Things That Only I Can Do

I'll have you know that my position in this household is assured. I have job security. I am made aware of this regularly. Because there are things that only I can do in this house. I have hypothesized this formulated upon the following postulates:

1. I am the only one who does them.
2. My darling husband looks at me blankly when I mention them. 
3. He actually tells me that he's waiting on me to do them. 

Ignore bad handwriting. And water spots on my bathroom sink.
And terrible photography.

But in all fairness, there are things that only he can do, too. Not because I'm incapable of doing them, necessarily, although that is the case regarding things that my current level of education/knowledge doesn't cover.

Like automobile repairs. I could probably learn how to do that stuff, but it's not my thing, and it is his thing. Sometimes it's because I'm forbidden to do them, on pain of stink eye.

For instance:

• I am not allowed to take out the trash. I'm capable of this, and if it needs to be done, occasionally I'll do it just to get it done. But, and here's the really wonderful thing about my darling husband, I'm not allowed to. So I get the "that's my job" speech, while he gives me the stink eye, and takes the garbage can out of my hand and empties it. He actually prefers that I tell him that a trash can needs to be emptied, rather than emptying it myself. Isn't he a dream boat? 
• I'm not allowed to mow the lawn. Or run the weedeater. Not because I can't do those activities. When I was single, I did them. Because they're in his domain. Not my problem. He doesn't want me doing those tasks. He doesn't even want me thinking about them. His domain. I am allowed to help with weeding, plant watering, etc., and occasionally, we'll do outdoor, lawn, or garden projects together. But he runs the yard. 

Getting back to the origin of this post, however, my job security as a housewife is not in question. (Not that it was ever going to be, anyway.) This is why.

• Only I can purchase toilet paper. Way back in the day, when I was single, I got hooked on soft,
  three-ply toilet paper. I always preferred the extra-cushy stuff, but when I became an Amway IBO, I started using the brand they carried, and it was three-ply, pillowy softness. It came to my door on a regular basis, and I got in the habit of knowing it was there, not having to think about buying it. When we got married, I quickly got my new husband hooked on it, too. He didn't even know there was such a thing as three-ply, until I introduced him to it. Poor thing. 

  

  My new TP holder that my darling husband installed for me.
  It pivots on a hinge instead of doing the squeezy bar thing.
  I love it. 

  But then, Amway stopped carrying the paper products that I had become reliant upon. I found myself venturing into aisles of the store I hadn't traversed in years and wondering what was most similar to what we were accustomed to using. Through lots of trial and error, I finally found the toilet paper (and paper towels, napkins, etc.) that we are now using. Ordinarily, because he's still working full-time and I'm not, I do the shopping, but occasionally he will go with me. This week, that happened. He watched me, mystified, as I rooted around in the toilet paper aisle, finally coming up with a case that matched our preference of brand, type, and roll-size (mega-rolls don't fit on all our TP dispensers), and was budget-friendlier (because of the case size). I looked up and realized that if I was ever in a coma, he would be clueless about how to provide for the needs of his tushy. Clearly I need to educate this man. 

• Only I can make doctor appointments. My darling husband tells me that the moment we were wed, his brain dumped all of the information and ability it had to locate new medical service providers, therefore, if I don't find him a doctor, he won't have one. We moved to Kansas from South Carolina almost a year and a half ago. We're due for checkups, dental cleanings, glasses prescription adjustments, etc. He claims complete ignorance (while calling it "delegation") of what to do to find these professionals. So, I'm finally getting around to doing that. We're still in a standoff over who makes the appointments, which I will explain. 
• I, as you may know, occupy the far, hermit-end of the introvert spectrum. Talking on the phone is anathema, unless there is a really good reason to do so. Also, the really good reason must be on my end. Answering calls from numbers I don't recognize is the technological equivalent of picking up a hitchhiker. Now that I'm no longer required to answer by an employer, it's never gonna happen. Also, I keep my voicemail full, so that I don't have to worry about ever getting new messages and having to deal with them. I carry a smart phone. I text. I use it to google stuff so I don't have to actually converse with anyone. There are apps for all kinds of things. It is a phone call prevention device in my hand. I'm available via multiple routes on my phone that don't involve talking to anyone. YAY for technology! I need to find us doctors who allow appointment scheduling via website, app, or text. Hmmmm... Surely doctors do that now. Right?
• He, as you may not know, will go to an appointment, if I make it. But he will not go out of his way to subject his body to regular maintenance. When we got married, I made appointments for him to have a medical checkup, an optometry appointment, and all of his dental care/prevention/and repair. He hadn't gotten around to these things for some time. I found the doctor. I found the optometrist. I found the dentist. I made the appointments. He went. The thing is that he has the schedule of meetings for his work, and I don't, so I'm going to use that as a reason for him to make his own phone calls. So there. 

Of course, he takes excellent care
of the yard.

I could continue about all of the activities that I prefer to do myself, like laundry (which is my favorite chore), and all the things that I like to do but aren't strictly necessary (insert art/craft of choice here), but you get the gist. There are, of course, all the necessary evils that we toss back and forth, along with applicable guilt-monkeys, like washing dishes, and the tasks that we each accept as assigned to one or the other, without having strong feelings about either way, and the tasks that we share, in the interest of mutual benefit. But some things are mine to do. Mine, and mine alone. Because only I can do them. 

Co-dependence is really working out for me.

Much love,

LL~

P. S. Of course, my darling husband is an adult, and he is perfectly capable of all of the tasks that are necessary for his life and maintaining a household. He did them for years before I was ever around. He just chooses to allow me to add value to his life. I don't mean to give the impression that he is a bumbling fool without his obnoxious wife keeping him going. He's amazing, talented, capable, generous, and kind. But he lets me think that I'm helping, and that makes me feel good. :)

Things I Keep Learning

You know those things that you learn, and every time you learn them you think, "I already knew that"? Today, I had a reminder of a couple of those things, so I thought I'd put my thoughts down here.

My current job is doing data analysis and internal audit. My title might be Program Controls Manager, but it should just be "Resident Bad Guy." A major chunk of my job is figuring out what was done incorrectly, who did it, fixing it, and educating the culprit. I'm the one who calls or emails you to tell you what you did wrong, why it was wrong, and what you need to do to make it right. Fun, eh?

I learned some time back that the nicer you are about it, the less likely it is that they'll get it right the next time. "Oh, she fixed it for me before, so it's no big deal." Wrong. My communication has, by necessity, become very to-the-point. The more you embroider flowers on it, the less punch it packs. This brings us to lesson one:

1) No one wants to take responsibility for himself. 

You might think that perfectly capable adults would grasp simple concepts like:

• If you don't put in your time, you won't get paid. 
• If you do the exact opposite of what you're instructed to do, you're going to get in trouble.
• When someone's doing something to help you out, even though it's not their problem, don't be a jerk to them.
• If you falsify data, you will get fired. 

I'll stop there, though I could keep going. If you thought that, you'd be wrong. The average perfectly capable adult (based on my control group of just under 500 of them) does not have any desire to take responsibility for things they know that they must do.

2) No one wants to get caught, when they do something wrong. 

It's uncomfortable, to do something wrong and have someone call you on it. It's unpleasant to be told for the 4th time in a row that you don't have the authority to do what you've just done, and this is your final warning. It's unpleasant to face the consequences of that action, whether it's just a conversation, a disciplinary action, losing the job, or something more eternal. No one wants to be the one in the hot seat.

3) Because of the first two points, most people have an immediate, knee-jerk reaction of blaming the person who caught them. 

This has been the story since the Garden of Eden. When we get caught, we immediately blame someone else, and often it's the person who's calling us out for our wrongdoing. It's so much easier to throw the spotlight at on someone else than it is to admit we've done wrong, seek to make it right, and not do it again. It's kind of a built-in default to make it personal-- "well you're just a jerk"-- because then maybe the thing we've gotten caught doing (again!) doesn't look quite so bad. If the other person is somehow to blame, then maybe I can get away without paying the price.

Friends, this reaction may be the most "natural" thing in the world, but that does not make it right. You see, there's no amount of blame-shifting or name-calling that can right a wrong. All that does is breed ill-will, and it puts you (or should I say, me) even more in the wrong.

This is one of the ways that my job reminds me of Calvary. I don't like being disliked, but to be honest, it's kind of my job. I don't want people to think badly of me, but it's not possible to hold the standard if people feel they have the freedom to do whatever they please, without repercussion or consequence. I don't want people to think of me as the bad guy, not want to take my calls, groan when they get my emails, etc., but it happens, and to be honest, I don't really mind. It's all part of the job.

Earlier today, when calling someone (for the 4th time in as many months) on a situation they knew better than to replicate, the person turned on me and started calling me names, shouting about how abrasive and what a jerk I am, until I finally hung up (because taking abuse is not part of my job description). It's times like that when my sin is fully before me. I remember how many times I've turned defensive and spat nasty things at the person who called me out. It's times like that when I remember that it took me murdering God to make my sin right. It's times like that when I'm so thankful that He loved me enough to not only take my venom, but also to take it away.

I don't always get it right. I know that. My current work schedule is averaging 60+ hours each week (my current record is 85 hrs/wk), and we're doing some other things, in our personal sphere that result in perpetual exhaustion. It's easy to react badly, especially when you're tired, overworked, and under- appreciated. I'm sure there are times I am abrasive. I'm sure there are times that people think I am a jerk, even when I'm just being straightforward. I haven't had a lot of spare time to sugar-coat stuff in the last few months. It's not an excuse. I should do better. I know that. I do my best to apologize when I realize I've been harsh.

I'm not Jesus, and as much as I yearn to be like Him, I don't generally stick the landing. Some days, He makes it clear that I don't have a right to get indignant with others who abuse me for doing my job. His voice speaks into my heart, "Remember the abuse I took? Remember the cross?" It may be my job to find the problems and deal with the trouble-makers, and they may react badly. But, it's no surprise to Jesus. Our Holy God decided that it wasn't enough for there to be punishment for sin, but that there must be a cure for it. So He came and stepped into the mess, waded through our filth, took it all on Him, and carried it instead.

I'm so glad that He reminds me of His grace, His mercy, His redemption. It makes it easier, sometimes, to be the Resident Bad Guy.

Blessings,
LL~

My Best Friend(s): Daddy

Daddy officiating my wedding.

This was the moment when my husband placed my wedding ring on my hand. This was the moment when my daddy willingly surrendered my care and keeping to someone else. This was a moment for which I'd been waiting a long time. It was the culmination of a lot of things in my life, and the first stone laid on a foundation that my parents started more than 31 years before.

(Random side note: I just realized how the not-quite-profile in this picture makes my nose look HUGE. Weird. Anyhoo...)

Dad on DJ

My parents raised us in a Christian home. Mom and Dad each came from a different brand of dysfunction in their homes of origin. Mom grew up in a Southern Baptist home. Dad had been given a Bible at the age of 6, and had learned a lot about who he wanted to be from it, but as I understand the history, it wasn't until they were married that they truly began their relationships with the Lord. When they married at the tender ages of 17 & 18, they moved across the country, then across an ocean from those homes, and they started a new life together. In many ways, they grew up together, and learned as they went. In the course of some desperate days, they turned to the Lord for help, and God brought an Army Chaplain into their lives, who pastored them and helped them to grow in understanding and pursuit of the Lord.

By the time my older brother was born, they had matured quite a lot in their faith. We were in church every time the doors were opened, and attended Christian schools from Kindergarten all the way through college. Dad was the provider for the family, sometimes working exceedingly long hours and traveling extensively during some seasons of our family life. He has always been a firm believer in working hard, with excellence, and playing just as hard, with excellence, when there was time to do so.

Daddy/Daughter ski trip to El Dora, CO

The greatest thing I ever learned from my dad was how to learn. He's a learner, a study-er. (OK, yes I know it should be "student," grammatically, but I'm trying to say something different, here.)

One of my favorite mental images of my daddy is this. In our home in St. Charles, MO, the living room and dining room flanked either side of the front door entry. Just inside the living room was a window, and just past that was the fireplace. Under that window lived my dad's recliner, with a reading lamp and small end table next to it. In my mind's eye, I can see my dad, sitting in that chair, Bible open in his lap, Matthew Henry commentary open on the arm of the chair, and a lined, yellow legal pad under the pen poised in his hand. I can clearly see this picture in my mind, because it was something he did often.

Daddy with my sister Maria

My dad taught Adult Sunday School for most of my growing up years. At that time of our lives, he was the Sunday School Superintendent at the church we attended, as well as being on the church board.

(Mom was the World Missions committee chair, so when I say we were at church every time the doors opened, I really mean it. I can't even begin to tell you the number of times my brother and I would be finding ways to keep occupied in that building late into the night during board meetings. That's how I learned how to slide down banisters.)

Dad was always studying. He was always preparing, weeks in advance, for the lessons that he would teach. He never went into a Sunday School class not knowing what the lessons were about or unprepared. He could never learn enough. He may have stuck with the denominational quarterly Sunday School curriculum, but he always learned all he could about the Scripture passage, and took it as deep as God would lead him. As a result, his classes were always PACKED. People flocked to his class, not just because he truly taught, but because he taught with energy, with excitement! For my dad, the Scriptures live and breathe, and he lives IN them and shares them every chance he gets.

Daddy with his first grandchild, Anna.

Now, before you start thinking that Daddy is some kind of spiritual oddity who knows everything and has it all figured out, here's the truth. He has had struggles. He has had things that God has had to teach him, and some of those lessons, he's had to learn many times in many ways over the years. In those days, he was learning and growing at a crazy fast rate, and still had areas where he didn't always succeed. I can tell you that we saw flaws in him, as kids growing up, but we also saw how hard he worked on those flaws. We saw the softness of his heart to the will of God. We saw him apologize and seek forgiveness when he messed up. We saw him learning and growing, studying and trying. We saw him counseling with others, either in person or through the written word. We saw him pursuing the heart of God.

If there was a time when he was frustrated or stressed out, there were a thousand times when he was on his knees, praying for guidance and wisdom. If there was a time when his temper was short with mom, there were a thousand times that he did something amazing for her. If there was a time when he was working 80 hour weeks to provide for our family, then there were hundreds of times that he would play 80 hour weeks on vacation with us, take time off to attend EVERY game, recital, play, or important event in our lives.

Daddy with the bulldog.

I can't remember a single piano recital that Daddy didn't attend. I can't remember anything that was important to me that he wasn't a part of. I can remember his presence in my life. I can remember daddy/daughter date nights, trips, and dance lessons. But most of all, I remember Daddy reading the Bible in our daily family devotions. I remember him praying over us, with us, and for us. I remember him leading us, providing for us, protecting us, and teaching us.

For these reasons, when I had pitifully navigated the time of my life that I was in total rebellion against God and His appointed authorities in my life, there was a time that came that the Wild Goose chased me in relentless pursuit of my heart. My parents were, to some degree, responsible for that via their intercessory prayers. When the time came that God was teaching me about submission to authority, He directed me back to my earthly daddy, who was His appointed authority in my life*, until my husband came along. Though I lived across the country from my parents, I began to seek the counsel of my dad, to be not quite so independent in my thinking, and to submit my will.

Daddy escorting me at my
sister's wedding.

When my parents came to visit me over Mother's Day 2010, they brought with them a blessing. My daddy gave me his blessing, as only a father can give, and prayed that God would bring my husband to me. Daddy said that I was ready, that my heart was sure, and that I'd learned how to place myself under the protection of his authority. That was the time when he felt I could be a blessing to my husband, and God moved swiftly in answer to this prayer.

You see, God puts authorities in our lives so that we learn, in a very practical, earthly sense, how to submit to God. He gives us daddies to teach us about His Fatherhood of us. Just because some of those dads don't always show us God doesn't mean that the lessons God intends us to learn are irrelevant. He gives us authorities over us in churches, who are responsible for our spiritual well-being. He ordains positions of authority over us in government, via police or public officials, authority over us in schools, via teachers and administrators, and authorities in pretty much every area of life. Even those in authority over others are given authorities to whom they must answer. We have to learn that those authorities protect us, and they have a responsibility for us. They are the ones who have to answer for how they lead us and what they do with that authority, and we have to answer for how we submit to them, and ultimately to God. Not every individual in authority may have the quality character and spiritual development to fulfill those positions properly, but the lesson must be learned by us, nonetheless. We are God's creations, and He is ultimately the one who is responsible for our well-being. Aren't we glad that He is so good at taking care of us??

Dapper Dad, in front of our fireplace
in Raymore, MO.

So, I've watched my daddy learn and grow and be a man after God's own heart. When I married, I married a man who was learning and growing and becoming a man after God's own heart. Daddy felt comfortable handing over his authority and responsibility, because my darling husband was the man that God had appointed, ordained for the position of husband in my life.

Daddy and I have become friends. That friendship looks different than any other relationship that I have. I see him, even now, seeking God, wanting to learn more, to understand better. I see him dedicating my parents new home to God, posting the 10 commandments on the wall of their home, raising the Christian flag on the flagpole out front, staking a claim for the God who owns him. It inspires me to follow in his footsteps, to understand better what God requires of us. If he's still growing, then I must, too.

When we talk, we talk of what we're studying, what God is teaching us, where He's working in our lives. We talk as friends, as siblings in the Lord, as joint-heirs. While he'll always be my Daddy, in recent years he has become something more, and different, too. We're alike somewhere on the soul level, and the depth of understanding we have of each other is something I don't know how to explain. I'm so thankful for this man that God has put in my life as my dad, my first authority. I'm thankful for his heart, his friendship, and his example. I'm thankful that he used his influence to draw me closer to the heart of God, and I'm thankful that we'll have all of eternity to marvel over what God teaches us next.

Dad & I fishing off the dock of a lake in Canada.

Much love,
LL~



*I am very aware that not everyone has been blessed in their families of origin in the same way I have. I know there are dads out there that aren't safe to trust. I know that there are circumstances that don't allow for little girls to turn into women under the protection of a man of God, and I'm sorry for that. That we live in a broken world is readily obvious. But, God's ways are higher than man's ways, and His intent is clear in Scripture, that men will protect and provide for their wives and children. 

Modesty Begins in the Heart: Part 2

Source

See Part 1 here.

I have been brought to, God only knows how, blogs written by a couple of lovely ladies who have, in gentle loving-kindness given me much to consider. I say "God only knows" because I wasn't searching for these blogs, but just came across them while web-surfing. I couldn't tell you how I found them, only that God brought me to them because He wanted me to hear His heart in a way that each of them are excellent at communicating.

The two blogs in particular are The Modest Mom (Caroline) and Large Families on Purpose (Erika), though there are also others that have helped me think through these things. Both Caroline and Erika are homeschooling moms with multiple children. I can tell you from reading their blogs that they each love the Lord, and their hearts are all about their families, and the women that they can love and serve through their writing.

The thing that struck me about these two beautiful women was that, while they have strong, unwavering, unshakable beliefs, they are so loving and kind that they present their beliefs in ways that make you want to hug them and know them better, not in such a way that you want to punch them in their respective noses. That is, in my experience with "church people" over the years, a unique grace, and one that I hope someday will be true of me. These women are living examples of that old saying about tact. You know the one. Tact is getting your point across without stabbing someone with it.

I know, as I read their blogs, that no one will ever convince Erika or Caroline to change their minds on something that God has taught them. I also know that, when either of them is confronted by people who have convictions opinions that are contradictory to what God teaches in His word and through His spirit, that she will love that person well, and instruct her in righteousness with grace. I know this, because I've read it. You can hear their hearts in their words. Modesty's not just a rule they live by, it's an outpouring of their love for God and their desire to live as God's woman, regardless of what others may or may not think.

The reason I'm talking about that here is that it is foundational to what modesty is all about. As C.J. Mahaney discusses it, modesty is about three things: the attitude, the appearance, and the allegiance of the modest woman. A woman who is truly modest, is modest in her heart first, due to the transforming effect of the gospel. This affects her appearance, and it conveys her allegiance. What Caroline and Erika write on their blogs is evidence of this transforming effect. Their hearts, their attitudes, and their allegiance are all evident, and the love they share is poured out visibly in their modesty of dress and appearance.

Caroline from The Modest Mom and Amy from Raising Arrows did a series called She Wears Skirts that bounced back and forth between their blogs. The series talks about why they wear skirts, and not pants. It talks about the convictions that God had given them regarding the modesty of their appearance, and it goes into much more detail than I will here, about why they believe it's more modest and less distracting, more feminine and less lust-provoking to wear skirts.

The bottom line of these ladies' personal dress codes? They are motivated by love. They want to love their Christian brothers well, by not distracting them from what God has for them to do, and by not inspiring in them anything that would cause them to fight a battle with sin and lust.

As I began to say in the first part of this series, I have been realizing that my personal clothing choices are evidence of the state of my heart, and that has become a matter of great concern to me. I'll tell you this, it's hard to look attractive, and be modestly dressed, when you're busty. Even if the rest of me is appropriately attired, sheer volume in the chest area can be an issue. It's difficult to find shirts or dresses that fit properly in the chest and don't look like a sack of potatoes on the rest of me. I'm growing resigned to the fact that I fare better wearing skirts and blouses/shirts than dresses, in most cases, and many times more than one layer on top.

It's tough, for someone who is as warm-natured as I am, to wear multiple layers in the summer without overheating. I've learned that certain fabrics are more comfortable than others, and that tighter layers are often less breathable. Nobody wants to sweat all the time. Want to know something funny? I've found that wearing sleeveless or strappy shirts doesn't create as much of a wicking effect as wearing a couple of layers. I actually sweat less, and look (and feel) fresher if I'm wearing a shirt with sleeves, and more so with a cami or tank under it. All that moisture gets absorbed and dissipates faster. I don't know how it works, but it does.

My personal opinion on this is that when I make modesty a deciding factor in what I choose to wear, God honors that, and He takes care of my comfort, too. He knows when I'm doing right, when my heart is right, and He honors it. If it wasn't important, it wouldn't be addressed in the Bible. If it's important to God, then it should be important to me. If I seek always to please my heavenly Father, then why not do something He's already said is pleasing to Him?

Let's look at a little bit of Mahaney's sermon, taken from 1Timothy, chapter 2:

The 'women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel.' That would be her appearance. And her attitude is emphasized... 'with modesty and self-control.' All respectable apparel is the fruit of a godly heart. Ladies, your wardrobe is a public statement of your personal and private motivation. And if you profess godliness, your motivation is to be distinct from our culture... It is to be motivated by modesty and self-control... 

A modest heart always precedes modest dress. Modesty is humility expressed in dress, a desire to serve others, particularly men, and not promote or provoke sensuality or lust. Modesty, self-control... Moderation for the purpose of purity...

John MacArthur has written, 'How does a woman discern the sometimes fine line between proper dress and dressing to be the center of attention? The answer starts in the intent of the heart. A woman should examine her motives and goals for the way she dresses. Is her intent to show the grace and beauty of womanhood? Is it to reveal a humble heart devoted to worshiping God? Or is it to call attention to herself and flaunt her beauty, or worse, to attempt to allure men sexually? A woman who focuses on worshiping God will consider carefully how she is dressed, because her heart will dictate her wardrobe and appearance.'

Whose attention do you desire, and whose approval do you crave?...

Is your wardrobe modest, evidencing self-control and respectable apparel? Every outfit, no exceptions?

...what is to be noticeable about a woman professing godliness is not her wardrobe, but her good works. There is to be this observable lifestyle of serving others. That is the appropriate... godly adornment for women who profess to be Christians. That is, in effect, the transforming effect of the gospel...

What is most eye catching about you-- your clothing, or your character?

See, Paul isn't simply advocating modesty in dress. He is insisting that more time be devoted, more energy be devoted to spiritual adornment in the form of good works. And he is warning about excessive attention devoted to appearance to the neglect of good works. 

Please, please do not misinterpret. Do not misunderstand. Do not misapply this message. Paul is not a conservative... This isn't some general appeal for morality. This, modesty, it is about the gospel... That is the transforming effect of the gospel. Modest hearts, respectable apparel, good works. The woman who loves the Savior avoids immodesty because she doesn't want at any time to distract from or reflect poorly upon the gospel.

That is the godly woman's concern-- that her attitude and her appearance reveal her allegiance to this Savior who was her substitute and provided her the ransom from her sin. And so, there is to be no contradiction between her profession of godliness and her practice of godliness. 

~Excerpted from "The Soul of Modesty"

C.J. Mahaney

29 January 2008 

Moderation for the purpose of purity. The fruit of a godly heart. A public statement of my personal and private motivation. Humility expressed in dress. There is to be no contradiction between my profession of godliness and my practice of godliness.

I can tell you, when I've ever thought about modesty, before now-- in all those high school conversations, in all the teaching I've heard-- it's always been about rules. It's always been about meeting some standard, measured in inches. Inches of length on skirts or shorts. Inches from the collarbone on the necklines of blouses, and heaven forfend you should even consider a halter top. Those are OUT. (Funny how some halter tops are more modest than some blouses with sleeves or tank-tops with the required one-inch width straps.)

1 Timothy 1:9 says that "the law is not made for a righteous person, but for the lawless and insubordinate." In all those debates about the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law, we somehow missed this point. Modesty of dress is outward evidence of the state of our hearts. Immodesty is an expression of arrogance. Modesty is an expression of humility and love. It's not about the rules defining modesty as certain length or width. It's about being humble and loving, as Jesus is.

As I continue to pursue holiness, as the Holy Spirit brings to mind things that He wants me to address, I pray for humility. Pride has always been an issue for me. I believe it's the most ubiquitous and insidious of sins for all of us. It's what Lucifer embraced and got him kicked out of God's presence, and it was there in the garden of Eden. It's the seed of nearly every kind of sin I can imagine. As God continues to work in me to purge me of this, I have to keep addressing different areas. Now, modesty is the main one that God's working on in me.

I put a yellow sticky note in my closet where I can see it each time I dress. It says, "Immodesty is an expression of arrogance." I pray, when I see it, or when I think of it, that God would kill the root of pride in my heart. That He would overcome my arrogance and give me humility. I try to dress in ways that reflect the character that God is developing in me. I don't always succeed completely, but I'm learning as I go. God is faithful to teach me, each day. He is producing holiness, His holiness, in me. I pray that He would make me pure so that I can bring glory to His name.

Much love,
LL~

"This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our savior who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth... that the women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with propriety and moderation, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or costly clothing, but which is proper for women professing godliness, with good works."  ~1Timothy 2:3-4, 9-10 (NKJV)~

Modesty Begins in the Heart: Part 1

(Created here)

I just finished taking 5 pages of notes on the sermon "The Soul of Modesty" by Pastor C.J. Mahaney (sermon audio and transcript available at the link), which is excerpted in the video I embedded in this post. (Video found, courtesy of The Modest Mom.) I hadn't realized that the link to the entire sermon was in the description on the video's youtube page. I'm SO glad I found it and was able to hear the entire sermon.

I grew up in a Christian home. My parents sent my brother and I to Christian schools. We were at church every time the door opened. We learned to volunteer, to serve, to have manners, and to live differently than those around us. 

I developed early, probably linked to my Polycystic Ovarian Disease. I was wearing a bra (not a training bra, mind you, the real thing) by third grade. I remember wearing a sun dress to my brother's baseball game one evening, right after getting bras. My mom looked at me, at the field, and said, "How come you're not wearing your new bra?" My response was, "I could see it through my dress." The dress was pretty, and girly, soft sunshine yellow and the front of it had white eyelet lace on it. She replied that if I could see my bra through the dress, then it was also possible to see my body through my dress. I think that was the first time that modesty, in an adult body sense ever dawned on my brain. 

Source

At some point around the time of junior high, I suppose, I became aware more fully of the issue. My parents were always careful with my appearance. They made sure what I wore was modest, and I vaguely recall that being something discussed with clothing choices. 

In High School, I remember conversations about legalism in relation to modesty. Whole class periods were sometimes devoted to "discussions"  about the spirit of the law versus the letter of the law, legalism, what an appropriate standard should take into consideration, exceptions to the rules, etc. Sometimes I wonder what the teachers were thinking, letting this stuff rage on and never addressing the heart of the issue.

Our school had a policy that skirts (which were worn every day) must touch the floor when you kneel. Another school had a policy of 3" longer than fingertip length (which I thought was really odd, because especially during puberty when bodies are changing, arm-length doesn't always change at the same speed as height & leg-length...). Kneeling-length made sense to me. The rule even applied to our cheerleading skirts (which were actually skorts), and some people tried to play the "That's dangerous! They'll get tangled up when they do stunts!" card. (Which is ludicrous, I might add. We were never endangered by the length of our uniforms. Besides, if a stunt couldn't be done safely, we wouldn't have been permitted to do it.)

Having slogged our way through these murky waters, and having conformed to the touches-the-floor-while-kneeling standard, I (and probably most of the girls from my school) thought I had a pretty basic understanding of modesty. Got it. I'm good. I know it when I see it. No, really. That is, until God started bringing it to my attention, just this year.

I'm thirty-two years old. I'm a very visually-stimulated person. I have to be very cautious with shows that I watch, pictures I see, books I read, because I get mental images in my mind that I can't get rid of. 

Source

That creepy scene from that movie? Yeah, it may not give me a nightmare tonight, but 6 years from now, I might have one. It stays in there. I've learned that if the preview is creepy or seems dark or twisted, it's better that I don't see it at all. I've learned that it's safer for me to avert my eyes when I see a guy jogging down the street shirtless, because I don't ever want to compare my husband to him, or have that image of him pop up at a time when my focus should be on something else. I've learned that my mind will construct images to go with things I read, so I need to restrict my reading habits to things that are going to give me good mental images, not sinful ones.

In this way, my brain is wired much more like a man's than like most women's. Part of that is probably due to the over-production of testosterone and androgen in a woman with polycystic ovaries, but whatever the cause, the end result is the same. It makes me more aware of what men deal with on a daily basis. So I've become very protective of my mind and my imagination over the last few years. 

Yet, I still thought I didn't have any misunderstandings about modesty, even while wearing clothing that showcased my cleavage, my hourglass shape, or was simply too tight. God has been systematically revealing to me, over recent months, that the things I know I have to guard my mind from and avoid are the same things that I have exposed my brothers in Christ to, and that they must guard their minds, eyes, and hearts from me. Whoa. 

Stay tuned for Part 2.

Much love,

LL~

My Best Friend(s): Mumsy

Mumsy by our pool in Raymore

Yes, I really do call her Mumsy. Or, occasionally, Momma. Mumsy can be abbreviated Mmz, but if your phone (or other tech gadget) has the feature where it announces who is calling, or a voice recognition feature, it will NOT, I repeat NOT recognize MMZ as "Mumsy," just in case you were wondering. A few phones back, I had the caller announcement feature turned on, and it always said, "Incoming call from M. M. Z." She calls me "Tootsie" which gets abbreviated as 2tz. Aren't we cute?

{Random sidenote: a few weeks ago, I had my phone on the car dock while driving and somehow it decided it was going to read incoming text messages to me. My husband responded to my most recent message (sent before driving, by the way) with "Kk" and it sounded like it was clearing its throat. It was hilarious! "Message from Husband: (gagging sound). Say 'repeat' to repeat." Of COURSE I repeated it. Half a dozen times. "(gagging sound)" "Repeat!" "(gagging sound)" "Repeat!"...}

I just got off the phone with her and was thinking about how I needed to write this post. Part of the trouble I've had is deciding where to begin on the posts about each of my parents. There's just so much to say, and it's so personal, and important, and heart-felt. How do you begin to say all that a parent really means? Where do I start? Childhood? Now? Parenting? Friendship? What aspect do I feature first, and how do I begin to cover all that I mean to say?

All that, and a snappy dress-er, too!

Last night I finished a book (shocker) called "Managers of Their Homes" by Steven and Teri Maxwell. I was telling my Mumsy about it, and after we hung up, I started getting a little teary-eyed. You see, she has always been the very best example of what godly womanhood looks like. I don't think I've ever heard anyone speak badly of her, or even neutrally of her, for that matter. She is a woman of honor and grace, kindness and gentility, an embodiment of the fruits of the Spirit, if ever I've met one. I've never known a person, male or female, who was as caring and considerate as my mother. If I've ever needed an example, a word of encouragement, good advice, or listening ear, she's the one who could provide each of those things best.

I may have mentioned previously that when I got married last year, I had high expectations of myself. Part of the reason for that is due to the fact that this beautiful lady has shown me all my life that it's possible to have an organized, clean home, deliberate relationships, be calm, cool, and collected, yet warm, open, and inviting, and look good doing it. Let's just say that I found out that takes practice. Lots, and lots, and lots, and LOTS of practice. I'm getting there, little by little, and she's my own personal cheerleading squad, encouraging from the sidelines, handing out compliments, encouragement, and even the occasional (much-needed, usually) kick in the pants. *Smile*

Momma visiting me for my birthday,
my semester in Europe.
Zurich, CH airport.

My mom was amazing when I was a kid. She managed our home with aplomb, baking homemade bread on a weekly basis, keeping up with countless correspondents, volunteering in the church, and creating such a welcoming environment that we seldom went to friends' houses. They all wanted to come to ours! She taught me songs like "Ferdinand the Bull" and "Summertime" (from Porgy & Bess), Bible verses and lessons, and poems that taught me more about who she was and how I want to be than she might ever know.

"I have wept through the night

For the shortness of  sight

That to somebody's need made me blind,

But I never have yet

Felt a twinge of regret

For being a little too kind."

No wonder no one has anything bad to say about her! What mean thing can you say about someone whose whole mission in life is always to be a little kinder to everyone around them?

And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you. ~Ephesians 4:32, NKJV~

There was this one time that she was trying to get us to read this book ("Enthusiasm Makes the Difference," by Norman Vincent Peale) together as a family. I don't remember where she got it, or why she wanted to read it to us, but it, for whatever reason, wasn't something we wanted to read. I still remember the little cheerleading cheer she used to do around the house, trying to get us excited to read this book. I also still remember some of the places we used to hide that book from her. :) When I called her to ask if that was the right book, she said, "Yes, why? Would you like me to send it to you?"

Mumsy, my sister, and I were
bridesmaids in my sister's wedding.
August 2005

Back to the Managers of Their Homes book... This book was written for homeschooling families, to help them develop a livable, functional schedule when there are many people doing many things in what is sometimes a very small space. It is an EXCELLENT book. I actually bought two, one for me, and one for a gift for someone else. It's going on my favorites list.

So I was telling Mumsy about this book that I had just finished, and how excellent I thought it was. I sat there and read her a few of the parts I had underlined, over the phone, and then told her how well I felt it fit in with how she had taught me to order my homemaking to-do items.

I'll probably write a whole post on this later, but when I was in elementary school, Mumsy taught me to keep track of the things I need to get done, using an index card file. I'm naturally a "creative" type individual. (Yes, in quotation marks.) In other words, I don't naturally fall on the organized-and-squared-away side of things. That doesn't mean that I don't have order around me, just that my version of "order" may not appear orderly to any outside observer.

I, like my father, tend to live in piles. They drive me bonkers, but that's my tendency. My mother, on the other hand, lives by lists. She's a very squared away individual, but she's so warm that it's not a condescending form of order. (My mind goes to Martha Stewart, here.) When I got married, she (Mumsy, not Martha) spent a whole day with me helping me prepare and organize a new index card file, because I asked her to. I knew that if she could do it so well for so many years, that she could help me do it, too. She did.

Correspondent Extraordinaire!

This is the woman who remembers to send greeting cards for all occasions to most of the people she's met in her life. Birthdays, Anniversaries, Condolences, Easter, Thanksgiving, St. Patrick's Day, Tuesdays-- all are worthy of cards. Anytime she travels anywhere, the kids and grandkids get postcards. She travels often, though not usually very far.

I have no idea how much she spends on postage and cards each year, but I'm betting it's its own line item in my parents' budget. She taught me her secrets to that, too. Now, my husband's side of the family are surprised to have begun receiving mementos and cards as times and seasons pass. It's something he says I do well. I know better. It's something I wouldn't think to do at all, but my Mumsy taught me to make others in my life a priority.

So, the woman who has told me regularly for the last however many years that I'm her hero, is really mine. If the subject has ever come up in conversation, you've probably heard me say, "I hope that someday I can be half the woman that my mom is." And it's true. She's the truest of friends, the noblest of mothers, the most honorable of women, the most steadfast of prayer warriors, and the humblest of Christ-followers. When I look at her, I see all I want to be, the goodness, the honesty, the love, the kindness, the faithfulness, the (yes) enthusiasm, the organization, the intentionality, the awareness, the loyalty, the humor, the delight, the dignity, the hilarity, the joy... The list goes on and on. This is the woman I am blessed, beyond belief, to call my Mumsy. My Best Friend.

Much love,
2tz~

Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things. The things which you learned and received and heard and saw in me, these do, and the God of peace will be with you. 

~Philippians 4:8-9, NKJV, Mumsy's favorite passage~

An Unpleasant Internal Discovery

Keys, phone, purse, shoes, drink...
What am I forgetting?

I feel like I need to put this up here as a means of accountability. I have discovered that I get tense and anxious when I'm preparing to leave the house, and any interruption, no matter how innocuous can send me into irritation mode. I don't like that about me, and since it has come to my attention, I feel it's something on which I need to work. However, I don't really know how to go about working on that.

I'm not normally prone to anxiety, so this is something that seems really out of character for me, and I'm somewhat confounded by it. If you have a suggestion, please put it in the comments. I'd love some input on how to keep my attitude right under those circumstances.

I know that as we start having children and moving into other, more complex phases of life, this isn't going to get easier. Being responsible for more people will only be more difficult, unless I get this figured out and can have my preparations and the attitude that goes with them in submission to the God of love Who lives in me. Let's face it, irritation and anxiety don't make me very loving or kind.

And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.

~Ephesians 4:32 (KJV, as I memorized it when I was a little girl)~

I suppose the knowledge of this has been gradually increasing in my mind for some time. Our last weekend trip (two weekends ago), I became conscious of my souring thoughts as I was developing a tension headache while packing.

Part of this has been part of my packing process for some time. For one thing, until we got married, the vast majority of my travel was solo, and I was responsible for every portion of the trip. When you know that the degree to which you can rely on others, either in transit or while at your destination, is minimal, if you're like me, the greater degree of responsibility you take upon yourself. Responsibility = control freak. Think of everything, then check twice to make sure you've covered every potential possibility. Control = stress.

The other part of that is new. I'm not packing just for me, anymore. Now, I pack for us. Since my husband packs light, and since the luggage is going to carry more of my stuff than his, he gives me what he needs to pack, and I include it in my packing. Oh, whee.* Since I'm the nerd, I get to do all of the list-type activity. What do we need? Where will we be? Did we remember that we'll need this? Did I pack it in a way that makes sense? Can we get to things in order of how we'll need them? There's no throwing stuff in the suitcase and going. A decade-plus of single-hood has drummed any spontaneity out of me, when it comes to travel. Sigh.

Packing is only part of the issue, though, because I have become more and more aware of this building tension when I leave the house for other reasons, too. If any measure of preparation is required (i.e. putting on makeup, dressing up, fixing hair, etc.), or if an appointment is set and I have to be somewhere at a certain time, I find myself growing more and more tense, especially if both of those criteria are in effect. If I'm behind my self-imposed schedule for an on-time departure, you can just up the exponent on my internal tension by a notch or two.

The door I have to get through...

On the other hand, I've gotten much more relaxed about leaving my house for things like errand running that don't have a set time frame or level of expectation. I've gotten to the point that I don't worry about putting on makeup or even taking my purse (gasp!). I grab my wallet, phone, keys, shoes, and go! (I used to never go a day without makeup, but now I have fewer days with it than without. Odd, how that has changed with my spiritual development. I don't feel like I need my mask, anymore.)

This realization about my anxiety level hit me full in the face yesterday. I had a dentist appointment. Several things weren't going as planned in the pre-prep time of the morning. I was in a fairly neutral mood, though.

I left my desk a little later than planned, so I was rushing to put on my makeup and fix my hair to look appropriately put-together for a professional environment. In that last 10 minutes, my desk phone rang, emails came in (cue the computer ding), three text messages came in on my cell phone (cue the Star Trek Communicator bleep), and then my cell phone rang (my favorite, and my husband's exclusive ringtone -- Josh Turner's "Soulmate")-- all of which I forced myself to ignore in favor of finishing the process of getting out the door. With each noise, my level of tension, irritation, and anxiety shot up.

Is it just me, or
does my attitude stink?

As I was running out the door to get in the car, I called my husband back, in what had become an officially bad mood. My attitude stank. I had lost my grip on it, and by the time I realized it and apologized to him, I was really mystified. How did I get from neutral to bad mood in such a short time, without noticing? How did I lose my grip to the point that I was unkind to my amazingly caring husband whom I love and who deserves only my very best?

The thought sank in that I was being unreasonable, that my level of anxiety was way too high and entirely unnecessary. As I was snapping at him, I recognized it and still couldn't grab it back and shove that attitude away. Simultaneously, I realized how thankful I am for him and how much I love him. No control, though. I was past the point of being able to stop and breathe and be kind, and I still don't know how I got to that point. To make it even worse, he hadn't received my "good morning" text message, so he was just calling to check on me and make sure I was alright. I was repaying his kindness and concern with an outpouring of stinky attitude. Great.

So, how do I prevent this kind of bad attitude from sneaking up on me? I don't know how I got there to begin with, so how do I keep from getting there again?? Is there an area of your conduct that has you mystified and more than a little embarrassed? What do you intend to do about it?

Much love,
LL~

*I don't actually mind packing for both of us. In fact, it gives me an opportunity to be thankful for the husband God has given me. It just is one more thing to feel responsible for doing well, and my tension increases, along with my gratitude. I'd like to make that relationship inverse-- have the tension decrease with the increase of gratitude.

Joyous in Pain, Blood, Guts, and Gore

WARNING: This post is not for those who are squeamish about the subject matter of female bodily function. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Here's an unrelated, random cutesy picture for you to
enjoy while all of the squeamish people leave the page
or move to the next post.

Post continues after the jump. I know, I hate those. It just seems kinder to put the blood & guts on the post page and off the main page...

Modest Monday linkup with The Modest Mom

Today I'm linking up for the first time with The Modest Mom for her weekly linkup called Modest Mondays. This is what I wore to church Saturday evening. This is my most favoritest skirt, now. I've been wearing it and another one similar to it so much that my husband is surprised to see me in something else, some days. Well, ya hafta do laundry SOME time. :) I got both the skirt and the blouse at the Thrift Store down the road. As you can tell, I still have about 20 lbs left to lose, but I'm getting there.

Since my darling husband was going fishing with his buddy, John, for a Father's Day retreat, we went to the Saturday evening service. I have to admit, it was odd having the whole day yesterday to do with as I please. Our community group was off for Father's Day, and we'd already been to church. So, I spent the time sewing. I was a happy Lovey, let me tell you.

I've followed The Modest Mom Blog regularly for some months. Caroline has such a sweet spirit about her, and has brought some things to the front of my mind to reexamine to which I honestly hadn't given a second thought since high school. She has a store, as well, and I just ordered something from her last week. I can't wait to see how it fits. :)





One of the things I've thought a lot about is from this video she's used, and I've seen it on several other linked blogs as well. I can't tell you how many times I've listened to the first 8:46 minutes of this. (After that it gets a little repetitive, pieces of varying volume are spliced together, so I usually just listen to the beginning. I'd say listen to the whole thing at least once, though. It's worth it.)



One of the things that he says is that immodesty is an expression of arrogance. That makes complete sense to me, but I've never thought of it in those terms. I wrote that on a sticky note and stuck it to the shelf in my closet where I could see it every time I get dressed. It's really made me think. Who is going to see me today? If the UPS guy shows up at the door, will I be appropriately dressed to answer it? Where am I going to be, and what can I do to make myself safe for the men around me? What of my body can I share with my husband today, and only with him?

So, my thoughts have been different when I prepare for the day than they ever have in my life. I'm learning, even though this is a lesson I thought I had pretty well nailed down in my life previously.

What are you wearing today? Is it modest? Take a picture and link up with Caroline from The Modest Mom blog. :)

Much love,
LL~

My Best Friend(s): My Parents

(Beautiful picture, eh? My sister 
took it at my wedding.)

These two good-looking, blue-eyed, silver-haired people are my parents. Depending on which one of them people have met, I get told that I resemble either of them.

Because I have too much to say about both of them individually, I will dedicate a post to each of them, after this. 

My parents are great people. They really are. I'm not just saying that because they're my parents. As my parents they've taught me much about life. They taught me that true life is the one that lives into eternity, not the one that ends in death, here on earth. They brought me to knowledge of God, and taught me how to seek Him. They provided an amazing life throughout my childhood and adolescence. They prayed for me as I became an adult and moved out on my own, temporarily forsaking some of the truth they'd tried to instill in me. They loved me-- even as unlovable as I have been, sometimes-- unconditionally, and wholeheartedly. That love is humbling to me, because I know of many ways I broke their hearts over the years. Eventually, they gave me their friendships, each individually, in time. Then they blessed me.

I don't begin to know what to say to encapsulate all that my parents mean to me, all that they taught me in word and deed, and all that I know them to be. This sad attempt at a tribute is just the first, and I'll keep adding to it, augmenting with a post here and there, hoping to some day speak my heart.

I love you, Mumsy and Daddy. I thank God for you.

Much love.
LL~

My Best Friend(s): Aunt Polly

My Aunt Polly is one of my best friends. She was there for my birth, and for pretty much every major milestone of my life. She claims me as her daughter, when she gets a chance, but in recent years we're more friends than anything. I love her fiercely.

One of my guinea pigs modeling one of the crocheted pig slippers,
on the crocheted afghan, both courtesy of Aunt Polly.

She's an amazing woman. She and her beloved husband of several decades built their house, themselves, entirely, without going into debt. They live simply, but very well. They have 3 huge gardens, and live mostly off their land. They are excellent examples of stewardship, and I have learned a lot from them. I've learned that being content is very important. I have learned that quality workmanship makes things last longer, and that taking care of quality workmanship is vital for durability.

I have learned that you can choose to buy into the consumerism lies, or choose to invest your life elsewhere. I have learned that even when you have few material possessions, by choice or by circumstance, you always have enough to go around, to share with others. I've learned that when you're in need of comfort, you can always comfort others, and quite often, it comforts you, too. I have learned that even through debilitating illness, it's possible to keep your home with excellence and create a place that is peaceful and welcoming.

I have learned that home is VERY important. In the years between my parents move away from the Rockin Angel Ranch and my marriage, her home was "home" for me. Now, I'm married, and our home is "home" for me, but I still love to go to Aunt Polly's house. It's a place where I always find a haven of rest. Don't get me wrong; my parents have lived in some lovely homes, and where my momma is is always a beautiful, welcoming place. But, Aunt Polly's is an unmoving harbor. They don't move, and when I needed a place to return to, it was always available. (The running joke is that they haven't moved in thirty-some-odd years, but that they've lived at a dozen addresses. It seems the US Postal Service can't quite decide what the address ought to be, so about every 4 years or so, their address changes.)

She, like my mother, is an excellent Titus 2 woman, and has taught me, as directed in scripture to be a keeper at home and love my husband. I find myself modeling my home after the homes of these two women, more so than anything else.

Titus 2:3-5   ...³ the older women likewise, that they be reverent in behavior, not slanderers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things— ⁴ that they admonish the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, ⁵ to be discreet, chaste, homemakers, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be blasphemed. (Italics mine.)

She would dream with me of the day that God would bring my husband into my life, and she is still dreaming with me of the day when I have babies and bring them to her knee. She thinks that 5 ought to be enough for her, but if I want to have more, that'd be okay, too. Smile.

Aunt Polly is a soft, lovely woman. She's tall and stout, but her heart is so beautifully, refreshingly soft. She cries easily, and laughs just as readily. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and it's been broken many times. She taught me that vulnerability is good, and it's important, even when it opens you up to heartache. She taught me to seek healing of those hurts in the heart of God, not in worldly pursuits.

She taught me that it's okay to be soft, that I don't need to rebut with sarcasm or stinging wit, just because that's what others find easiest, or funniest. I used to be so hurt by the teasing of others, and in college made a real effort to learn how to wield sarcasm, weapon that it is, to wound back. I learned from Aunt Polly that I'm not the only one who doesn't find it fun to be teased and poked fun at, and that if others were honest about it, they don't like to be on the receiving end, either. Being harsh in return for harshness dealt you, even when it's couched in other terms, doesn't make you anything but mean. Soft sweetness and vulnerability do not make you devoid of a sense of humor, just as meanness doesn't make you funny.

Aunt Polly has a great sense of humor, and we laugh often together, sharing inside jokes the way old friends do.  When I leave her home, she cries, and as I pull away, I do, too, though never until I round the curve. I miss her terribly, when we're apart. We talk on the phone, and that bridges the gap, but from time to time, the distance gets too great, and I turn my heart toward her home, and my steps find their way there, again.

When I think of a woman of quiet strength and simple faith, I think of my Aunt Polly. She simply trusts Jesus, that it's all going to be all right in the end. I'm learning to walk in her steps, and I thank God often for the precious gift He has given me in her.

Much love,
LL~

My Best Friend(s): My Husband

(Isn't he handsome??)

This is my handsome husband. Whom I love. To pieces. I still don't quite get why I'm the one who was blessed to get him. I think both of us feel that way, and there's not really anything wrong with having a mutual admiration society in your marriage. Yes, I know, we're newlyweds. Yes, I know, it's annoying for everyone to observe us basking in our bliss. Yes, I've heard that we'll "get over that" or that the "honeymoon will end" or whatever. No, I'm not willing to cede my future to the cynics. I love him, and I'm incredibly thankful to be his wife. So there. 

I have probably learned more about what my relationship with God is all about since HE surrendered his life to God than I have in the majority of my life, put together. I'm not talking book-learning, head-knowledge. No, that's been an accumulation of years. I'm talking about the nitty-gritty, day-to-day details of walking with God. I tend to be a bit of a know-it-all (and if you agree with me, it WILL hurt my feelings-- just because I know it's true doesn't mean I'm strong enough acknowledge that others can clearly observe that chink in my armor), and the idea that this brand new baby Christian has taught me so much is quite humbling. On a nearly daily basis (or more often), my relationship with this man makes me crave to know God better, hunger to learn more, and thirst to be filled with the Spirit. That's why I picked this 18-month-old picture from our engagement photo shoot. It's the only one I have of him with his Bible, but he never goes anywhere without it. 

I long, so much I can taste it, to be the kind of wife that is an adequate ezer kenegdo* for this man. I grieve over the times when I don't do as well as I'd like, because I want to be able to minister to him in the way that God created me to. He thinks I'm too hard on myself, sometimes, but the truth is, I let myself off easy more than I'd care to admit. I'm selfish when I should be looking after his needs. I'm self-absorbed when I should be stepping up. I'm less than I'd like to be for my husband, but I'm learning. I'm growing. I'm trying. Not always successfully. It's a process. I've gotten to where I say that a lot. Most things are a process. 

Enough about me. This man is a fantastic husband. When I started the Dukan Diet (post on that before too long), he was so supportive of me that he lost 7 lbs in the first 2 weeks of MY diet. He was so careful not to eat anything I couldn't have in front of me, not to expose me to any temptation, to support my food choices. So supportive. Amazing, right? Even more amazing when you've been unsupported on a diet. It's a whole different animal, this way.

Some things he does really well:

• Remembers to take the trash out, every single week. I don't even think about it until the trash truck is going by and stops to get our trash. 
• Takes care of our home. Our yard looks like someone cares about it. He does beautiful work.
• Knows how to work. 
• More specifically, knows how to run, ground, and whatever else one does to electrical wiring. 
• We have yet to encounter a project on this formerly-fixer-upper (formerly because he's pretty much got it fixed up) that he doesn't know how to fix.
• Prays with me every night. 
• Keeps in touch with family and friends. One of the things he understands about taking care of his own, personal introvert is that she may not always keep track of the important relationships. It's just not on my radar, sometimes, and he's got it covered. 

We've been going through a sermon series on Ruth at church, lately. That's a great book, isn't it? If you haven't given it much thought, I'd be happy to recommend 2 sermon series on it that you can access online. One is the one that's being done at the church we attend now, preached by Matt Williams. The other was a six part sermon series called "Redeeming Ruth" preached by Pastor Mark Driscoll, Mars Hill Church, Seattle, WA.

If you have studied Ruth, you know all about her struggles and about Boaz, her kinsman redeemer, and how he exemplifies the work of Christ. It really is an amazing story. Well, the truth is, this man is my Boaz. He willingly pours out his strength for me, often without reward, and for others. He redeems. He restores whatever can be restored. He gives out of the grace that he's received. It's my honor and privilege to be his wife. I hope someday to be a good one.

Much love.
LL~

*Ezer Kenegdo is the term used in Genesis when God created woman for man. The only other uses in scripture are in describing God Himself. Most versions translate it as helper, helpmeet, etc-- which is kind of weak. Makes me think of the kid who hands out the scissors to the class in first grade, "teacher's helper." The more accurate idea behind the term is that of an essential counterpart, a mighty savior who comes along and delivers help when it's desperately needed by someone who can't make it on his own.It's a warrior term, and the uses of this terminology referring to God tend to be in war-like settings. Gives a different meaning to what a woman is supposed to be, eh?