Dec
04
2012Dear Monica (and all of you other women out there who are my sisters in your own way),
I hate watching you grapple with beauty. I hate hearing you wish this part was smaller or less pimply or fuller or whatever you wish. I hate hearing you say these things because you are believing the first lie.
The lie that snake whispered in the very beginning: “Did God really say…”
God says you are:
“created in His own image.”
“fearfully and wonderfully made.”
And yet all you (and I) can sometimes hear are the lies in the media questioning those truths (Satan’s lies).
Beauty is smart.
Beauty is perfect.
Beauty is a perfect home.
Beauty is a full bust, a slender waist, and curvy but narrow hips.
Beauty is a soft manner.
Beauty is service.
Beauty is doing it yourself.
Beauty is a number on the scale.
Beauty is a hair color.
Can’t you hear it? The snake hissing in your ear, “Did God really say that you are beautiful and that you reflect Him? Oh, but those thighs, those hips, those ankles, those too short eyelashes! Did He really call you ‘very good’?”
God made you, Monica. Unique. With a specific purpose. A specific calling. And a beauty that no one else will have. Because you are you. The only you. (and as a mother of identical twins… yes, that beauty is even unique to each of them. What a strong case for the soul… that beauty so different even within the same DNA.)
Hold your head high. Listen for your calling. Create as your creator creates. When your appearance is criticized, hold your head high, look the offender in the eye and whisper the truth. “God created you beautiful and unique, friend. Why should my form and calling be any less unique than yours?”
I love you, sister. Love you just as you were made to be. The person then, now, and who you are becoming. Listen to the truth: you are God’s beloved.
Dec
03
2012A Journey to Bethlehem. Truly an amazing experience. I’ll write more later.
Dec
01
2012
This pirate came ashore to restock his ship one day. He met a lumberjack and coveted his shirt.
“Arg, I want that shirt.”
“No,” said the lumber jack and used the butt of his axe to take out the coveting pirate’s eye.
“Arg,” said the pirate. “I said, I want that shirt.”
“No,” said the lumber jack and cut the stealing hand off the pirate right clean off.
“Arg,” said the pirate, “I said, I want that shirt.”
“No,” said the lumber jack and cut the the stalking leg right off the pirate.
“Arg,” said the pirate. “I said, I want that shirt.”
And so he took it.
I won’t tell you what became of the lumberjack. It’s a sad story.
I had blast making this pirate doll action figure for Sedryn.
I’ve been calling him Rudy… but both Bronwyn and Derek told me that’s a terrible name for a pirate. Would you help me give him a name? Give me some suggestions in the comments please!
Dec
01
2012
The girls and baby had just finished running around the house squealing with glow sticks. Derek was working late for two days in a row and I had my hands in the sink trying to conquer at least one pile of mess. I put the baby in bed when he came up and practically asked to go to sleep. We played peek-a-boo with his discarded pants on the changing table. His laughter sweet wonder deep in my soul.
Aeralind and Bronwyn rush to the bathroom to brush their teeth and use the potty. I pull down our Advent Journey. Dig out the Jesse tree ornament. Find a wrapped animal to add to their “barn” that they are slowly unwrapping.
We read the story about the fall. How the snake convinced Eve that God was holding back on her. The lie I still hear whispered today. I wonder what their little hearts are absorbing.
There are shrieks of delight as they unwrap the camel. They kiss him and tuck him in the barn for the night. And Bronwyn she carries the Jesse tree ornament to the tree. The one with the Snake and the Apple. She smiles and Aeralind joins her. I ask them what the other ornaments are.
“The stump with the branch. The earth. The snake and the apple.” Their tiny voices tell me. I wonder at how even in their little lives God is making way for the wonder of the gospel despite my shortcomings.
