Things that make you say, "Yesssss!"

On Sunday morning I was dutifully at my station checking the kiddos in with our new child labeling system (seriously, they all get labeled with a little sticker). My friend Jan came in with her adorable twin boys and said the four words every woman wants to hear, "Are you losing weight?" I responded that I'm not sure about the weight thing but I was wearing jeans that I hadn't worn since I was about six months pregnant with Norah. I pointed out that I strategically chose a loose fitting blouse to hide the muffin top area. My sweet, sweet friend responded, "Well they're not tight where I'm lookin'!" Doesn't that just melt your heart!?!

We're talking about generosity at our church for the next few weeks. I think some times the thing I'm least generous with is praise and encouragement. So I just wanted to give a little shout out to a friend who made my day. Jan's little comment was enough to motivate me to get up early (5am!) for the gym the last two days. So here's to generous compliments!

Memorial Box Monday - The French Fry Lesson

A couple of months ago at church they had some mini testimonies from a few of the elders of the church about giving. Ever since then I've been thinking about sharing this story. I'm excited that I'm finally getting to put this down in words, especially since just yesterday we started a sermon series on generosity.

I could add multiple items to my memorial box (when I finally find one) to represent specific instances when the Lord has come through for us financially. I could tell tons of stories about our family being provided for (monetarily and otherwise) in ways that were nothing short of supernatural. But if I had to choose one item that symbolized the core principal behind all of those stories, it would be a little plastic french fry (a real one would get pretty gross after a while). It all goes back to a lesson my dad taught me many, many times throughout my childhood. It was a lesson I didn't truly learn until just a few years ago. The story goes something like this:

When I was growing up, my family was pretty solidly middle class but my parents were, shall we say, frugal. Mom's motto is still, "Cheap is good, free is better." Anyway, we didn't eat out much. But they were both in the church choir, and on choir practice night we just couldn't go home for dinner and make it to church on time. So once a week we went our favorite fast food restaurant. We'll call it Mickey Dee's.

My little brother and I loved choir practice night! Not only did it mean a rare chance to eat out, it meant that we each got our very own Cheerful Box. Now, I don't consider myself old (although I'm currently having a staring contest with 30 and I have a sinking feeling that I'm going to blink sometime late next year), but back in my day there were no such things as "healthy options" in your Cheerful Box. In fact, this was still during the era when Mickey Dee put his sandwiches in styrofoam boxes. But I digress. To my brother and me the Cheerful Box meant so very many sources of joy to choose from. There was the sandwich or processed chicken product of our choice, the cheap licensed character toy and my personal favorite: the french fries!

The meal typically went the same. I hemmed and hawed about which main dish I wanted and whether or not it would have cheese on it. I'd ooh and aah over the awesome new toy. Then about halfway through the meal, Dad would ask if he could share some of my fries. This was the critical moment. I learned right away that saying, "No" made no difference. If I said no, Dad would simply "share" nearly all of my french fries right out from under my little nose and then invite me to buy as many as I wanted with all the money I had in my pockets. I tried all sorts of tricks to keep from sharing. I'd try to eat them all at the beginning of the meal - Dad was too quick for that. I'd try hiding them under the lip of my tray - Dad was too clever for that. I'd try agreeing to share and actually handing over the amount of fries I felt I could spare - Dad always thought I could spare a bit more. Eventually, week after week, month after month, I gave up hoarding, hiding and stockpiling. It took Dad a while but he helped me learn that it wasn't such a horrible thing to share my french fries.

So I'm sure most of you (all three of you who read this) are smarter than me and you're already getting the lesson. But for my own sake, I want to expound a bit. The french fry lesson changed my behavior long before my tiny insect brain realized the spiritual implications. Seriously, I didn't actually get the relevance until I was in my mid twenties. Anyway, here it is...

Although we weren't wealthy, and my parents weren't super spendy, I'm fairly confident that if he'd wanted some, Dad could have headed out to his car, gathered the change from his cup holders and bought himself his own fries. Dad didn't so much want my fries as he wanted to develop an attitude in me. First, when I refused to share he helped me remember where the fries came from. The dad giveth and the dad taketh away. Then, when I did finally (and begrudgingly) learn to share, Dad helped me to see that he was always going to provide for me. He maybe wouldn't give me all the fries I wanted but certainly I had more than I needed. What he was really doing was try to develop a certain attitude in me and my brother about hoarding versus sharing.

Even though it took me a while to apply it to other areas of my life, I hope it's a lesson that stuck. Eventually we became the kind of kids who tried to meet needs when we saw them. My brother would share his snack bar credits with friends whose moms forgot to pack them a snack. I'd share the tickets I won at those silly arcade games with the kid at the party who had her quarter eaten by the broken machine. I hope that now, on a larger scale, I always remember that none of my "hard earned stuff" is really mine. All that I have, my resources, my time, my talents is from the One who "gives life and breath and everything else"! It's much easier to give freely when I remember that everything I'm giving isn't really mine anyway.

I think this is a lesson that a lot of believers don't learn - or at least misunderstand. They either give (not just money) because they feel they have to or because they think they'll be rewarded for it. I think that the latter belief causes all sorts of miscommunication, misunderstanding and resentment between non-believers and the church. The church comes off as offering prosperity in exchange for money.

What the French Fry lesson really taught me was this: God doesn't need our money any more than Dad needed my fries. What he wants, what he desperately wants, what he knows will bring our relationship with him to a whole new level, is for his children to love him more than they love their stuff.

Thankful Thursday

Last Sunday our pastor told us that we're going to be starting a sermon series on sacrificial living based on Philippians. Part of me is really excited about it. Another part of me is apprehensive. If I know our pastor (and I do, a little) he's not going to be content with a "God loves everyone and we should be loving too so go out and do something nice for your community" sort of sermon series on sacrificial living. I'm pretty sure he's going to challenge the way we think about how we give of our resources - time, money, relationships, talents, all of it - and he's going to challenge us to act on our changed thinking (gulp). I'm truly thankful to have a pastor who challenges us and all kidding aside, I'm really looking forward to starting this series.

Looking forward to this series has also gotten me thinking about some lessons that I've learned about giving. I've especially been remembering an object lesson that my dad taught me as a child. The older I get, the more thankful I am for this particular lesson. With this lesson my dad really purposed to help me understand God's heart for his children in regards to giving. It's definitely something I want for us to pass on to Norah as well. I can't wait to write about it! I've taken a cue from my friend (and pastor's wife) Linn and decided to make you (all three of you who read this) wait until Memorial Box Monday to get the whole story. To get you coming back to read it I'll just say this: the story involves french fries. Stay tuned for more!

We Live Here!

I took the below photo on my camera phone out the window on our drive home from work. If you look to the left of the main rainbow, you can see that it's actually a double rainbow. That's right suckas, I live here! So who has dibs on the next visit? :-)

True Story Tuesday - Praise Report

I would have used this one for Memorial Box Monday but (a) it's not actually my story and (b) I only heard about it today. Besides, I haven't done a True Story Tuesday in quite a while! Anyway, here's a miracle story from my aerobics teacher (Christina):

Christina went in to have shoulder surgery last week. She had a severely damaged bicep and a slab tear (tendon detached from the bone). They were going to have to remove the damaged part of her bicep and reattach it to the bone, then reattach the tendon while they were in there as well.

They did all sorts of scans a couple of weeks ago to survey the damage and plan the surgery. On the day of the surgery they went in with a camera first. They told her that they couldn't find any damage. They removed a small bone spur on her shoulder and that was it! She asked if these kinds of injuries ever heal themselves. The doctor said no way; that's why they were doing surgery! He told her that he could only classify this as a medical miracle. She replied, "I don't think the 'medical' part has anything to do with it, but it's definitely a miracle!" Christina was healed!! They even have the before and after scans to prove it. :-)

Christina is a believer and knows exactly Who is responsible for this. Originally the surgery was going to require six months with a physical therapist. Now she can still make extra money teaching workout classes and she can do all her rehab herself (for free) at home. Awesome huh?