help you know how those turned out). I come from a long line of go-getters, on both sides. I’m not sure if you can grow up on the farm and not be a go-getter, actually. Many times it was a literal ‘pulling up by the bootstraps’ that had to happen to keep our little farm afloat.

In any case, I know what determination looks like and it is a great credit to my parents and family that my understanding hasn’t produced any entitlement. We worked hard, gave generously, and loved fiercely. Oh, we didn’t do it perfectly, but I saw it all happen with a healthy dose of will power. My family’s is a survival story of sorts and outsiders looking in might say we wouldn’t have made it (changed for the better) without an impressive act of the will.

But none of that resolve changed our lives at the root.

The root of a life runs deeper than health and finances and farm accidents. And the root is the only depth that has the power to change the whole tree. Keller writes that in Mark 8:34-9:1 Jesus pointed to the cross (to love) as the only thing that can change a life at its root.

Christ lost himself in every ultimate sense so that we could be found.

Any positive movement on the continuum of change depends entirely on a work that has already been accomplished. I am not working to be approved, but an approved workman who is unashamed (2 Timothy 2:15) to exercise the freedom to live redeemed. The change already took place at the cross and is still taking place through the Spirit in my life. This is sanctification – that we are called holy and set apart because of Christ and that we are becoming holy and set apart because of the Spirit’s faithful work inside us.

All my acts of will are helpless to change my life at its root. Only love can do that.

Keller writes, “Once you see the Son of God loving you like that, once you are moved by that viscerally and existentially, you begin to get a strength, an assurance, a sense of your own value and distinctiveness that is not based on what you’re doing or whether somebody loves you, whether you’ve lost weight or how much money you’ve got. You’re free – the old approach to identity is gone.”

You’re free. Live free today.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy
Posted on by Caroline 3

she blinked and I melted

She was zipped up in sleeper pajamas at 6 pm, strapped in to a highchair inside the McDonalds playplace. I was there for work, but she was there with her siblings and her dad, who was listening intently to headphones nearby. Her siblings scampered off in socked feet to chase one another, but she stayed strapped in.

She wasn’t protesting, not enough to make a scene anyway. She had a straw that kept her occupied, but she mostly just sat and stared. So, I stared at her too. I wondered at this beautiful little one – what she was thinking and what she wasn’t. I wondered why she showed so little expression on her cherub, fast-food face.

She was staring in my direction and I just couldn’t help it. My face slowly started to glow (in the way one does when talking to a 2 year old). My eyebrows arched and my mouth formed that humiliating “O” but her gaze still seemed set just behind my shoulders. I persisted with “hi there’s” and “hellos” until her eyes shifted ever so slightly and she blinked.

She blinked and I felt myself come into her view.

Yes! Yes, little one I am looking at you with my goofy eyes and silly statements. She finally saw me and slowly realized she was the target of my (still very respectful and public) affection. I’m almost certain I didn’t imagine that her face eased into recognition and responded with dimpled cheeks.

Her delight melted my heart and I wanted to give her goofy eyes much longer than would have been socially acceptable. I wanted, at least, to know that this little one gets the kind of affection that brings the kind of delight that melts a person’s heart.

I wanted that for the little girl in the zipped up pink pajamas in the McDonald’s playplace tonight.

Posted on by Caroline 0

believing the stories I tell

I had just barely finished a dramatic retelling of David and Goliath when one of the littles in my backseat said, “Is that story about Jesus? We wanted to hear a story about Jesus!”

I looked back in my rearview mirror and saw two pair of eyes waiting expectantly (the third pair was fast asleep) – they had asked me for the story I promised a week before and I told it with as many gestures as my driving could allow.

I breathed one of those desperate, silent, wordless prayers and said, “Yes, yes it is. Because every story in the Bible is about Jesus. This story about David and Goliath really happened and it reminds us that no matter how big the trouble or the evil, God is more powerful.”

I think I intended to say more, to give more context or connect more dots, but then one of the littles said something like this, “Because Jesus is powerful and powerful means that then He was died but then He was more strong and was alive and all the peoples that wanted him to be dead seen that He was more strong because He was powerful. And He was alive after the evil.”

I think if I hadn’t been on a schedule, I might have pulled over. I might have looked in that little one’s eyes and said, “Yes, sweet girl. That is what powerful is.” And as I said it I marveled at how much she had remembered from the previous week’s story about Jesus.

I fumbled around to explain that because God is so powerful and because He cares for us so much, we can be sure of our safety and hope in Him. We can be brave and courageous because in the end there is no evil that will overcome Him.

We pulled into the driveway and they ran past the baby ducks and into the house.

Then I turned my key to leave and not a single light showed on my dashboard, not a single sound of turning over from my engine.

“Hm.” I thought of three problem solving possibilities. They all included prayer. And I thought of David and Goliath and my insistence that we can be safe and secure in God. I took several breaths and turned the key several more times with the same result. I know that God doesn’t always keep us safe by the ways we would choose. And I was actually very prepared for Him to work out this scenario in a way that would push me out of comfort.

But, I kept praying (nothing really intelligible, just one of those rumbling soul pleas that you trust God understands). And before I gave up completely, I tried to turn the key one last time… and then I backed out of that little driveway and drove straight to AutoZone where they told me my battery and alternator checked out fine.

Spring is stretching to shed the winter and God is reminding me that He is faithful. He is trustworthy. He is kind and generous. My God will supply all my needs, according to His riches in glory – which are endless.

He will provide with an endless bounty as I believe Him to be my Provider.
Posted on by Caroline 2

how to make the neighbors talk

The average “how to” article is written because people want to know how to do something they don’t already know how to do. But this isn’t your average “how to,” I suppose.

In December, my sister and I moved into a house that was built in 1865 on a block in what used to be an Italian neighborhood near downtown Des Moines. The biggest selling point for the house was the landlord with the loud voice, who lives next door. I guess that prompted our next day move in. We saw the house on a Friday night and moved in on Saturday with a simple handshake sealing the deal.

And the pair of us, we moved in with intentions. We weren’t just going to be the two look-alikes with questionable driving skills and frequent memory loss on trash day. We wanted to be the kind of friends and neighbors who did more than wave en route to the driver’s seat.

I can’t tell you we’re there yet – but I can tell you about our progress and how to make the neighbors talk.

It all started in January when Christina decided the people with the worst job are airport workers working the early shift on a Saturday morning. As part of her church outreach, everyone in the congregation had been given $20 to bless the community in some way (funded by a private donor). So, off we went at 5 am on a Saturday to pick up donuts and coffee at Hy-Vee. A few very interesting conversations and several surprised airport workers later, we still had donuts and coffee.

(Now, remember I’m not saying this is how to recruit friends or admirers or a following… just how to make your neighbors talk. I just want to throw this in here, to be clear.)

We came back and took a nap before delivering the rest of the donuts and coffee to our neighbors. Yep, we just walked door to door and introduced ourselves, in all our roused and ruffled Saturday glory, and then when they looked at us like we were crazy we raised up our offerings and said, “Do you want some coffee and donuts?”

And do you know what they did? They invited us in! So, in we went to our neighbors’ houses to chit chat about neighborhood things and learn a little about some of the lives on our street. When we got back to our house, we kept saying, “That was so random. That was so random.”

And that was that.

Then there was February, when Christina discovered some leftover Halloween candy in her car and I unpacked some Valentine’s decorations from Mom in the kitchen. Christina crafted together some pink baskets with candy and I made sugar cookies from scratch. And Christina went out to deliver them door to door. She didn’t see very many faces, but she left them in mailboxes instead.

That’s when Tremain showed up on our doorstep. He had a chain necklace, a coat with fur, and several sparkly pieces in his mouth. He stopped Christina as she was walking in the door and said, “I just wanted to say thank you for the Valentine” and gave her two candles he had made for us along with a very sweet letter. A few days later, we received a card from Marie down the road and she said, “It was the only Valentine I received this year. It meant so much.” I remember Marie’s house because it has a very friendly lamppost in the front yard.

We really didn’t need an occasion to pop over to our Mexican neighbors’ home. We have been swapping baked goods since the week we moved in. And now we know that if you knock on the door you should be prepared to stay for a while. I once arrived home from work and told Christina I would be gone for a few minutes to bring a pumpkin cake next door. An hour later I came back wiping my mouth after enjoying a delicious tostada cooked to Mexican perfection. There were about 30 baking powder biscuits and an unhappy Christina to greet my satisfied belly.

Then there was March and, of course, St. Patrick’s Day. I went on an Irish baking frenzy – making Irish soda bread, shepherd’s pie, and irish soda cookies to bring to our neighbors. Caraway seed is a funny ingredient, but we reasoned that traipsing around to distribute something “irish” made our intrusions a little less weird. Looking back, I wish we just would have done cookies with green frosting or celery because caraway seed is just too strong of a taste. In any case, we knocked on doors and left cookies in mail boxes with an invite to church on Easter Sunday. Christina did another sweep with personal invitations later to invite everyone to church and then Easter dinner at our house.

Meanwhile, we got invited to a fiesta where they put tequila in the fruit punch and chocolate on the chicken. It was the best garage party we’ve been to in a while and the only one where Christina depended almost exclusively on my Spanish and her good looks to not embarrass herself.

Then there was Easter and, as it turns out, our neighbors mostly had plans. But an adorable couple across the street (lived here for 60 years) brought over a secret recipe jello and we made promises to have them over for dinner soon. Our Easter table filled up anyway, with our grandparents, a high school student and a friend (and thank goodness because we made two main dishes!). It was perfect.

Last night, I finally brought their jello dish back along with some banana bread. Luis and Arlene invited me right in to their kitchen. We chatted about the weather and about the neighborhood and then I asked them what they liked to eat for dinner because we’d like to have them over. They said they were easy to please.

I can tell you one thing, the neighbors are talking. They might be talking about dry, caraway seed cookies or they might be talking about the two pony-tailed girls making the rounds at 8 pm or they might be talking about stale candy and church invitations. We don’t really know what they are talking about, but we hear bits and pieces.

“Are you those girls in 318?”

“Oh, Marie was asking about where those cookies come from and we told her it was you girls.”

“Yeah, those irish ones were weird.”

“Now, are you two sisters?”

You want to make your neighbors talk? Figure out ways to get invited into their living rooms.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy
Posted on by Caroline 7

when pounds of paperwork are proven wrong

Every once in a while, a day like today flies in the face of the cynic.
It blows up all the pounds of paperwork proving it’s not possible.

This day is a gift and it’s not even noon.

It’s called reunification, which is a lot of syllables packed into one word that means the court says it’s okay for a family to be together again. And that’s what happened at court.

I cried a little bit and tried to shield my eyes from all the legal people who claim detached objectivity. I try to claim it sometimes too, but I have a heart that likes to trot out on my sleeve on a regular basis (I am aware I may not be in the right profession). So, I cried a little bit when I saw parents reaching for tissues and looking at me with red-rimmed eyes.

I know it’s not the end. All my co-workers and any veterans of the public welfare system will tell you: it’s not over. And I get that. I know the road is long and the battle is intense, but today I got to say the word reunification and the six syllables will be on my tongue until 8:30 pm tonight when I finally drag myself home.

Now, to pray this reunified family into reconciled reunification with a forever family. That happy day would stretch for eternity!

Today, I know that every good gift comes down from the Father of Lights and this good gift called reunification was authored by His sovereign hand. These tearful moments were in the mind of God before the world began. He is in this, even this and always this. There is not a moment that surprises Him, not one good or evil thing that prompts a plan B.

This good thing today is one of many millions of merciful good gifts that God will pour out. 

Oh, this day can’t even contain them! We might feel ten raindrops in a downpour, but imagine the amount raindrops! Imagine that each raindrop is planned and counted, just like the hairs on our heads. Our Father knows all and showers down every good gift!

You are good. You are good, O Lord. You are good and Your love endures forever.
Posted on by Caroline 2

the whole thunderstorm

I have been a smidgeon more bold about looking for places to guest post and exploring writing opportunities. I penned this email in response to an editor who invited me to write for their online publication antler.

Things are pretty dicey around here as I apply for jobs in NYC and still juggle the day-to-days, you know how that goes. My apologies for not writing sooner. It was like a little bit of lightning to have someone ask, “What do you think you’d like to write about?” It was honestly part of the paralysis in getting back to you.

What would I like to write about? So many splendid things.

The biggest wrestling match I’ve been tangled up in recently has to do with work and passion and calling and vocation. I’m in the process of applying for jobs, so I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what it is I am supposed to pursue. You know – the questions you are supposed to ask/answer at 18 or at least by 24. These questions and answers are in an unfortunate cyclical pattern in my life and I’m still twirling.

Linguistics? Social Work? Community Advocacy? Public Policy? Writer? Dancer?

I just threw that “dancer” idea in for fun. If I’m honest, I would also say freestyle rapper because I really do love leaving rap messages on my friend’s voicemails. My point is that I hold some pretty strong beliefs about calling and vocation and I can’t seem to get them all to line up in the way I answer the question, “What do you most like to do?

Isn’t it from a privileged position that I can ask that question in the first place? What makes me think I need to LIKE what I do from 9-5… so many people don’t and they are still created in the image of God and have the ability to give Him glory with their days. On the other hand, God has created us with hands and minds and thoughts and abilities that will specifically give Him glory and reveal His creativity as we reach for and beyond the limits we’ve been given.

So, is it wasteful to have a mind that chooses to read textbooks at the beach but then not engage that mind in a classroom? Is it wasteful to choose to have a job at the bottom of the todem pole based on the belief that all levels of the todem pole are important? Is it irresponsible to work in a field that does not utilize what feels like one’s greatest passion?

It is with these things I wrestle and I suppose right now my body is nearly worn out with the fight. I know the best writing comes at these kinds of moments, so I wonder if I shouldn’t pursue this idea for a post.

I’m free for skype or phone, but now that you’ve read a few of the raindrops I’m not sure if you’ll want the whole thunderstorm.

Just let me know.

–

I’ll let you know how it goes.
Posted on by Caroline 0

God is glorified in our love for one another

She wandered in to the kitchen, shrugged her shoulders and said, “What can I do?”

Twenty years of provision fell heavy on my heart and I brimmed with thanksgiving. My grandma, who had hosted countless Easter gatherings at her home and provided the homemade bread and deviled eggs for too many Easter gatherings at my parents’ to count. Her knobby fingers have kneaded more dough and cleared more dining room tables than mine can dream about.

And she wandered into my little kitchen after our ragamuffin Easter dinner to offer her help. But, not just to wash the dishes and de-bone the chicken… because as we scrubbed the carmelized onions out of the bottom of the stew pot, she asked how she could pray for me. We chatted about how to make the best beef stew from roast leftovers and about how to make creative meals out of de-boned lemon sage chicken. And she said she was praying about my job constantly. She put her hand on my arm and looked at me with a steady gaze and assured me she was praying.

This was the first Easter my sister and I hosted at our humble rental home in our little Des Moines neighborhood. We invited our neighbors, our grandparents, and a few friends. We conquered Lemon Sage Chicken and Chuck Roast Dinner with (surprisingly) very few catastrophes or disastrous substitutions. The sunshine started early and was still proclaiming resurrection joy when we arrived at our house after church.

I’ll admit, no amount of Febreze in any scent can compare to a house with a roast in the oven. The smell was coming out the windows when I invited my grandparents inside, where they spread out the deviled eggs and fresh baked french loaf. Just before our celebration began, our neighbor Louie came over to bring a jello salad and his regrets that he wouldn’t be able to make it with his wife. We made plans to have them over for dinner soon (and vice versa) and I introduced Louie to my Grandpa.

Our guests around the table ranged in age from 15 to 80, but the laughter was all the same level after my Grandpa said grace. We enjoyed elderberry jelly and lemon-buttery potatoes and conversation and laughter. We enjoyed it all and we enjoyed each other and our laughter lingered long after enjoying my Gram’s puff pastry dessert with coffee.

But, it was that moment when my Grandma wandered into the kitchen to offer her help (and more than just her help), that I breathed a sigh of gratitude for the way we are designed for relationship.

Our front doors are meant to swing open to family and friends and strangers – to break bread with one another, delight in the gathering and the eating and the laughing and the conversing. We are made to live together in relationship and our hearts are glad when we live as we were made to live.

My heart was full today as we broke bread together, as we laughed together, as we prayed together, as we washed dishes together, and as my Grandma looked me in the eyes and told me she prays for me constantly.

Because I know she does.

God has woven our hearts together intentionally to reveal His glory. He is glorified as we benefit by loving one another, sharing with one another, bearing each others’ burdens, and wandering into the kitchen to say, “How can I help?”

let LOVE fly like cRaZy
Posted on by Caroline 2

steady

Steady now, steady.

Monday came with a rush – like a wave upon a wave. And now I’m rushing off to a meeting praying my soul into steadiness.

And God is reminding me, in little and big ways, that He holds the future securely with His promises. He is guiding and directing and orchestrating and He is not worried about the outcome. 

Steady.

A ship’s captain yells out in a storm to encourage the men at their posts, “Steady. Steady, now,” even as a massive wave threatens to destroy the ship and their lives. But the men stand steady because they trust their captain.

And so, I stand steady against the waves because the One encouraging me also commands the oceans. His hand steadies my heart as easily and swiftly as it also steadies the waves rocking me.

Steady.

Steady is the face Jesus wore when he set out for Jerusalem. He was not fearful that the Father had forgotten about Him. He was not afraid. He set his face to go to Jerusalem, steady in His resolve to do the Father’s will.

When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him, who went and entered a village of the Samaritans, to make preparations for him. But the people did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. And when his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to tell fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. And they went on to another village. (Luke 9:51–56)

Steady.

And there is grace enough today to steady my heart because all the commotion is not what anchors. My hope is in future grace – that Christ anchors in this moment as firmly as He does the next. And I am steadied.

I’m a fool with nothing left to lose.
I’m a fool with nothing left but you.

Posted on by Caroline 0

when little children understand that badness needs a remedy

I enjoy anything Rain for Roots or Sally Lloyd-Jones. Just quality folks with the kind of creativity that touches the spirit of little ones, you know? Well, their collaboration with the Rain for Roots CD is brilliant and so recently I made it my soundtrack while I chauffeur little ones around the city.

One little one said (after a tantrum heavy hour),

“I feel bad…
because I was bad.”

I had to stop swaying to “Jesus is Alive” in the front seat to ask,

“What’s that, sweetie?”

“I feel bad…
because I was bad.”

Oh, the beauty and tenderness of a fragile heart! I melted a little bit and pleaded silently for wisdom – not the high brow kind, but the singing and dancing and leaping kind.

Have you ever been inside a moment where you know the Gospel is begging to be shared – just right there in front of you like an open door? Have you ever started to walk through in faith and found yourself on the threshold thinking, “This sounds CRAZY! How is this ever going to make sense?”

And then the longer you talk about it, the more you are convinced that you’re not making sense. That’s the moment you start praying simultaneously for God to graciously rip out your words and replace them with His – one of those supernatural things where the person hears something you might not even be speaking.

Just me? Hm.

But this little one, she was listening.

She was listening to another child who was once lost, but a child who was found by God. She was listening as I talked about why we feel bad when we are bad… about how our badness hurts other people. I told her that her badness hurt me, because badness always hurts people.

“Are you hurt?”

I said I was, but that there is something called forgiveness.

And that led to talking about God, who taught us how to forgive – who sent His Son out of love but was hurt in the worst way. His Son was even killed because of people’s badness.

“He walked on this ground?”

Yep, He walked on this ground – like a person.

“And then they killed him?”

Yes, that’s pretty bad, huh?

“Yeah, that’s really bad.”

This God who offered forgiveness for the badness of those who hurt Him also offers forgiveness to us if we believe Jesus is God’s Son and has the power to forgive us.

We pulled into the driveway and gathered everything from the backseat. As we were walking up the sidewalk, I said, “You know what? I’m so glad I saw you today. You are very special.”

“Even though I was bad?”

“Yes, even though you were bad.”

And especially because you were bad, dear child! I wanted to say. Especially because you understand there is badness in you that makes you uncomfortable and sad and sick with guilt. 

I drove away from that house with all sorts of prayers that God would replace my words with His and melt the heart of this little one so she can know His forgiveness and love. I prayed that she would understand what it means that Jesus is alive.

ALIVE and daily offering to break the cycle of badness with the weight of His forgiveness and grace. ALIVE.

Because badness needs a remedy and His name is Jesus. And He is ALIVE!

let LOVE fly like cRaZY
Posted on by Caroline 1

what the Lord requires

Nobody told these birds to dance.
Nobody orchestrated their motions into something wonderful.

They did it all on their own.

The music they heard was not a symphony or a rousing indie anthem but the wind rushing underneath, giving power and form to their soaring.

Why?

It seems silly that these birds would make such a display just because – that they would cause such a great, choreographed spectacle in the sky caught on camera by chance.

It seems silly.

Tonight, I’m headed to the city of brotherly love to conference with a crowd of thousands to hear people like Eugene Cho and Leroy Barber and Dr. John Perkins talk about justice.

I’m not going because it’s hip to believe in something, because it is. I’m not going because I think I’m some big deal – some gift to the cause of justice, because I’m not.

I’m going because I want to learn what to do with the awe I feel when I see birds dance for an audience of One. I’m going because God created this world to reflect Him and there is a whole lot that doesn’t. I’m going because part of loving and treasuring Christ means putting one foot of faith in front of the other in my everyday. Because believing in His promises means I think sin and injustice can be overthrown.

I’m going because I know God’s heart for the lost and the suffering and the outcast, but sometimes I don’t know how to make my knowing come out my fingertips.

If God’s grace allows the birds to dance in glorious display of His creativity, then His grace allows me to treasure Him in the dance of justice seeking, with the wind of His power and pleasure beneath me.

It is not mine to win or gain or give, justice that is. God alone is sovereign in how His plan is carried out, but I can walk in obedience and in the footsteps of Jesus. I can do that. And I think what the Lord requires – doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly – might look like a dance.

Pray with me that God would work on my clumsy heart?

Posted on by Caroline 1