The Start

Today I marry my best friend.

Doesn't that sound ridiculously cliche?

And yet, all the best things in life are, are they not? Originality and uniqueness are overrated. As my sister says, all couples end up saying and doing much the same things - if they don't, they're doing it wrong.

This is philosophical for a wedding day post, you are probably thinking. That's me for you, although I am sure it would be less so if I actually wrote this on my wedding day. I didn't. If I have time then, I will be writing my beloved a letter.

I am getting married. I am excited to have the chance to prove all those terrible jokes wrong. Marriage is good and to be held in high esteem by all. I have resolved never to tell any young person a joke like the three rings of marriage: engagement ring, wedding ring, suffering.

Of course marriage involves suffering. Life involves suffering, and marriage is life at its richest.

I would rather suffer with my beloved than without him. As my dear sister-in-law said when I was beginning this journey with him, this won't really add to the problem. It just gives a face to it. That's how marriage is - it doesn't create problems, it's just really good at revealing them. At showing you your sin.

With my husband - wow, what a weird thing to say, although I have accidentally called him that before - who always so longs to help me walking with me, suffering is easier to bear.

Does this seem heavy for a wedding day?

Why, my little sister asks, do you have to get married? You don't, she says. He can just come over to visit. Why do you want kids? You don't have to have kids.

What is the purpose of marriage? The romantic and sweet are delightful benefits - and essential. We need them. Yet our highest goal in everything must be to honor the Lord.

The undeserved, unwavering, relentless love that Parker has shown me has given me a knowing of God's love that is mind-boggling. Many times I have shaken my head, looked at him, and asked, "Why? I don't understand."

"You're never going to," he says.

And he's right. There are three things that I do not understand, and four that are too wonderful for me. A ship in the sea, a snake on a rock, a bird in the sky, and the way of a man with a virgin. The desire, the devotion, the love are too overwhelming, too strong to be explained by looking at their object. When he sees me, my sin, how I have hurt him, he only loves me more. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me. It is high, I cannot attain it.

I can't wait. I can't wait to be able to be free to be fully united. How wonderful it will be to not have to say goodbye and tear ourselves apart! So long we have been in this strange partial state, me under him, but not quite; our own family, but not yet - how does one live in this state of unity of mind and spirit, and yet not quite reality?

And this is the beauty of marriage: everything is a picture. I wasn't meaning to make a parable, but is this not just our state here, waiting to be fully united with Christ?

I am learning for myself things I have heard. Like marriage gets better with time. And that is perhaps what I anticipate most. Romantic ideals are overrated. The best things are simple, everyday things.

Like cooking a meal for Parker. Like coming home from school and going to my own house. Like arranging the million and one generous gifts we were given in our little kitchen.

God has been good to us, though we are so undeserving. He is faithful, so I know that He will for the rest of our lives. For one way of God showing His amazing, unconditional love for me is through Parker's. Thinking about it, I can't help but smile.

On My Wedding Day

Today is the day, the long awaited.

Today is the last day I wake up before anyone else, marveling at the quiet, dark house, slipping out of my bunk bed quietly lest I wake my sisters. The last that I fall asleep with my little sister's warm body beside me, her arms thrown around my neck. The last that I pull our blankets off the windows so the early morning light can shine in. The last I admire the clean, freshly swept carpet and clean kitchen after we readied for guest.

Last night, I realized I'd miss hearing my dad and little sister laugh at Youtube videos together in the background, as I dried the dishes for my sisters for the last time. We didn't sing, but I thought of how I would miss singing together as we work, knowing and enjoying all the same ridiculous or beautiful songs.

Of course, not all of these things will really be the last time. Many of them will happen again, but it will be with me as a visitor in what right now feels like my own home.

I have been so blessed in my wonderful, crazy family, and only something exciting and amazing would convince me to leave.

Something like Parker, and a life with him.

How strange it is to think that tonight, we'll be married. We'll be able to do things together. The apartment is my home, my base, where I will do everyday things like write and clean and make food. I won't be at my big metal desk, nor in the kitchen where everything's in a logical place. I can't assume that dishes and clothes and food will get done even if I don't help. That is a rather exciting and fun thought, for I will only have things to do for two. That seems ridiculously small.

After school starts, I will not go down back towards Dorr St. and Crissey. I won't ask Dad to take my checks to the bank, nor ask my sisters if we have anything to eat.

But instead, I will go home to Parker.

I am not nervous this morning. Nor am I scared or even sad, despite my thoughts of what I will miss. What I am is hungry from waking up so early and the fact that we're not making pancakes for a while yet.

When I think of what our life and marriage will be like, I am excited and a little somber. I know it's a big thing that I've signed up for, and I have no illusions - well, perhaps I do, but subconsciously - that it will be easy.

But it will be good. Parker is amazing at helping me to grow.

My prayer is that God will bless us with a godly marriage, that we will quickly learn and establish good patterns so that we are able to serve well.

I am excited and happy and waiting. And yet, calm. Everything feels natural, just as I suspected it might, as most things that are right do.

I can't wait to see what God has in store for us.


Apparently that's what it's like if I really write on my wedding day.

The Wall

I wrote this a month or so ago, and didn't realize I never finished and posted it. I blame it on my wedding brain, which apparently is a real thing.

 
Across the field before me stands a wall, composed of rows of stones, a dozen stones high. I sense this is the way I need to go - but how will I do it? It's so much taller than I am.

Beside the wall he stands. His eyes are on me. "Come on! Let's get beyond the wall!"

I hesitate. I am not sure how I can.

"Come on!"he calls, his hand motioning. He doesn't understand how small I am.

I step forward, slowly.

He is sitting on top of the wall. Another familiar voice calls out to me, "Come. Come beyond." In response, he swings his legs to the other side and looks back at me.

I eye the wall, raise my brows, and step cautiously towards the wall. Step by step I slide closer until I stand two steps away. I look up.

The wall towers above me. I look up and up and up until my head cannot go back any farther. The wall is so tall it seems to curve back over me. It is impossible to climb it. The first layer of stone is three times as tall as I am at least.

"Climb it," he says.

Climb it? I can't even see him. All I see is this huge wall before me, above me, around me. I am surrounded by these giant walls.

"Come, dear." Suddenly he has slipped beside me. I shake my head, and the wall swallowing me has taken shape again before me-still taller than I can see.

He reaches for my hand and pulls me one step closer. "You must cross the wall."

Tears fill my eyes and streak my face. "I know," I murmur. "But..." I lift blurry gaze to towering wall. "I don't know how."

"Just do it," he says, pulling my hand. "Come."

I know I can't. The wall is too high. The first stone on the wall is too high. It's too smooth. There's not even a place to put my foot.

"Step up, dear. Come."

I look into his face and step forward. The stone is hard, cold, impossible.

But I obey, I put my foot towards it, only to show him it cannot be done. And it stays. My eyes widen, and I excitedly take another step and grab onto the stone with my hands.

Maybe I can do this after all.

 I look up. I can see nothing but rock stretching above me. No. There's no way I can do it that far.

Then, at the top, I see legs dangling and a smile. "Come on, dear. You got this."

Maybe, just maybe, I can.

I am Lot

I have lived the life of Lot.

I have moved on in the name of peace, giving up that which would have led me closer to God in order to avoid conflict.

I have chosen the valley that appeared most fruitful for my family, never realizing I was greedy and liked the excitement of being near sin.

I have sought to protect what is good and holy, and done it by sacrificing my daughters to the appetite of wicked men.

I have sought to witness to those around me, and when time for movement has come, they think I am joking and not five will follow.

I have been grieved by the wickedness around me, and I have done nothing about it.

I have tried to get the world to see the light, and I have left my family in the dark.

I have left the state of evil I was in, but only because I was dragged out.

I am Lot's wife. I have acted in submission, but my heart was back in sin. 

I have lived the life of Solomon.

I have been blessed for my desire to serve God's people, and I have used those blessings for my own devices.

I have been given so many things, and I have allowed them to turn my heart away from God.

I have sought love, and I have allowed that desire to put idols in my life.

I have known God's Word, and I have made alliances with His enemies.

I have loved the Lord and followed Him, and I have continued serving idols.


Does this seem wicked? It is, more than I can understand. Does this seem extreme? Examine your own heart, and see if these things are not so.

I long to live the life of Abraham, God's friend.

I have loved where I am, but I want to leave when God calls.

I have been unable to imagine how a miracle can be done in me, but I want to believe God anyway.

I have heard of my family being taken captive, and I want to go after them.

I have to face an incredible army. Will I have men who know God is with me who are willing to follow me even to death?

I have won a battle, but have I refused the spoil to give only God the glory?

I have trusted God to give me an heir, but I want to trust Him as I obey His command to kill it.

I long to live the life of David, a man after God's own heart. 

I have been offended by the insults of the wicked against God. Now am I going to fight?

I have been promised blessing by God. Will I wait on His timing to receive it?

I have been oppressed by my authority. Will I still honor and obey?

I have let my eyes linger and lust, and acted on it. Will I humble myself when I am confronted by my sin?

I have caused the death of my son. Will I mourn my sin before the Lord?

I have trusted in the number of my armies. Will I throw myself upon the mercies of my God?

I have gotten cold and weary. Will I establish a godly heir?

I long for all these things, but I fail.

And yet, I have lived the life of Lot.. My sins have not been punished as they deserve. So often I have escaped the snare which I have set for myself. Although I was prone to linger, God always sends His angels to take me by the hand and force me to move.

In the end, I am righteous.

But I want the legacy of Abraham, not of Lot. Of David, not of Solomon.

Now if anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw, each one’s work will become clear; for the Day will declare it, because it will be revealed by fire; and the fire will test each one’s work, of what sort it is. If anyone’s work which he has built on it endures, he will receive a reward. If anyone’s work is burned, he will suffer loss; but he himself will be saved, yet so as through fire.

                                         - 1 Corinthians 3:12-15

You, Mark

Do you ever feel like Mark?

Around you are amazing men, doing great things, and all you want to do is join them. You want to be known, maybe not as Paul, but at least as Paul's companion. As one who walks with Bartholomew, the encourager.

You don't expect to be great. But you want to help those who are.

But when you join their journey -- suddenly you're overwhelmed. The road is rougher than you thought. You miss your family back in your hometown. You've been mocked and tried more than you ever have been before. You're footsore, heartweary, and headnumb.

All you wanted to do was help. Maybe you wanted a little fame, but you knew that was wrong and you tried to fight it. You really wanted to give Paul a hand.

But now - you're tired, and you aren't helping. You feel like you must be a burden.

So you turn back. At least you won't make everyone else, those who are faithfully serving, enduring through hardship, bear your sin in addition to everything else.

They can probably do better without you.

And then comes Bartholomew, Bartholomew the encourager. "Come with me," he says. "I can use you."

And you resist. How can you be of use to anyone? You couldn't endure when the road was hard. Your comfort was too important to you. You let everyone down. Even if you had continued, you still would have, one way or another.

But Bartholomew insists. He believes in you. So, you don your cloak and pick up your walking stick and step out to try again.

And then, Paul says no.

You failed them. Why should they take you along? Why won't you fail them again? With work to be done and souls to save, who has time to care for an immature, unreliable kid?

And you cannot argue. You agree with Paul. Why would they want your help?

But Bartholomew says no. He wants you. He says you must stay. And when Paul disagrees, they split.

There you go again, causing strife and headaches and distracting from the important work.

You follow on with Bartholomew, resolved to do your best, but with sorrowful guilt nagging at your heart. You can only beg God to keep you from stumbling this time.

And God works through you, and the weariness of the journey does not defeat you, though you have never been so tried. And still, the guilt lies in the back of your mind, dormant in the corners of your heart.

But your story isn't over.

"Get Mark and bring him with you," Paul says, "for he is useful to me for ministry."

In passing he mentions it, as if it means nothing, as if hearing it your eyes do not fill with tears. As if a hesitant smile isn't forming in your soul.

Useful. Useful to Paul. Useful for ministry.

You. You who failed. You who turned back when the road was rocky. You who sought comfort over compassion. Now, your failures are forgiven and forgotten. You're given another chance.

Not only that, but you're useful. You run the words over and over in your mind. You're useful to the Apostle. You're useful to your Lord. Useful for ministry.

God specializes in using failed vessels. Humbled, you go to Paul, ready to serve.

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.