Sheriff's Office Field Trip

I was a little trepidatious about a Monday morning field trip. We managed to roll out of the house on time and as we made our way the 30+ minutes to the destination, I hoped this was going to be worth it.

It was so worth it. 

We went to the county seat of our county to tour the sheriff's office. This includes the sheriff's office along with the county jail.

(There was a note that we would not be touring the actual jail where the inmates were kept, which was fine with all of us.)

I could not believe how kind these people were. There were at least ten officers that took us in groups all over the sheriff's office. They showed us the police cars, transport vehicles, the SWAT truck, the booking section, the holding cells, demonstrated and explained fingerprinting, showed us all of the work stations and let the kids touch and explore nearly the entire office.

I was just amazed. 

We ended the tour in the office of the Sheriff, who was such a kind man. 

It was well worth the drive on this dreary Monday. Super worth it. 

Examining some finger prints. 

Fingerprint demonstration

SWAT truck

Office of the Sheriff

Antiques in the Sheriff's office

Explaining the things in the office

There were several displays of patches from all over the country

McGruff, the Crime Dog

Someone is a little terrified of "mascots"

The inside of the back of a police car.

Two thoughts:

1. I need my van to be made like this. I could hose it out every so often. Genius.

2. I made it through the decade of debauchery without seeing the back of a police car. That is God's grace and protection over me. I spent some time thanking Him for that. 

Checking out the bullet proof vests. 

Sitting in the police car

We couldn't take pictures of the booking section and the holding cells and workstations. The kids explored and sat in jail cells. The padded cell was especially intriguing. 

In light of the sermon from the day before, I was on heightened alert about the name of Jesus. In the padded cell was scratched into the wall (by a fingernail, they said) the word "JESUS." I said, "Oh, it's the name of Jesus. How amazing to see that there!"

They laughed and said, "That was probably a man named 'Jesus' (Hay-SOOS)" 

Oh. Okay. 

Well, I tried. 

And at least we talked about Jesus for that minute, right? (and we laughed)

After the field trip we ate at Steak and Shake before we ran our errands. I mean, field trips are celebrations, right? And we had to celebrate with shakes right? 

I think we just wanted shakes. And grilled cheeses. 

We were happy!

"What do you seek?"

I have strange fears. 

One of them is eternity. 

Yes. Eternity. 

I've had this fear since I was a child. I can remember clearly being in second grade and lying in the bed, trying to figure out eternity. I would think about it at length, trying to understand how heaven could never end. I would think about it until the anxiety would force me to stop or I would have to succumb to a full blown anxiety attack. 

I thought I would grow out of it. 

I didn't. 

I remember still being in a Bible study with my friends several years ago and confessing this strange part of myself nervously to my friends. A sweet friend blessed with the gift of faith said, "Just don't think about it."

Okay.

That didn't help.

I still, at any moment, can ponder the concept of eternity and work myself into a complete anxiety attack.

I'm quite sure this is sin.

{This oddity was finally helped a little by the theological revelation that time is a concept created along with our world. It didn't exist before the creation of the universe and won't exist after. To even ascribe the word "eternity" to heaven is to ascribe a  human term to a non-human concept. It won't exist there. This helped. Some.}

This tends to color how I feel about dying too. I am completely confident in my salvation. The realization that death ushers me into eternity? That's a little more of a problem.

I usually conquer this peculiar flaw of mine with praise and an outward confession of my weakness and begging God to help me trust Him.

{and I know all the right theological answers. this is just a supremely bizarre aspect to my sinful anxiety.}

So

The hubs and I headed off one Sunday to finally see "The Hobbit." We love these movies and watch them periodically. 

I particularly love Elrond and his home, Rivendell.

(photo credit: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Elrond)

This is the cheesiest video ever, but I needed to include here just a glimpse of Rivendell:

So hubs and I are watching "The Hobbit" and I'm innocently enjoying the movie. Elrond's image fills the screen and I involuntarily sighed and thought, "Aw, I hope Jesus is like that."

That sort of shocked my system, and I sat upright and thought, "WHAT did I just say?" 

Gosh.

But soon images of Rivendell flowed off the screen and soothed me, and I found myself wishing that this is what heaven would be like. 

"If heaven was like that, I wouldn't want it to end."

Okay, folks, this is where I knew it was time to get into the Gospels.

See, I spend most of my time in the Old Testament. There are tons of reasons why, but I just prefer it. 

Anyway, after I found myself wishing that Jesus looked, sounded and acted like an actor on a screen, I knew it was time to spend some deep, real and long time with Him. 

I repented and opened my Bible to John.

Oh, sweet John. I asked the Lord to meet me on the pages of John.

Just as sometimes you don't realize how thirsty you are until you take that first drink of ice cold water, I realized how much I needed to be near my Savior. I needed to hear Him and see Him and touch Him and be touched by Him.

I began to worship as I saw again that He has always been. 

And then these words:

What do you seek?

He said these words to His first disciples, former disciples of John the Baptist, Andrew and Peter. They "heard Him speak and and they followed Jesus." He turned to them and said these words, not in a condescending or confrontational way, but in a gentle invitation for them to interact with Him. And that's why I needed to be here with Christ. Sometimes I think He wasn't kind. He wasn't loving. He's tough and hard and demanding. 

Or this is how I feel when I step away from Him for too long.

And I felt Scripture beckon me and ask me the same question. Gently. Kindly. It was an invitation to interact with Him, just as He said to Andrew and Peter, "Why are you here? What would you like to know?"

And I told Him that I missed Him. I was sorry I had stayed away too long. I needed to be near Him and hear His words again. 

So I read. I tried not to stop and study too much. I tried to just read and allow His words to flow over me. To soothe. To convict. To fellowship with Him. To learn from Him. 

And there is was. The invitation that I had seen quite often here lately. But to see it here, in Scripture  in context of His words, and His story, it was precious. 

So I read and I read. And I met Him here in these pages. I saw His love and saw His commands. I studied when my cultural expectations crashed against the words in the pages. When He wasn't kind enough or sensitive enough. And of course I was wrong over and over again. He was kind and gentle. It felt good to get back to Who He really was and is and what He is calling me to.

Hard words. He says hard words too. 

It felt so good to see His words unfiltered and fresh off the page lodging themselves in my mind and in my heart.

I felt changed each morning just by spending time with Him here. 

Jesus. 

Not God. Just Jesus. 

The part of the trinity that I grapple with the most. Savior and King. What does that look like each day in my life?

The words in John soothed my fears and ushered me to worship.

Then Lent came. What a sweet way to celebrate this time leading up to Easter. With Jesus. And just Jesus. 

I pulled this out. When John is complete, I will read all the Gospels, together as one. To see their stories woven together to paint this picture of Christ. 

To celebrate this: the "ministry, crucifixion and resurrection of the Messiah." 

What about me will be different by spending time with Him in these pages? No theology. No rudimentary word studies that are probably doing more damage than they are good. No commentaries. No books written about these Gospels. 

Just the Word.

Just the Words of Christ. 

How will I be changed? 

I can't wait. 

And I'm quite sure Jesus is infinitely superior to Elrond. I'm positive Rivendell will look like a sewer compared to Heaven. I know that my finite mind was not created to here on earth comprehend what eternity will be. 

But do you know what soothed this in me? When Jesus said to His disciples as He was getting ready to go to the cross, 

 Father, I desire those You have given Me to be with Me where I am. Then they will see My glory, which You have given Me because You loved Me before the world's foundation.

He desired even then that I be with Him in Heaven. How can I be afraid of being somewhere with Someone who loves me with a love I can't even fully comprehend?

So what am I back to? 

Trust. 

Yes, Jesus. I trust You. With my salvation. With Your plan for my life. And even with Heaven. 

I'm thankful for Your patience with me.

And I'm thankful for the power of Scripture. May we all seek Jesus on its pages more. 

Happy 9th Birthday, Jude!

I will try not emote too heavily over this post. My middle child is the least dramatic of the three of my children, and he is the one who tolerates my drama least of the three of them. 

He likes things to just be.

So I will honor him in that.

I will say that I just watched an interview with an older actor in which she says one bad thing about getting older is that you feel like you eat breakfast every thirty minutes. I feel that way about this last year. We celebrated Jude's eighth birthday and now, suddenly, it was time to celebrate his ninth, after just a couple of breakfasts.

I would like to slow things down just a bit. 

That bit of emoting done, the documenting of said birthday must commence. He may not like my emoting, but he can't stop my birthday documentation. 

His actual birthday was on a Wednesday. The hubs worked hard to organize his schedule so he could have the early part of the day off. The two of them had a man date and spent some quality time doing man sorts of things.

The other two and I went to get his birthday present. We spoke his love language and bought him a skateboard thing that I was quite sure he was going to break on arm on. I ignored my obsessive worry appropriate motherly concern and purchased what is called a "ripstik." 

He was overjoyed.

Don't let the lack of emotion fool you. I think we've covered already that he's not one to emote.

Or put up with my emoting. 

 

We met for lunch as his favorite restaurant: Moe's. If you ask him where he wants to eat ever, he'll choose Moe's. 

And I must pause to quietly emote over the preciousness of that boy. Goodness.

We had Gigi's cupcakes for desert. And fine, I had a little something to do with this choice of desert. But he was good with that.

After lunch, he wanted to go jump at an inflatable jumping place, or roller skate, but since it was the school year, those places were closed during the weekdays. He agreed that going to the zoo was an acceptable alternative, and that was a really good thing since it suddenly turned the day into a field trip.  Yay for days off that are still school days.

Not that I'm obsessively counting or anything. 

We had a great time at the zoo, and since we had just wrapped a unit study on reptiles, it was great timing for school too. They studied the anaconda for a long while. That thing was huge. 

We then headed to church where he spent the last part of this birthday with friends, and that made him happy.

It was a good birthday.

The following Saturday, he invited family and a few friends to celebrate his day at home. 

When I woke up that Saturday morning, he had decorated the whole downstairs by himself, set out all the table decorations and gotten everything ready by himself. 

It was, as you probably already read, a "red birthday."

He chose all the snacks, which meant we had a plethora of BBQ flavored foods. And pickles. 

It's his birthday party. He can do as he likes.  

He also opted for a cookie cake and a regular small cake too. And two kinds of ice cream. Variety is the name of the game. 

He was blessed with really great gifts. He was so happy.

The baby, of course, nearly stole the show.

I shared her like a good aunt should. 

I mean, how could all of that cuteness not almost steal the show?

I was thrilled to get her at the end of the party. 

I love that kid.

We probably look as tired as we felt. It was a great day, though. 

He promptly spent the rest of the weekend building Legos and playing with his toys.

Which is exactly what a nine year old should do. 

Excuse me while I go quietly emote.

show me my sin

It was early. 

Too early to be brewing coffee, ironically enough.

 Why I can't get it all ready and set the automatic timer the night before is beyond me.

But here I was. Still pitch black out side, sleep still clouding my eyes. Trying to make coffee. 

I fumbled the entire time, got it all ready and turned my back. I knew almost instantly that I had done something wrong. I turned back just in time to see black sludge spreading across the counter. 

I had forgotten to put the lid of the coffee pot.

Thick, black, ground-filled coffee muck was everywhere. Counter, all in the coffee pot and even in the coffee maker itself. 

I considered either going back to bed or getting in the van to go get coffee. After clutching the counter for a moment I decided to do the right thing and clean up the mess. 

As I emptied the coffee pot I glanced down into it and saw that the stainless steel pot was completely brown, caked with coffe residue. I cringed. I call myself a decent housekeeper, but things like this make me wonder. I sprinkled some baking soda in the bottom of the pot and started scrubbing.

Did I mention it was still dark outside? It's still dark outside and I'm scrubbing something. 

As I dumped out the now putrid brown baking soda coffee sludge from the coffe pot, I thought, "Well, I'm sure the coffee will taste better now. Good grief."

The pot gleamed. I scrubbed out the coffee maker, cleaned up the counter, refilled everything and make the coffee again, this time with the lid firmly screwed in place.

I stood back a minute and admired my work.

Would you have cleaned that pot this morning had there not been a coffee disaster?

I felt the gentle whisper of the Spirit in my heart. 

Of course I wouldn't have cleaned the coffee pot. I would have gone on drinking coffee out of that stained pot, too busy to notice it was dirty. 

Oh...

I really don't think God should teach me anything before I've had coffee.

See, it had been a hard week. After a hard weekend. And I was still tired from all of that but the days kept coming so I was trying to keep up.

And my daughter had an... issue. 

Now I know that my kids are getting bigger. I know that their lives aren't fully mine to share as much now that they are getting older. I don't want to tell something that's not mine to tell. So I'll just say there was in issue. 

We had been praying over this issue for a little while, and it sort of suddenly came to a head one morning. 

We talked and talked and then she went off to start school while I cleaned the kitchen from breakfast. 

She came back in the kitchen, twirling her hair the way she does when she's nervous.

"Mom? I am going to fast from lunch today and ask God to show me my sin."

Um. 

I mean I played it cool. I was all like, "Oh wow, okay sweetie. That's good. Great idea..."

She went back to the table and I grabbled the edge of the counter for the second time that morning and in my head said, "WHAT JUST HAPPENED?"

Oh, Lord. What do I do?

I called her and she came back in the kitchen. I pulled her in my arms and just held her for awhile. I whispered into her hair, "I am so proud of you."

She pulled back and I looked her full in her face, "I'm going to do it too, okay?"

She smiled. "You don't have to, Mom. I know it's what I'm supposed to do."

"I need to do it too," I responded.

We nodded in solidarity.

And we started school. 

It was Wednesday, so we had piano and church. We have a pretty tight schedule to keep, and then my sweet neighbor who recently had surgery texted me to ask if I happened to be going to the grocery store that afternoon. She needed some things and I responded that we would be happy to make a run for her. And I was happy to go. I was also wondering where I was going to find some time with my kid to help her sort this all out.

We plowed through school and soon it was lunchtime. I eyed my daughter and I could tell she was struggling. The boys brought their lunches to the table so they could eat, and I could hear them asking why she wasn't eating. I just listened from the kitchen where I was cleaning it from the lunch rush. She just shrugged and said, "I'm fasting."

The not so gentle baby kid said, "Why are you fasting?" I think he even then waved part of his lunch in front of her face. 

We have a ways to go with him.

I came back to the table and she leaned over and said, "He tempted me with his lunch, but I thought about Jesus in the desert and Satan tempting Him with food and He said 'no' and I decided to do the same thing."

Well okay then.

We finished school and dashed out into the rain to get things for our friends. 

In the grocery store.

Where there's lots of food.

And we were hungry.

I heard her groan a time or two.

We hurried.

We dropped off the food and got home and bless her heart, she had to practice for her piano lesson. 

"I'm hungry," she said simply.

"Okay, listen. Here's where we say, 'Lord, more than I want food, I want you to show me my sin.'" I almost hated to tell her this, but it was necessary. I wanted to tell her it was okay, that she'd worked hard and it was a good effort and go have some lunch. 

But I was not going to waste this fast. 

She practiced her allotted time and came back to where I was folding laundry. 

"Okay. Now. Go get with God. Get in your room. No music. Nothing. You and God. Get your journal out. Ask God to show you your sin. Again. Ask and be still. And wait. And write." I was trembling inside.

She nodded and walked upstairs. I got out my beloved journal. I needed to pray the same prayer, but I couldn't yet. 

"Lord, show yourself to my daughter. Lord, you have to show yourself here. This is important. Move here. Do a work. Please make this mean something to her. Please..." I cried and prayed. I prayed and cried some more. I was desperate for Him to show Himself faithful to her. 

I started to write myself and ask God the same for me...

Show me my sin...

My pen began to form letters and soon I was writing some things that I knew I needed to address in my own life. Not fun. But necessary.

I soon heard her footsteps. I looked up and she was standing, clutching her notebook.

I think my heart literally broke just a little. 

She smiled sadly and said, "I want to read you this, and I'm warning you that I might cry."

I could only bite my lip and nod.

She read the most amazingly beautiful and painfully honest thing I could have ever imagined. When she was done, I stood and pulled her in my arms again. I just couldn't even speak. I choked back my own tears and said, "I'm so proud of you. Now can I make you something to eat before we go?" She nodded. It was after 4 o'clock and she had not eaten since breakfast. She bounced off to gather her things for piano and church. There was a lightness in her step that comes from the true confession of sin, and the beautiful receiving of forgiveness.

While I made her sandwich I considered later finding that thing she wrote and stealing it. I wanted to keep it to bookmark this day. I didn't but I still might. 

She came back into the kitchen chattering away. "Do you know how I knew to fast?" she asked.

I said I didn't. I had been wondering about that all day, really. I could't remember if I had ever really talked to her about fasting, regrettably. 

"Pastor David taught us about it, remember? He taught us how to do it. I remembered what he said and I knew that was what I needed to do."

This is just one of the things I love about families worshipping together. 

We took those moments as she ate her peanut butter and jelly sandwich to talk about how Jesus taught about fasting. About what Scripture says about it. About how it works and what it does. She dusted the sandwich crumbs off her hands and bounced to the van. Her step was still light. 

I watched her in rec time that night at church, and tears spilled again. How do you ever thank God enough for working in your child's life?

I came home that night exhausted. The day wasn't over yet. My husband and I had some long, deep and hard conversations about some heavy issues. It wasn't pretty and it was not easy. As I drug my now past exhausted body to bed that night, I heard myself say, "Well, you asked God to show you your sin..."

Yes. Yes, I did.

As I cleaned up those coffee grounds off my white countertop that still dark morning, I saw the connection. Had my daughter not had a "disaster" she would not have fasted and asked God to show her her sin. 

Had I not had my spousal "disaster" (or "incident" we can now call it) that one night, I would not have been shown my sin.

But as a result of some disasters, we were able to allow God to point out some black places in us. 

To see it so plainly, all over my kitchen counter in the form of coffee sludge, was humbling. And for this analogy queen, it was the perfect way to cement this in my heart and mind what will hopefully be forever.

Disaster brings about sanctification

Whether it's doing Friday school here or learning to run or messing up the checkbook or offending a friend or something bigger...

Or huge. Whatever it is. I doubt I would let God clean out the dark, dank recesses of my heart if I weren't forced to. 

And that's something the girl kid said. I mean she really said it. 

"If that terrible thing hadn't have happened, I wouldn't have done all of that."

I want to learn how to "do all of that" even when disaster doesn't come. I want to be brave enough to ask it more often. And even now as I struggle to walk in obedience to what God is telling me to do to eradicate the sin He showed me, I still want to be brave enough to follow through. Because some times it's just easier to stay right where you are. 

And I want to be brave enough to ask Him to do it again. 

But I want to be a polished and sparkling conduit for Him. So if the Lord has to get His scrub brush after me whether it be after a disaster or not, so be it.

All for His glory.