A Secret

Guess what?

I have a secret. I will tell you. Promise not to tell anyone, though.

Lean in close. I'm going to whisper.

I sin.

I know you're surprised. You never would have thought it, would you? I hide it pretty well. You never would have known.

I hope not, anyway. I wouldn't want you to see it.

Yuck. You might think I sin.

Of course, you know I'm not perfect. I wouldn't expect you to think that. But I don't actually do things that are...evil.

Yuck. That's a nasty word. I am not evil. I'm a good person. I just make mistakes, sometimes, or don't always make the best decisions. Maybe mess up a little.

I am not wrong wrong. I mean, I'm wrong sometimes, but never really bad.

And if I were, I wouldn't want you to know.

And you? You wouldn't want to know.

Because if you knew that I sin - not just that I have sinned in the past, y'know, like when I took that gum (not stole, because that's what thieves do) when I was seven, but sin now - if I, not some outsider, some down-on-his-luck freeloader, some jailed criminal, some liberal transsexual, if I sin, that means something. If I sin, then maybe you do too. And if I sin...maybe you should do something about it. Otherwise maybe you might be somehow responsible for my sin.

That might get messy.

Yeah, on second thought...you didn't hear my secret, did you?

Of course not. I didn't think so.

Re: Jeannette

Hi all.

I would like to welcome you to the first guest post of this blog. My name is Parker Cornwell, and I am the fiancé of the most illustrious author of the many posts you have read here (and who also doesn't know that this post is being made). I am the man who was lucky enough to hear a "Yes" when I asked that girl to marry me. I am the man who gets to spend the rest of his life with the woman known as Jeannette.

But enough about me. I did not come here to talk about myself. I came to do one thing. I came to tell you something which, if you know Jeannette at all, you already know. I came to tell you that my love is a pretty awesome person.

There are probably not enough words to describe how amazing she is, and you probably don't want to read some sappy, lovey-dovey blog post anyways. Just know that she is amazing, and this year, I get to marry her.

And, dear, just so you know whenever you happen to read this post, I love you.

-Parker 

The Plans of a Year

Thinking about the happenings of a year, "A man plans his ways, but the Lord directs his steps," always seems so very true. How many plans I had for this year, so many things I wanted to accomplish, and did not. Or did to some degree, but not as I wanted to.

This post is a little late this year; after writing that first paragraph, it took me a rather busy week or so before I got around to attempting to finish it. 

And it's a little easier to do now.

Because, Lord willing, I know a few things I will be doing this year.

A few things I never would have imagined doing a year ago. A few things I never wanted to do before. And a lot of things I've been waiting to do for a long time.

A year ago, I took a walk to see the first sunrise of the year with my sisters and a friend and we carved our initials-PJAM-in the lookout.

Hours before that, a group gathered at our house to ring in the new year by almost missing when the ball dropped and when it turned midnight, with singing Auld Lang Syne, and sharing our resolutions and ways that God had blessed us that year. Two of my siblings were looking forward to getting married.

In that group, close as it was, I did not voice what I really wanted to happen that year.

And when a friend near where I sat on the gray-blue couch said, with more meaning than I knew, he hoped that he would not die as he moved away, I thought little.

I did not know what his moving would mean to me, nor that a year later, we would be sitting in almost the exact same spot at the exact same time.

And that this time, we'd know that this year, we're getting married.

Our first picture after engagement

I never imagined that the boy who read every post I wrote on my blog-even The Day Outside one-would be the subject of one of them. Or that there was any meaning behind that casual Facebook message last May, "Are you still working on that blogging thing?"

And for a month or so, I still thought nothing of it. Because it was just Parker. Just Parker, our family friend, our brother. 

Parker, my friend.

My beloved.

Didn't expect to say that of him this year, or any other.

This year, as I learn every year, I learn that God's plans are so much better than ours. So different from what we wanted...and yet, somehow exactly what we wanted all along.

This year for the first time in a long time, I have made no sort of list of resolutions or goals. But I have perhaps more plans than ever I have had before. Probably none of them will look exactly as I imagine. But that's okay, because His plans for my year are "far beyond anything I could ask or imagine."

Thanksgiving Delights

Lying in my sister's bed half asleep, I listen to the irregular lullaby of the constant hum of my home. Mom giving directions, the click of my sister's fingers on the keyboard doing her NaNoWriMo story, my little siblings bantering, clacking chairs and the whining sweeper in preparation for the invasion of more people later, my dad clearing his throat, 101.3 The River providing the background Christmas music.

The past two days I was at home in the evening for the first time in weeks. Between school and work, only weekends have found me home in the evening. Every time I find myself home all day, I realize I forgot how much I love being home, with nothing else to do.

I delight in things that just happen as a course of life at my house. My other sister coming in, counting, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, trying to figure out if we have enough chairs. As usual, we don't. Isn't that a happy thought?

From downstairs, I hear snatches of conversation like my little brother saying he wasn't something, and Dad replying, "My engineering son." My little brother whose feet have officially well surpassed everyone else's like his big brother before him (except for his, of course), who will too soon surpass me in height.

My littlest brother comes in to ask Amy if she wants to hear the parody of a Christmas song he and Melody made up: "Snippy, snippy, snippy, let me cut off all your hair; snippy, snippy, snippy, until none of it is there!"

These are the sorts of things I am thinking about this year as I write my traditional yearly Thanksgiving Day post.

We sang seven songs at church on Sunday, several more than usual. My awesome brother-in-law pointed this out to me, and as we sang some delightful songs, such as Awake, Awake, I looked around at my family.

Family was the word that came to mind as I drank in the moment of us all singing together, the song leaders playing, the children filling up the aisle for the special Thanksgiving offering. I noticed one of the little Speweik children crawling the wrong direction down the aisle as his brother tries to get him to get up, the seven little dark-haired brothers in a close line, each clutching his little Ziploc bag of coins, an energetic friend of mine raising his hands, bouncing, and closing his eyes as he belts out the song. I looked down the aisle Stephen and I chose to sit in at my literal family, everyone there, with Eric and Ruthie an aisle or two ahead, and impressed the scene in my mind.

I am thankful for my family. I am thankful for my new subset of family, my in-laws which are the best siblings-in-law I could possibly imagine. I am thankful that for all 22 years of my life I have never been without my family.

Changes make you think about things that have been which you may never have appreciated before. I realized that I have taken having my family for granted. That not everyone and not forever does one have all their family with them. My younger siblings will not.

And I am thankful for how God has blessed me.

This year what I have been in awe about is how God delights in us. He does not need us or our works. Our constant failing does not make Him love us less. He never loved us for what we could do for Him. When I sin over and over again in the same way, when I forget Him, when I am half-hearted about the One who loves me with an unfailing love, who bought me and keeps me, He does not let me go. He does not give up--even when I do, though He has never given me any reason to.

With that as your background, your foundation, your peace, how can one not be filled with joy? And joy and thankfulness are inextricably entangled.

So because I love doing it, a random list of things I am thankful for.

Christmas is less than a month away!
My siblings are coming over today.
I am much better at my job than I used to be.
My manager and coworkers
Music (although there is precious little Thanksgiving music...)
My friends from Cru
Snow!
Christmas gives an excuse for getting people presents.
My sign language class
My new laptop
The newly discovered ease of finding music on Spotify and finding songs I had forgotten about for years
The ease of communication via technology
Having a phone
Christmas trees
Applesauce
Inside jokes
Scripture
Have I mentioned my family?
Traditions like Grandma's scotcheroos, playing games, and looking at Black Friday ads

There are some randomish bits. I could go on forever.

Being thankful for things makes me wonder, though. Can you be really thankful for something if you take it for granted? If you don't appreciate the time you have to use it?

That's one reason I am thankful for writing. It makes me think about things and convicts me.

What about you? What are you delighting in this Thanksgiving?

Brooding 'bout Books

I realized in sign language today that my family's approach to books is unusual. This was not a new revelation, of course, but I faced the fact and looked at it a while.

We had an exam today. In general I enjoy exams (is that a weird thing to say? I suppose that's another way I am weird), but I get really excited when I am surprised by a sign language exam. Which I usually am, since I don't usually note when I have them. It's okay, since I've never gotten lower than 95%, with an average of probably 100. (Bonus questions mean I usually have over 100.)

Anyway, for part of the exam she signed a question which we had to answer using the vocabulary she did. One question was, "Do you have a dictionary in your house?"

I laughed inwardly. The thought of someone not having a dictionary was strange to me.

I replied: "I have literally dozens of dictionaries at my house." Then I thought. Perhaps I don't have literally 24 dictionaries at home. I couldn't think of that many. So I added: "Maybe not literally dozens. Maybe just one dozen."

(I was having fun with the questions that quiz. If I were a teacher-something I have been gathering ideas about as I note how different people teach-I would want my students to. It would be amusing.)

There's the random house, the heritage, the children's, that green one-Webster's, I believe, I am sure there's at least one in the barn...okay, maybe we don't have even a dozen, unless you count Latin-, Spanish-, Greek-English and Bible dictionaries.

After class, I talked to some ladies who were also in ASL 3 and we practiced some vocabulary. I clarified the sign for dictionary for them. It's a D handshape struck against the open hand. "Like you're flipping through pages looking for a word," I explained.

"Who looks up words anymore?" one asked. "That's what we have digital ones for! Nobody has dictionaries."

"We do," I replied.

Then she stated something that rather shocked me. They had no books in their house, no bookshelves, because when they moved they had read all of the books they owned and they were all boxed up now.

She and the other lady continued talking while I tried to comprehend this statement. Somehow the other lady's response sank into my staggering brain. "Why do you still have them if you read them all? You should pass them on so someone else can read them."

I managed to say, "You might want to read them again," when all I could think was why wouldn't you still have them?

The idea that someone has read all of the books they own was still swirling in my mind.

I told them that we had a bookshelf in every room in our house except one of the bathrooms, and even that one often had books in it. I described our book barn with its fifty-two shelves. And they were surprised when I said that if we added together all of the books all of us have read, we still probably wouldn't have read all of the books we have.

That does seem rather ridiculous if you think about it.

But if you're a Beerbower, you don't think about it; it's just natural. And there is the hope that someday you'll find time to read at least a good portion of them. You never know what book you might happen to want.

During class, we had been put into groups of three and each given a paper with furniture on it to pick three of to place in a diagram of a living room. In stumbling sign, I had said every room needed bookshelves, and the other two girls had agreed and even put one on either side of the fireplace. (We arranged a room so awesome that we all wished it was ours-it had a baby grand piano in it.)

Because as Cicero says, "A room without books is like a body without a soul."

According to Horace Mann, we're doing well: "A house without books is like a room without windows. No man has a right to bring up his children without surrounding them with books, if he has the means to buy them."

And following Erasmus' precedent, most people do: "When I have a little money, I buy books; and if I have any left, I buy food and clothes." Ach...there are so many good book quotes...

'Tis too bad you can't absorb books by simply being surrounded by them...

(Excuse me for the bad post. I don't feel like revising at the moment, and I want to post it today. Someday perhaps I shall write a good essay on this topic.)

Rejecting the Mask

I thought my last post might need some clarification. Or perhaps could use some elaboration. I wanted to be careful to not offend anyone (by offend, I don't mean offend in the usual sense) by telling them what they could figure out. That is a no-no of writing-you don't want to talk down to your readers. You want to give them enough information to draw the conclusions you intend for them to draw (this is something I need to work on...), and yet not explain to them what is quite clear as if they are stupid ignoramuses.

I have discovered I enjoy allegorical writing. I think the meaning of my last one is discernable, but I wanted to say some things that did not fit into the story. And I also didn't want anyone to think I am crazy, depressed, never really happy, or anything like that. It is an allegory.

Yet, in accordance with the warning of this particular allegory, I did not want to share it, because it is true, nevertheless.

Recently I attended a Cru meeting where the speaker, a counselor, discussed this. He started by reading Genesis, where it says, "the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed."

Can you imagine having nothing to hide? Not being ashamed of anything? No secrets. No ugly parts. No thoughts you won't share.

You can't imagine it. It's like heaven.

If you're married, you might have some idea of what it's like. But even then, you still have fear, shame, things you wish you could hide. Last Sunday, the Sunday school teacher said when he was little, he asked his mom if she wished that they could read each others' minds. When she said no, he thought, "My mom has no imagination!" When he became a teenager, he realized his mom was wise.

What happened as soon as Adam and Eve sinned?

They didn't point fingers. They didn't hide from God. They didn't become angry.

The first thing they did was cover up. The first thing they felt was shame.

Shame, the counselor said, leads to fear. And fear leads to control. When we are ashamed of who we are, we fear someone finding out or rejecting us, and when we fear, that fear controls us.

The teacher turned next to 1 John. I love 1 John. I have read it dozens and dozens of times. Perhaps I will write about my discovery about the verse "He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins" some time. He read chapter 1:5-7.

This is the message which we have heard from Him and declare to you, that God is light and in Him is no darkness at all.  If we say that we have fellowship with Him, and walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth.  But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin.

Normally this is interpreted, as I have done, as darkness/light standing for sin. But that means it says, "If we do not sin as He does not sin...Jesus cleanses us from all sin," which seems odd. He maintained that light stood for truth: "If we walk in the truth as He is in the truth, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin."

When we hide the truth from each other, we are kept from fellowship.

He talked about how we all have these masks that we wear. How we put them on, afraid of someone seeing the real us and rejecting it. With these masks on, they can't reject us.

On the other hand, they can't love us either.

At the end of the day, you take off that mask, that mask that others have loved or perhaps rejected, and there you are in your original state. Unrejected. And unloved.

The truth shall set you free.

When something is brought out into the light, its true characteristics are revealed. That's why being open is so hard and frightening and necessary. The first step to correcting a problem is acknowledging that you have it. And sin's foolishness has a way of becoming very clear when you tell-or even consider telling-it in detail to a friend.

Fight the control that fear has over you by choosing not to be ashamed. That is, by walking in the truth, in fellowship.

And the joy of this all?

You have searched me and known me. God knows all. There is nothing about us--no fear, no sin, no sorrow--that He does not know. Though I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. We have no mask before Him.

And He loves us still, and utterly.

Living the Truth

Stretching, I fluff the soft, defined curls around my smooth face.

"Good morning."

I turn to my sister, aware of my smiling lips and eyes. "Good morning."

"You look pretty this morning," she says. "Your eyes are so striking."

"Thanks," I smile, running my hand over my even, oval face and showing my perfect set of white teeth. She returns the smile and pokes the end of my cute little button nose.

I hum cheerfully as I prepare for school, finding some earrings that color-coordinate with my cute new shirt. Before class, I see my friend.

She notices me and a broad smile lights her face. "Hi!" She runs to meet me and wraps her arms around me. "You're looking cute today," she says, patting my face. "How are you doing?"

"Good," I reply. "I'm doing well. How about you?"

"Uh...okay," she replies. Surprised, I look at her bright face and smiling eyes. She looks like she is doing well, I think. Strange.

When I leave her, she hugs me again. "Thanks," she says. "You're such a good friend. No one else noticed I was upset."

"It's nothing," I smile, turning to enter my class.

"You're late," the professor calls from the far corner.

Slipping into my usual seat at the front, I nod. "I am sorry."

The old man's wrinkled face turns to the check in sheet with a little grin. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you had a good reason."

The day passes quickly, full of encounters with classmates and coworkers, with friends and family.

"You're making great improvement," my blonde-haired manager says. "Keep up the good work!" She picks up her enveloping mustard green bag. "See you tomorrow!"

"Sure thing!" I reply, turning to close the register.

When I get home, my dad asks me, "How was your day?"

"Good," I reply.

Heading upstairs, I shut the bedroom door behind me. Pulling at the roots of my hair, I peel off my mask and hang it on the plastic red hook.

Turning to the irregular broken bit of mirror behind me, I put back on my smile that I have allowed to fade. It does not match my eyes, which are some nondescript color as well as bloodshot red. Sighing, I take up a cloth lying on the floor and wipe the moisture off the back of my mask.

"People really like you," I tell it. I gaze into its bright eyes. "You're beautiful."

Slowly, I hang it again on its hook and turn to climb into bed.

6:30 wakes me up, and I slip off my bed without using the ladder. I go straight to the hook and lift that smiling mask.

Don't.

I startle as if the voice spoke aloud.

Leave it.

Quietly turning to stand before that mirror shard, I hold the mask of me up beside my sleepy face. I look into the  bright, happy eyes beside me and then gaze steadily into the tired, still-red ones edged by tiny, thin lashes in the mirror. I run my hand over the freckled skin dotted with red and pick at my chin till I must wipe blood away.

You don't need it.

I frown at the high cheekbones of my squarish face over my fingerprinted, crooked glasses. I note my wrinkled scar between my eyes, the odd pulling in at the corner of my lips, my almost-double chin, my grayish hair, and weird, almost Asian-looking eyes. Through my fake smile, I look at my straight teeth, yellowish from bad habits.

The vision of my friend's smile as she hugs me tightly, looks into my eyes, and says, "You're so pretty," fills my mind.

I look into them, with dark circles beneath, shudder, and press on my mask, carefully sealing each edge.

I'm sorry, I whisper. I have to. Or they'll know who I really am.

"...God is light and in Him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with Him, and walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin..." 1 John 1:5-7

Joyful Eyes

Hey, you.

Yes, you. You with the ready smile hiding your tired eyes.

We need to talk.

I've been watching you. I've been watching you for a long time, and I've been noticing something lately.

You've changed.

Change is good, and you need to know that. You have grown, and you should rejoice in that. Don't be discouraged. You've made progress. You aren't a kid anymore, even if you feel like it sometimes, and that's good.

But you've changed, and not all for the better.

You're not a child, true. I said that was good, and it is.

But not completely. Look at your eyes. I'm not an expert at eye color, so I won't tell you what color they are, but I can tell you something.

They aren't as happy as they used to be.

Why?

I've been observing you, and I think I know.

When you were a child, you thought everything was good. There were bad things out there, but nothing that had much to do with you. Why shouldn't you be happy? You didn't realize people don't always get along. Life was good.

But when hard things came into your life, you stopped. You didn't know what to think. You knew you should be happy, but how can you be happy when you're tired?

And by that, I mean sad.

I want you to understand something. Life is good.

It is. It still is, even when it's not perfect, even when it's hard.

Life is good when you discover that your friend messed things up. When you learn that the leader you admired stepped down because of an affair. When your favorite people move away. When people you love don't like people you thought were good. When two people you respect disagree. When you suddenly have to make a decision for yourself as you have never before and life is so confusing. When you feel the confusion and no one understands.

Even then, life is good. Life is worth being happy about. You need to regain the simple trusting joy of your childhood.

[By the way, something else I want you to know and never forget: the illusion that no one understands is an illusion. True, no one ever understands anyone else really, completely. But people understand what you're going through much more than you think--and if they don't, it's probably your fault. For not trusting and being open. And you know there is Someone who does understand, completely.]

Friends are good, worth having and enjoying, even if they fail, even if they end up hurting you, even if you won't be friends forever.

Differing opinions don't matter that much. I see you, hung up on them. Wishing everyone would just agree. Listen, kid. Differences are good. As a quote I found recently said, "If two people agree on everything, one of them is unnecessary." Don't let differences-yours or other people's-make you think less of others.

You need to know something.

You must not live in fear.

Yes, time goes on. Things change. What you have now, you will not have later. But do not borrow trouble from the future.

Little ones grow up. Your relationships will change. All of them. Because you're changing.

Change is normal. Change is good.

Don't let it steal your joy.

Conflict is normal, too. On earth, there is sin. People will fail you. You will fail others. The more you care about something, the more it hurts when it's not perfect, and nothing here is.

Don't let that keep you from caring.

And don't let it make you cynical. You're a positive person, or at least you were. You can see the best in people and accept them the way they are.

Don't let disappointments or other people's ideas of reality change that.

Don't lose faith in people or become negative. Don't judge other people for criticizing. We need those people too. But that's not you. You were meant to be an encourager. To be joyful. Don't let others' negativity make you doubt whether you should expect good things.

You should. True, things won't be perfect. They don't have to be. That's why we're waiting for heaven. Down here, we accept imperfections. It's okay.

Accept that, smile, and move on. Don't expect things to be perfect or to happen the way you imagined, not even close.

But expect it to be good.

Life is messy. That's okay. Everyone is different. You are different. There really is no one like you. That's okay. It really is. In fact, it's good.

And don't say that it's certainly good the world doesn't have to deal with more than one of you. I know you. I know that's what you're thinking. But I want you to know something else, and I want you to know it well.

You are good. Yes, you're sinful and wicked and selfish to the core. So is everyone else, but God made you and He loves you, and He doesn't make mistakes.

Stop putting yourself down. You're a child of the King. He has good things for you. He has a purpose for you. You know that. Why won't you believe it?

Have confidence. I'm not trying to be a motivational speaker with some meaningless drivel that has emotional impact. But there is a reason it has emotional impact. You can do whatever you put your mind to, you are valuable, but only because of God. Your confidence should be in Him.

You know Him. I know you do. You know what I am telling you. But you keep forgetting! You keep living as if you don't expect Him to bless you! As if He isn't enough, and you need something else to comfort you.

I can't figure out if your eyes are green or gray - and I don't think they're really blue - but I smile and will the joy that comes from confidence in Christ into them as I gaze into my reflection.

That is, I beseech God to give it.

In Promotion of In-Laws

In the past four months, I have gained two in-laws. This is something I recommend to anyone who has the opportunity.

Siblings are one of the awesomest things in life, but at some point your parents decide that they have enough (thankfully, my parents never did), that they are too old or they are ready for grandchildren, or some other unfortunate decision or circumstance limits the number of siblings you have. At this point, your only hope of gaining more siblings (unless you can push the adoption idea through or an unexpected surprise happens) is by substitute means.

Adopting other kids as your siblings is an acceptable and highly respectable method which we have adopted [pun fully intended, of course!] with a number of people. I greatly recommend it. It can be done with more distant relatives or good friends who need a family or whom you need in yours. Those special people who fit into your family and you do not want to lose track of. This can be officially acknowledged as it is in some of our cases, or unofficial in others.

However, the downside to this (besides it not being legally or even socially recognized - sometimes even by the adopted sibling's own original family) is that it may not be continually binding. I have not seen adoptions done by siblings of siblings long enough to know. Though I know we are not without precedent and I have not done much research on the subject, I have heard surprisingly little to indicate that others have taken up this practice. Nonetheless, anything not officially recognized by society is less likely to last long term.

So, the best thing to do is to get them married in so they officially, legally cannot escape. The other benefit to this is everyone recognizes your brother/sisterhood, which makes things less awkward and simpler all around.

(Unable to escape is key. For some reason, a number of people seem to want to be around my family, but if your family is anything like mine, you will also have fears that some day they'll realize what they've gotten into and get out if it's legally possible."I declared him my brother" doesn't hold up in court.)

You will probably find that you don't have enough siblings of the right ages and genders. However, if you have done your job well and have gotten your parents to agree to adding lots of original siblings, your likelihood of being able to make these additional siblings certain and legal increases.

For cases that simply cannot be remedied legally (I have a few, such as older girls my age who do not seem to like the idea of waiting for my 12-year-old brother, as my older one is taken, and adopting one old enough at this point would hardly make him a Beerbower, which would defeat the whole purpose), sibling adoptions must do. You must just make sure people know it's official so you don't lose them.

But this was in promotion of in-laws, not additional siblings.

However, the whole delightfulness of in-laws is that they are additional siblings. The beauty of marrying off a sibling is that while you kind of half lose a sibling, you also gain another one. Before, you had a brother or a sister. Now, you have a brother and a sister. And you get to see someone whom you have seen growing up get to go through this interesting phase. Because it's interesting-while you're gaining a sibling, they are not. They are gaining a whole new relationship entirely and don't get another sibling at all. That is an enjoyable bonus.

I imagine all of the objections and protests that are coming.  [That is, of course, these objections would be coming if anyone were actually going to read my blog-which is a stretch-and then actually respond to it-which is almost beyond imagination.]

Don't tell me it's not your fault your parents only had [insert number below five or six] kids. I am fully aware that this is written from my particular perspective. It's more interesting that way, you must admit. It is also true that there are downsides to siblings getting married. But all good things have downsides and that is not the part you talk about when you are promoting something.

Brothers are awesome things. Sisters are as well, so when you have a boy who makes your sister happy and becomes a brother, you can hardly think of a better arrangement. Unless they were actually siblings and lived at home with you, as my youngest sister asked if Stephen would when my oldest sister started dating.

Just kidding, guys. I don't want you to live with us, even if we had the room. Don't worry.

Friends that are so good they are like sisters are awesome things, and if your brother falls in love with one of them and makes her your sister officially...well, you can hardly think of a better arrangement there either.

Of course, you may have to pay the price of less interaction now, but that will be made up for in the future since, as mentioned before, they are stuck with you officially for life. [ I know I said that you don't talk about downsides when promoting things, but you actually should if you know there would be objections and you can dismiss them.] And it wouldn't be different if your friend had married someone else, except in that case you would see them even less. And you would hardly want to keep all of your good friends from getting married, even if you could. Which you couldn't. Thankfully.

All this to say that, if you have the opportunity to marry off one of your siblings and gain an in-law, go for it.

Of course, you can't really prevent it anyway, nor can you really make it happen. (Though my brother might dispute that later point.)

So I guess all I'm really saying is that at least I am glad I have in-laws for siblings.

And if you get to have them, enjoy it.

If I Could Tell You Anything...

If I could tell you anything, and if you would believe it, it would be something you already know.

For most of us, that's all we're ever told. All we ever need know. Things we have heard before. Things we really knew but needed reminded of.

For us over-priviledged, over-informed Americans, as I  am assuming my (few if existent) readers are, there is little that we haven't heard at some point.

But hearing and knowing something is not the same as knowing.

So if I could tell you anything, and if you would believe it, it would be simple. It would be a Sunday School answer that you, growing up in a home where everyone had their own personal Bible (or could have, even if you had to get a Gideon one from the fair) and there were six churches within a few minutes' driving distance (unless it took you fifteen minutes to get anywhere anyway), have always known.

I would tell you one simple, three-word sentence.

Jesus loves you.

You, the well-taught Sunday school child, roll it off your tongue, roll your eyes quickly over it, hum it under your breath. 

But that is what I want to tell you, what I want you to know.

Jesus loves you. 

Imagine if you really believed that. If you really believed that the all-knowing, all-powerful, perfect God of the universe knows you specifically, loves you specifically, and will never leave you, you, first-middle-last name, with brown/black/blonde/red/gray/white/dyed hair. You with that hidden fear you've never told anyone, you with the tired sorrow you can't or don't explain, you with sin so much more deeply implanted than your closest companion knows.

Imagine if you really believed that God knew you completely and loved you the same way.

Maybe you think you do.

But then why do you still fear? Why do you doubt yourself - that is, doubt that God will bless your works?  Why are you so lonely? Why do you doubt your value to others and to God? Why are you discontent?

Would not all these things be resolved if you really knew Jesus loves you?

And if you knew yourself and your sin, and you knew Jesus' utter love for you, would you not honor and delight in Him over all?

I started this by thinking of what advice I would give to the next generation that may soon begin in my family. Then I realized that if I could be sure they knew anything, it would be Jesus loves you and all that implies. That it's what I would want you to know too.

Because if I could know anything I wanted to, if I could know it in the real way, with experience and conviction and deep in my heart, like I know the water is cold after feeling my body shiver from it chilling me from head to toe, not just by guessing from the cloudy, windy land, know it in a way that no matter how warm the water looks, I will never believe otherwise, that's what I'd choose to know.

That Jesus loves me.

Dusky View

I was inspired to write poetry today, so I did. If you know what this is about, I would be surprised. If you know what it means, I would be interested to hear since I'm not entirely sure myself.

Dusky View

Curled like an armadillo,
with its silver back against the gradiated brown,
I watch the invisible rain
dampen my paper like falling fog.
Against the spongy browns of my sandpaper seat
my feet press,
feeling their fine prickles redden my skin.
Away, yards by the ground but a few feet by sight,
the green bush buffalo charges
from the llama fence where it grows.
I wonder if the soft wind stroking my body
chills the buffalo's branchy bones
as it does mine.
The uneven creak of the white-haired woman's chair
riding the crickets
soothes me as my own seat
grows more damp and cold and hard.
Or is it a dark-haired woman,
with just a few hairs fading to gray,
framing the drooping eyes lulled by the crickets
like the fair figure she gently fingers?
I don't know.
From here, you can feel life,
As far as the eye can see,
Until the trees obscure it.
Orion is there, like a friendly man,
completely obscured by the foggy dusk.
With branchy arms, three companions stand
unless their fading shadows and dark sillouettes
warn of a coming gang.
Light comes, below, around, beyond,
but always at a distance
and always spreading shadows.
I wait for morning,
but for now I relish
the height while the sun is down.

A New Path

In less than one week, I will be standing at the end of a (rather long) line of girls, watching.

For the fourth time, I will be watching at the front of a church as a dearly beloved friend of mine says her vows to the man who has won her heart.

Each time, it has been a girl I love, to a man I appreciate, at least for the reason that he has made her happy.

But this time it's different.

Although last time, it was my sister to a man who is as good as a brother, this time the man who will be exchanging vows with my friend is my brother.

The boy who has been my playmate and friend since before I can remember.

The boy who has shared sleeping quarters with me, with whom I have disagreed and fought, who has chopped wood and helped clean, who has made me food and driven me places.

The hardworking boy who has finally given in to tired eyes after many hours late at night, talking with me and my sister. This boy who has been my introduction to the masculine world.

He has organized bonfires and caroling, rides to concerts and contradancing, birthday parties and times at the park. His friends have become mine, and often mine his. Aside from my father, perhaps no one has influenced my view of men more than he has.

"Your brother is so nice," I have been told. "I wish mine was like yours."

One day off work, the phone rings, and I pick it up. "Hello."

"Yo, yo, yo, yo!" a peppy voice calls.

"Hello," I smile.

"Why don't you return my yo's?" the voice questions. "I was just calling to see if you worked today and needed picked up. I was working by the mall and I'm done now. I take it you don't, since you seem to be home."

That's my brother for you.

Although we have had stages of disagreement (should the orphans we played get captured or have a war was always a big one), I have always enjoyed him. The older I have grown, the more I appreciate him. The more I realize how blessed I have been to have Eric Paul, Handsome Boy Beerbower as my brother.

Especially as I think about life without him in the house. Without his feet pounding and his voice war whooping up the stairs, or hearing, "If anyone's going with me, I'm leaving right now," every Sunday morning, or seeing his dusty white form dash upstairs to shower.

I'll miss it.

And it's a good thing there's a worthwhile reason.

Because when I stand up there, it won't be behind him, though he has my support.

I will be standing behind my friend...

who just happens to also be that day becoming my sister.

My first sister-in-law. The best reason and only thing I can think of that makes me actually very happy about my brother leaving.

The happy, beautiful girl who has captured my brother's heart.

Who has made him happy and excited... 

which admittedly isn't difficult to do, 

but she has done it in a way nothing else has.

It's been amusing to watch.

Then, after this, we'll be done with weddings for a while, and life will not be so exciting.

 It will be the beginning of a new era in our family.

 

The beginning of a new family. And of ours, as a smaller one.

 And yet, bigger at the same time.

Turning away from a happy pathway is always at least a little melancholy.

 But I look forward to seeing what God will do on this path. And we feel blessed to have Ruthie joining us.

Opposite A Mystery

I have come to think that to believe Christianity is often to believe two opposite things, and yet find them compatible.

Just think of the essential Christian doctrines.

God is man.
A virgin is with child.
The eternal God dies.
The dead live.
God hates sin, yet He loves man.
He is sovereign, yet He allows evil.
No one is good, yet we are holy.

God is forever turning our ideas of how things are upside down. Even when we think we understand something, we have only grasped the outer edges of His ways.

I once saw a pamphlet with an illustration that stuck with me. Imagine a paper on which is drawn a smiley face in profile - one eye over half a smile in a circle. You tell the little guy to look up. He turns counter-clockwise. "No," you say. "The other way." So he turns clockwise. "No!" you cry. "Look up!"

But his two-dimensional mind cannot understand a third dimension.

So you take a ball, and you push it through his paper world. "Do you see the ball?" you ask.

"You mean that circle that gets bigger and then smaller?" he asks. "I've heard of balls. I don't know if I believe they exist." Looking right at the ball, he sees only a cross-section, and he doesn't really understand how a whole 3D ball can exist.

This, I think, is how we are with God. Even if we believe that there is a ball, we cannot truly understand what one is really like. Our idea of a circle that is somehow continuous, bigger than just a circle, is close, but not like actually holding a ball in your hands. Now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then, face to face!

Now, don't misunderstand me. The Holy Spirit reveals things to us, and we can truly say that we know God. Nor are there contradictions with God. Opposites aren't really opposites with God.

I guess that's really my point. Things seem to be opposite, when they aren't, really.

This came to mind when considering the debate between what, for sake of simplicity, I shall call Calvinism and Arminianism, between election and free will. In case anyone is reading this seriously (I mean, I guess if you're reading this, you're probably doing it seriously, otherwise you're probably bored and already stopped, in which case, you aren't reading this and it doesn't apply to you-although you may be reading it seriously and thus are still reading it and therefore are bored-so maybe I should say in case anyone reads this), this is not a theological thesis, and I haven't studied Scripture in depth on this. I'm actually kind of thinking out loud. So don't worry too much if you think I'm wrong. But don't be afraid to tell me, either.

First, what I do know is what Scripture says: God is sovereign. We are dead in our sins. Dead normally means that the one who is dead can do absolutely nothing. God makes us alive, and He has chosen us from before the foundations of the earth. While we were still sinners in rebellion, God loved us.

It is also true that God gives us commands. That we are called to repent, believe, take up our cross, and follow Him. That when the people ask Peter, "What must we do to be saved?" he does not say, "Nothing. God does all the work."

I've listened to a lot of Calvinist thought, and I can't think of much in particular that I've heard that I disagree with. I've also listened to people on the other side of the election debate, and most of them (as long as they agree with God's sovereignty and other Biblical principles) also seem right. What I have wanted to disagree with usually is when one says the other is wrong.

Again, an illustration helps me.

God is called the author of our salvation. Think of life as a story, God as the author, and us as characters. Being a writer myself, I can relate. The author has complete authority over the story. What he decides goes. The characters have no say.

But if you create good characters, a story will almost write itself. Sometimes, I as the author do not want something to happen, but the characters do it anyway.

For example, I was writing a story in which my sister told me the main character, Nell, should marry the main guy in the story, Daniel. I told her no. I had no intention of writing such a story. I fought it, but as the story progressed, it became clear. Daniel liked Nell, and there was nothing I could do about it. That is simply what he would do. He insisted on it. I repeatedly told him not to, but he would regardless. Although I could have, to have refused to let him would have made him a stilted character in a forced world.

This idea and personal experience with the author being completely in control, and yet the characters still making decisions in accord with their desires, helped me to understand how it could be that God is sovereign, and yet we are held responsible for our actions.

This is no theological thesis, as mentioned before, but in regards to the election/free will debate, I have come to think that they are both more true than even those who believe them think they are, and that they're a mystery that we cannot really comprehend. Like every other thought we have about God, our ideas and visions are too small. They're a two-dimensional man trying to look up.

What I'm trying to say is that while God's role is far more determining and our utter depravity is far worse than the staunchest Calvinist ever imagined, we are also more culpable and responsible for our actions than any Arminian ever thought.

With God being who He is, it doesn't really make sense to me to be any other way. He's a mystery, complex beyond what we understand. And so there is going to be debate and misunderstanding and blurred sight, as there always is when you come opposite such a mystery.

Perhaps I should study and make a more informed decision-of course, we all should. There is always more to learn. But I am okay with holding these seemingly opposing views in my mind. Because, I think, Christianity means learning to embrace and delight in mystery until all is revealed.

Important Work

Before you rests a pile of dark, heavy dirt. You sigh, looking from it to the shovel with a split wooden handle grasped in your hand. You know your task.

Slowly, you jab your shovel into the dirt. When you remove it, you deposit the part that doesn't fall off into a new pile. Complaining of the crack pinching your palm, you press on, knowing your duty.

You know you need to move this dirt. But you don't know why. So you toil on.

But then Joe bounds towards you. "Hurry up!" he cries, jabbing his thin trowel into the pile. "Come on!" In a few moments, with his small tool he has doubled the pile you've been toiling over.

Raising your eyebrows, you press your shovel into the dirt. "What's the hurry?" you ask.

"What's the hurry?!" Joe cries, without turning from his work. "Don't you know he'll suffocate if we don't get him out?"

Suddenly, you don't notice the pinching on your palms, the weight of the dirt, the sweat marking trails down your neck.

Your only focus is to get him out. To save his life.

Now, the obstacles don't matter. You only wish you had known before the importance of the task, that you might have done better. Why hadn't someone told you? Why hadn't you realized, so that you would have known to work diligently?

I think this is often how we approach all of life. There is gravity and purpose for our lives -- but we live as if we know we need to live but don't know why. We grow weary living, we act lackadaisical, we live without a plan:

We don't remember that there is a reason we are living.

But there is.

Ephesians 2:10: For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

Revelation 4:11: You are worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power; for You created all things, and by Your will they exist and were created.

If we remembered this, could we live lives of such unintentionality? If we really believe that Christ gives  meaning to life, that God sees all that we do, why do we think it doesn't matter?

And if we know that what we do with our lives is important, why don't we act like it?

 Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain it. ...Now they do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an imperishable crown. Therefore I run thus: not with uncertainty. Thus I fight: not as one who beats the air. But I discipline my body and bring it into subjection, lest, when I have preached to others, I myself should become disqualified.   I Corinthians 9:24-27

A Person of Passion

You could miss it by just looking, but I am a passionate person.

You might miss lots of people's passion by just looking.

Passion is part of being human, I think. When I think of a passionless person, certain people come first to mind. And guess what? They have passion.

Perhaps I should define my terms. When I say passion, I mean simply a strong feeling. This generally means excitement, but  you can also be passionate about negative things.

There's a certain type of person who doesn't seem passionate. They don't seem to care about much; they dislike school; they seem pretty low-key and go-with-the-flow. But ask them about cars--and then watch their eyes light up and their volume rise and a little smile turn their lips up.

Everyone is passionate about something. I challenge you to find someone without passion. If you do, try to force them to do something, and I bet you'll find them passionately seeking rest or solitude!

Someone told me a while ago that I seemed really excited about a movie I was telling him about. "I like hearing you talk about things you're excited about," he said.

It made me wonder - what am I excited about? And why don't I always show my excitement?

There is something difficult about showing passion. It makes you vulnerable.

A wise man I know told me about a trip he had taken with his wife. He showed her a spot that was special to him, and as they came to it, the beautiful sunset struck it. As she saw the glistening light, his wife stepped back in awe. She told him she understood why he loved the place.

He asked me if I knew that feeling when you tell someone something that means a lot to you and they don't understand, when they don't care about it or get why you do. Then something in you feels like it dies and you wish you hadn't shared it. On the other hand, when you share something with someone that you love and they get it too--then you have this connection and joy, your relationship is strengthened, and you feel closer.

And that is why it is hard to show passion -- because when you show passion, you are taking a risk. A risk that others will think you are foolish for delighting in that thing, or that they simply won't care or understand.

That rejection, that sense of solitude, is hard to bear.

When I shared this with a friend, I said something inside you dies a little when your joy in something is not shared. She looked at me and exclaimed, "But that is so wrong!"

It's natural. When that part of you has died before, you don't want to risk it happening again. But she is right. If we realize that all good gifts come from God, no matter how small, and that we are to give thanks in everything, our passion should be no less because others do not understand. If something gives us joy, we should not be ashamed to admit it.

Think of something that you were exceedingly joyful about, that others did not understand. I think of Ryan and Grace's engagement.

Surely, that was not the weird thing. The weird thing is that we do not have that joy and passion about everything!

We deserve death. Yet all around us is life and joy and blessing. We need correction and discipline. Yet continually God uses joy and beauty and love to draw us to obedience.

God gives all things meaning. Why aren't we more passionate? Why do we look on people who are as if they are the strange ones?

Concealing that we care about something is really selfish. As in my example earlier, we enjoy seeing people who are passionate about things. Think of the secret smiles between adults at a child's unashamed, innocent excitement about something that is really insignificant. We love it. And we are called to become like little children.

Little children don't mind showing that they are people with passion. And neither should we.