Miracles

When the holiday season begins, I get a little bit sad.

Because holidays are family times, and our family, even when we all get together, is no longer complete. There's a hole, and it's present every day, but it's never quite as noticeable as it is when we are drawing names for our gift exchange, or planning who will be cooking what on Thanksgiving, or hanging ornaments on  the tree.

When I get sad, and my heart misses my sister, I usually find comfort in the Word.

Confession: It hasn't been working lately. I'm in a Bible study group that is going through the book of Luke (my favorite gospel) and recently we've been reading a lot about the miracles Jesus performed while He was on earth.

I love reading about His mighty power displayed in people's lives.

Until we get to a story of Him raising someone from the dead.

A lump fills my throat.

My heart races.

My jaw clenches in an attempt to keep it from shaking.

There's something inside me that has a hard time reading those stories.

Because, when my sister died, we prayed that God would raise her from the dead. And I believe that He can still do that miracle, and I had faith that He could do it for her...but He didn't.

And so, even though it's not rational, whenever I read about Lazarus, or Jairus' daughter, or the widow of Nain's son...I get sick to my stomach, because I am trying so hard not to ask Him,

"Why couldn't you do that miracle for ME?"

It's impossible to understand. It's too unimaginable to accept. The God of the universe, the ultimate Creator, the All Powerful I Am...chose not to heal my sister of her brain hemorrhage, even though thousands of people were praying for Him to do that very thing. And He chose not to raise my sister from the dead. Even though I know He could have. Even though I asked Him to.

He had great compassion on the widow of Nain, and he raised her son from the dead. (Luke 7:11-15) He told Jairus not to fear, to just believe, and He raised the little girl up again. (Luke 8:40-56) He told Mary and Martha "Your brother will rise again." And then...Lazarus rose. (John 11)

Did He not feel great compassion for my family? Was our grief not great enough? Were we not afraid enough to move His healing power? Were we not good enough friends of His to warrant a death-defying miracle?

These are the hard questions, the ones I don't verbalize because they're ugly, and because I know, logically, what the answer is.

But, oh, how hard it is to swallow that I didn't get my miracle.

Today, something happened.

A reminder. A whisper from my Savior.

I met a wonderful woman today, a friend of a friend who is in the middle of reading my book. And even though she hasn't finished it yet, she told me that it is ministering to her heart, and rejuvenating her faith, and she is so inspired.

A lump filled my throat.

My heart raced.

My jaw clenched to stop it from shaking.

I wrote the book to tell the story of my sister's life, and to spread the story of His work in the life of anyone willing to walk His path for them.

If she hadn't died, I never would have written the book.

And if I hadn't written the book, people wouldn't have been able to read her story, and be inspired by her courage and love and passion.

And their lives being changed by one simple girl's story...that's a miracle.

And a sweet wonderful woman being moved to tears as she tells me that she can't wait to meet Joy in heaven...that's a miracle.

And the real miracle, the one that I can't stop crying over today, the one that He keeps whispering to me...she isn't really dead at all.

She lives.
I GOT my miracle.
His way.
And I got so many more miracles that I never even asked for.
And people's lives are changed...because she died...because she lived for Him.

"Jesus said, "I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in Me will live, even after dying. Everyone who lives in Me and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this...?" John 11:25-26

The Real Story - Friendship

Okay, for the sake of consistency, I titled this post the way I have titled all of The Real Story entries, but this one is going to be a little different, and should really have been titled: Real Friendship.

There are people you are friends with - You hug them when you see them, you swap favorite movie and book stories, you have them over for meals or play dates, you clean the house before they come so they will be impressed and not judge you, you threaten the lives of your children if they aren't on their best behavior during the play date or meal, you take them dinner when they are sick or just had a baby, you laugh together about things, and you enjoy being part of their lives.

But then...then there are your FRIENDS - you rarely hug them when you see them (it's more like eye contact followed by a frazzled 'Hi' from across a room) you don't talk much about movies and books (because you know they don't have time to read or watch TV, and they know you don't either) You do NOT clean the house before they come over (and you know they won't judge you for the dirt) you threaten the lives of your children if they aren't on their best behavior (but you also know the kids will still be wild, and the friend will still love you) you take them a meal when they need it (but you also pick up their kids and take them back to your house so your friend can have some rest time, and you may or may not smuggle fattening goodies or alcoholic beverages into their meal basket) you laugh together about things (mostly inappropriate things) and you know you are a part of each other's lives even if you haven't seen, talked to, or spent time with them in weeks, months, or years.

Here are my top ten REAL facts about Real Friendship (in no particular order)

1. A real friend is the one you ask to check your teeth after a meal, and they gladly point out which teeth are housing chunks of herb chicken for all the world to see.

2. A real friend lies to you when you tell them you've gained weight and ask them if they noticed.

3. A real friend judges you for your high school music choices, and tells you about it, and you aren't offended. You just tell them you judge them for theirs too, and you both laugh.

4. A real friend gets mad at your husband when he does or says something that hurts your feelings, but she also reminds you that you LOVE that man and to figure out how to work it out.

5. A real friend frequently deletes all text conversations between the two of you, because if anyone else picked up their phone and read the messages, they would be horrified.

6. A real friend doesn't sugar coat their feelings. If they are crabby, they say mean things to you. If you are crabby, you snap at them. But you both know that you will still be friends the next day, and that your apology will be received and the incident forgiven.

7. A real friend is one who can be absent from your daily life for months and even years, but when you get the opportunity to spend time with them...it's like you were never apart.

8. A real friend doesn't have to call you on your crap. Just being around them makes you aware of it, and you admit it on your own without them having to say a word.

9. A real friend makes time for you in their lives, no matter how busy. And the other side of that is, a real friend isn't offended or insecure when you CAN'T make time for them in certain instances. They are there for you, and you are there for them, even if you cancel plans with each other multiple times in a row.

10. A real friend makes you want to be a better friend, Christian, spouse, parent, house-keeper, and all the rest...but they accept you when you are sub-standard versions of those things, and don't judge you for your below-par rating.


It takes work to become a REAL friend. It takes time. It takes a willingness to be vulnerable. It takes a deep, shared love for the Lord, and requires an honest appreciation of a few key things: chocolate, coffee, wine, shopping, appropriately placed curse words, Christmas music, texting, jewelry, family, and board games. (or at least half of the above list...I'm willing to bend on wine, Christmas music, and jewelry...the others will require some prayer.)

I am blessed to have a list of wonderful REAL friends in my life. If you don't have that, I'm truly sorry. Take a minute and examine my thoughts above, and then ask the Lord to give you the courage to BE a Real Friend, and to bless you with someone who will be one for you in return.

And, don't be afraid to let your friends know "If we are going to be friends, I'm going to need you to..."

You fill in the blank. I have finished that sentence with: 'learn to like coffee' 'watch and enjoy the Star Wars movies' 'read this book and love it' 'never say the word sensual to me, for any reason' and so many more...

The Real Story about friendship is: it takes time and courage and energy...and you won't regret it.

The Real Story - Grief

Well, this is a terribly depressing topic. I went back and forth on whether or not to include it, but I heard a song today that made me realize I had to write about this subject.

Grief is something we all face in our lives. And its something we can't really, truly understand until we've faced it. And its something most people don't spend a lot of time processing out loud. I don't know if I can either, but I'm determined to give it a try.

Sometimes its a loss that is expected. My grandmother (paternal) died after a long battle with cancer when I was a 12 or 13. We knew it was coming. We were relieved that she was no longer suffering. But we still cried. We still grieved the loss of her in our lives.

My grandfather (maternal) was killed in a car accident when I was 10. That was a shock to my family. A reeling, breathtaking, unfathomable shock. I will always remember walking in from the backyard to find my mom laying flat on her back in the floor, her hands over her face, sobs seeping from between her fingers, tears running down into her hair.

Everyone says there are stages of grief. I can't remember what they all are, but I know anger is in there, and denial, and acceptance is the last one listed. I know this, because somehow in my mind I just assumed that once you'd gone through all the steps...grieving was over.

Boy, was I wrong.

Losing a grandparent is hard, and I can only imagine how hard losing a parent is. Losing my 26 year old sister...breathtaking, unfathomable shock.

The Real Story about grief is...it takes a while to really sink in. At first, there is sadness and tears and pain and loss...but there is a significant amount of numbness too. The adrenaline is pumping, because you are suddenly having to think about funeral arrangements and accommodations for out of town family members. There is quite a bit of distraction which keeps the numbness from wearing off or the adrenaline from dying down.

But after the funeral is over, and after people stop bringing meals, and all your family members go home...

That is when grief sets in. The soul ache, the deep, dark pit of pain and loss, the hurt so all-consuming that you can feel it in your bones. You can't eat, you can't sleep. When you do eat, it goes straight through you and makes you sick, when you do sleep you dream about your lost loved one and wake up sobbing in the middle of the night.

Every single moment you can remember with the one you loved and lost replays in your mind. Every unkind word or deed causes you to feel nauseous. Every moment you were less than interested in them carries a surge of regret - regret that you were so blasé in your time with them, regret that you can never get a do-over, regret that you didn't hold them close and never let them go.

The searing loss and pain are also marked by unexpected things. The children take care of their parents. My mom did it for her mom after the car wreck that killed my grandfather. I did it for my mom when Joy died, and my sweet little daughter, only 8 at the time, cared for me. She would sit beside me and hold my hand while I cried. She would run to turn off the radio if a song came on that might remind me of my sadness and/or my sister, and (unbeknownst to me at the time) she would crawl out of her bed late at night after I was asleep, and sit beside her daddy on the couch, crying out her own tears of loss and pain that she kept back from me because she didn't want to add to mine.

Also unexpected was the fact that acceptance of my grief didn't, in any way, mark the end. Truly, that was the beginning. Because accepting it meant I had to figure out a way to live with it...

You lose a part of yourself when you lose someone you love. Because the part of you that they brought out...can't be brought out by anyone else. You are now missing a piece of who you are, literally. The closer you were to that person, the bigger the piece you lost. And it's gut-wrenching...and that never goes away.

And I guess that's one really shocking REAL fact about grief, and the one nobody wants to tell you, because there doesn't seem to be any hope in it.

Grief doesn't end, once it's started.

I'm 3 years and 2 months into my life since I lost my sister, into trying to be the new person I am without the part of me that died with her, and I still have moments, and days, when I cry a lot, and I miss her, and I can't stop wishing and regretting and hurting.

There are fewer days like that than there were at first. But I still have them. I made a greeting card last week that was something she would have loved. As soon as I finished it, I thought "I have to send this to Joy." And then...the reality. The ache. The strength sapping remembrance.

So the reason I didn't want to share the real story about grief is because it seems, at first, like a DOWNER beyond compare.

But...

There are more real facts. They aren't fact you can really understand until you have lived them. But if you've never experienced a deep loss, I want you to read this, and I want you to store it away in your heart, because someday...someday you will need to know.

You will never feel God more clearly than you do in your deep pain. You will know Him more intimately than you ever have before. You will find comfort in His presence. You will be held.

And, you will turn and rail at Him...and lash out in anger at Him...accuse Him of making a mistake...doubt His goodness...

And He will still be there.

You will be so tired of feeling pain that you will shut your emotions down, and you won't be able to feel anything at all...

And He will still be there.

And when a long, painful, battle scarred road stands behind you, and you know there is still more of the  journey to live through...you will be able to say to the person who is still numb with shock...

"Never once will you ever walk alone."
"You don't have to feel Him. But He is still there."
"It's okay to be angry. He isn't afraid of your pain. He's there with you in it."
"He is with you in this moment. You have enough grace for right now, and that is its own miracle."

He is faithful.
He is good.
He is true.

The Real Story about grief...it's where you find Him. He's in the weakest, hardest, darkest moments of our lives. And in His mercy, He holds us. And in His grace, He blesses others through our pain. And in His love, He heals our pain so that it's bearable.

I have several songs that I have listened to on my own grief journey. If you need some reminders, listen to them. If you are filing things away for when you do need them, add these to your list.

"Sovereign" (Chris Tomlin)
"Beauty Will Rise" (Steven Curtis Chapman)
"Never Once" (Matt Redman)
"Arms That Hold The Universe" (Fee)
"Faithful" (Steven Curtis Chapman)
"In Christ Alone" (Avalon Hymns)

There is hope in grief. There are promises so faithful that we can drop our anchors in them. There are Arms mightier than anything we can ever face. There is a story that is eternal, and our journey is only part of it. There is more to this life...after this life.

And so, The Real Story about grief has two parts:

It doesn't end once it starts...until it ends
for good,
for everyone,
forever.

The Real Story - Exercise

There are people who work out consistently, and people who don't.

There are people who never gain weight, despite the fact they never work out and they eat whatever they want, and there are the rest of us.

There are people who enjoy exercise, and there is the normal, not-crazy, majority of the world.

And the people who never have to work out or watch what they eat to stay the shape and size they want to get dirty looks from the rest of us.

And the people who LOVE going to the gym or going for a run or going to yoga class are usually on the receiving end of silent hatred from the normal people in the world.

Most people don't like to exercise. I know I don't. I hate sweating, especially since I am the kind of girl who sweats till it pools in my belly button. It's gross, and smelly, and I DO NOT enjoy it in any way.

But if I could receive instant gratification from a good hard workout (like, maybe my jeans would fit a little looser the first time I used the stationary bike) (or, maybe my arms would look a little less like flabby, saggy skin, and a little more like Jillian Michaels' biceps after 10 push ups) then I would probably be more prone to working out on a regular basis.

But those things don't happen.

I just get a belly button full of sweat, and my jeans still give me a muffin top.

I don't eat a single dessert, or drink a single sugar-filled soft drink, or eat the bread that comes with a restaurant meal...and I still hold onto the flab in all the places I wish I could shed it.

The Real Story about exercise is...it sucks.

Most of us walk quickly up a flight of stairs and then tell ourselves "that counts as my workout."

I consider house cleaning a workout. And walks with the kids. And (clears throat suggestively) one-on-one time with my husband.

I know people who park at the back end of the Wal-mart parking lot and walk briskly to the store, so that they "got in their exercise for the day."

And if we are honest, we all wish we had one of those muscle-shocking machines that they sell on infomercials. Then we could sit on our butts on the couch and the machine could shock our stomach muscles into flat, six-pack loveliness, and we could avoid sweaty belly buttons altogether.

I secretly wish I could take expensive, magic diet pills, and that they would work.

I DO NOT secretly wish for a personal trainer to get me into shape, because that would require the belly button sweat.

I work out (sometimes) because otherwise I'd have to buy new clothes in a bigger size, and the only thing I hate worse than belly button sweat is trying on jeans in a store dressing room, and not being able to button them.

But, most of the time, I avoid working out, and I also steer clear of full length mirrors, and I try not to look at the size-tags in my clothes.

 I do my best to avoid sugar, which I then use to make myself feel better about the exercise avoidance.

And when I get belly button sweat from walking up and down my stairs...I count that as a workout.

And anyone who doesn't have to work hard to stay the shape and size they want to be should never, EVER, tell the rest of us about it.

And the people who really enjoy a good hard workout shouldn't be allowed to encourage the rest of us to try it. Seriously, keep it to yourself, weirdos.

And THAT is the Real Story about exercise.

The Real Story - Parenthood

Alright, in preparation for this post, I have taken the liberty of enlisting some truly wise help. Please, take a moment and watch this clip.

**Disclaimer: the sound dubbing is slightly off. I'm sorry if that drives you as crazy as it does me. I find this a valid bit of insight and have decided to share it, regardless.***

***Disclaimer number 2: there is cursing in this video.***

http://youtu.be/oxo9rO0qouk

Hehehe. Giggle. Chuckle. Hold sides to keep love handles from jiggling while gasping for breath. Wipe laughter induced tears from eyes. Repeat as needed.

I. Laugh. Every. Single. Time.

Because anyone who doesn't admit to having that EXACT day as a parent...isn't being honest.

First of all, I wouldn't put quite as many 'awfuls' into my overall description of parenthood.

But I also have days where that wasn't nearly enough uses of the word.

The Real Story about being a parent has a lot of similarities to the Real Story about marriage.

It's shockingly different than you think it will be, both in a wonderful way, and in a "what the holy crap did I get myself into?" way.

If you're not a parent, I have a few of the shocking, REAL facts for you, just so you don't say "No one ever told me..."

1. You will have no privacy, ever again.
2. You will learn the theme song to every cartoon imaginable.
3. You will come to despise shopping and eating at restaurants.
4. You WILL say "because I said so" regardless of how much you hated it being said to you.
5. You will not be permitted to be sick, and if you are, you will still have to be a parent, complete with diaper changing and nose wiping and butt wiping and toy fixing and blanket hunting and food preparing. You might be able to fit a minute in the middle to puke, or cough, or blow your nose, or medicate...but you might not. My advice- Don't. Get. Sick.

Kids are loud, and messy, and way too curious, and altogether too much work.

And also, they are loving, and forgiving, and hilarious, and helpful.

The moments of AWFUL are absolutely present, I am here to tell you. If you meet a parent in the store that says otherwise, and they are smiling with recently brushed teeth, and holding the hands of their perfectly dressed children, and those children are reading educational books while standing quietly, and that parent with the clean teeth also has combed hair, and they are wearing socks that match, and they tell you that being a parent is the most wonderful, rewarding, easy thing they have ever done...

Run. They are aliens.

Being a parent IS rewarding. When your child tells you they love you with their little grubby hand pressed to your cheek...that is one heck of a reward. When you witness them putting into practice a discipline or attitude or action you taught them...you feel such pride and joy that its impossible to describe. You can only know it if you are willing to brave the WHOLE parenthood package.

I have four children. A daughter and three sons, in that order. And I know, without doubt, that I am blessed abundantly.

Without them in my life, I wouldn't laugh HALF as much.
Without them, I wouldn't be able to look the Target cashier in the eye while buying fruit snacks.
Without my kids, I would feel a lot less cool, because somehow they think I ROCK, and knowing someone thinks that about you never gets old.

They love me, even when I screw up. And boy do I screw up.

They know, when I am standing in a room with my face buried in my hands, and they can hear me muttering, that I am praying for the strength not to kill someone, and they better run away, FAST.

Here is the truest thing I can say about being a parent: It will shine a light on how SELFISH you are, like nothing else ever could, and it will give you a glimpse into what unconditional love truly looks like.

I have been peed on, pooped on, puked on, spit on, slobbered on, snotted on, cried on, farted on, climbed on, burped on, sneezed on, and bled on.

I have been the recipient of back rubs, of hugs so tight I couldn't breathe, of kisses that tasted like heaven and Cheetos, of wild flowers picked just for me, of homemade cards with half the letters written backwards, of smiles that light up my heart.

Parenthood is awful, awful, awful, awful, awful.

And...it's priceless.

You can believe me, because I don't have recently brushed teeth, or combed hair, or matching socks, and my children are watching cartoons instead of reading books, and in ten seconds they will be eating candy they found on the floor, and my youngest will probably pull down his pants and pee on me while I am telling you this...

I am not an alien.
I am a mom.
And being a mom is FREAKING HARD.

And...it's worth it.

And yes, I do tell my children it's not okay to play with other people's s*%#.

The Real Story - Marriage

Marriage...

If you are married, you can HEAR the tone of voice in which I thought the word, and I don't even need to say more, because you totally understand.

But I'm going to say more, because the point of this whole series is to tell the REAL story. And most people who aren't married never, ever, hear the real story when it comes to marriage, and once they get married they are SHOCKED, and wonder why no one ever told them what it was really like.

Here is what my mom told me when I got engaged: "Everyone has a full list of expectations with regard to what marriage will be like. You have a list, and he has a list. They probably don't match up in very many places, and neither of your lists of expectations are likely to be met. You need to decide what is really important to you, and what is just some romanticized notion. Because that is what marriage is really about. Figuring each other out as you go, and making changes and adaptations accordingly."

Right...blog post adjourned. Because what else is there to say, really? That sums it up.

Still, lets marinate on this for a second.

We have expectations, and they have expectations, and where did we get them in the first place?

Well, Hollywood has done a fantastic job of making marriage look like a fairy tale. And they have done a wonderful job of showing how marriages fail. The highs and the lows, that's what they are good at showing.

But...those aren't marriages. Those are moments.

I am going to tell a couple stories on my parents. (I cleared one with them, and the other one is a story I don't think they know that I know, but I doubt they will mind. (gulp))

I was twelve-ish when I witnessed the one and only full blown FIGHT I have ever seen my parents have. They profess to having fights, of course, but they were usually pretty good about having them behind closed doors instead of in front of us kids. But this day must have been a really low day, because they were arguing while we were setting the table for supper. Now, as only kids can, I have forgotten most of the details. I wasn't tuned into whatever they fight was about, and that is unimportant.  Here is what I remember: We were having tacos for supper that night, and as we were carrying things to the table, Mom and Dad were having a heated discussion. Mom said something, and it was clearly the last straw, because Dad turned away and tossed the bowl of toppings for the tacos against the wall. It wasn't a glass bowl, thankfully, so it didn't break, but there was a lovely smear of tomato juice running from the wall to the floor, and lettuce leaves were everywhere.

Mom left the house. Seriously. She went outside, and then she got into the car and drove out of the yard. Dad went to their room and closed the door. I cleaned up the lettuce and tomato and us kids ate supper, shocked into silence by the whole episode.

We laugh about it now, of course, and I have even been known to say "Don't make me mad while I'm holding the lettuce and tomatoes."

The other story happened at the same table. Its a much shorter story. We sat down for supper, and after Dad said the blessing, and we all started shoveling food into our mouths, he leaned over to Mom and whispered "I love you, and I think you are sexy."

Okay, pause for a moment while I shiver. (these are my parents after all) (blech!!) My mom was undoubtedly tired, and sweaty from cooking, and she had given birth to FIVE children. And my dad still found her sexy. For some reason that is a moment I will always smile about, and remember with a combination of heart-warmth and gagging.

That is a high-low glance at the marriage of my parents, which now has 35 years under its belt. But neither of those stories make up their marriage. They are only moments along the path.

We say "for better or worse" when we get married, but we don't specify what that means. We say it that way BECAUSE we can't specify what that will look like, but I can pretty much guarantee that none of our wildest imaginings can tackle what marriage is like.

So, what is the real story about marriage?

Laundry.
Bills.
Dishes.
Exhaustion.
Flu.
Grief.
Business trips.
Misunderstanding.
Irritation.
Sex.


Laughter.
Friendship.
Snuggling.
Comfort.
Date night.
Whispered endearments.
Companionship.
Inside jokes.
Back massages.
Sex.

Yes, I put sex in both categories. And because I do have a brain-to-mouth filter (contrary to popular opinion) I will leave it at that. But it wouldn't be the real story if I only put it in one category. If you're married, and you've never had a fight about sex...Im' calling b.s.

I've been married for a little over 15 years, and I in NO WAY have anything figured out.

But I think that's possibly the point I am trying to make.

We can't figure it out, not really.

When I married my husband, I said "for better or worse" just like everyone else. But I didn't know how wonderful better would be, and I certainly didn't know how hard worse would be. We have had years of bliss, and years of pain, and you know what? None of the bliss years were filled with bliss, and none of the pain years were only pain.

It's not all highs and lows. Its all just a step. And another. And another.

Its dirty socks on the bathroom floor, and stolen kisses in the hall when the kids aren't looking. Its crying on each others shoulders, and laughing so hard you pass gas.

It's still finding them desirable after witnessing them vomiting, or giving birth, or snoring so loud they wake you up from a dead sleep THROUGH a pair of earplugs, or being a really big jerk.

It's listening to them when they say they think YOU are being a really big jerk, and attempting to change whatever you did that was jerk-ish.

It's whispered come-ons at the kitchen table, and lettuce and tomato tossed against the wall.

It's waking up every day and choosing, with every breath and decision and action and moment.

Love is not a feeling. Love is an act of your will.

Marriage is not a feel-good romantic notion. It's a choice you make.

Some days I choose not to speak to my husband for multiple hours because I am furious with him, and when I finally do speak to him, he is shocked to learn that I am mad at all. He "just thought I was busy with the kids." (clearly my cold-shoulder technique needs some work)

Some days I choose to listen while he tells me about a big acquisition he's been heading up at work and how great it's going, and I pretend like I know what he's talking about, and I grasp hard for facts I can ask follow-up questions on so he feels like I really do care about what he's saying...when all I really WANT to do is go to sleep or read a book or watch TV.

The point is, I said "for better or worse." And even when worse kicks us in the teeth, we still choose it. And we all have to decide to ACTIVELY grab onto better when it comes, and choose to see the better even in the midst of the worse.

My parents have been having many of the same disagreements for years. My mom still fusses at my dad for eating food that isn't healthy, and my dad still reprimands my mom for worrying about stuff she can't change...

And they still get up every morning and choose, one high-low-normal-uneventful-tragic-painful-joyful-boring moment at a time, to be "Dan and Patty Bausum."

I got up this morning, woken by the snores seeping through my ear plugs, and I made coffee. Not just enough for me, but also enough for the snoring blonde guy in my bed who woke me up at 5:08.

And he goes to work every day, not just for himself, but for the family he leaves at home to consume all the money he makes.

I choose. He chooses.

And we love better today than we did the day we got married, and hopefully we will love even better 20 years from now. One choice at a time.

And we don't ever put lettuce and tomatoes in the same bowl.

And that doesn't tell the WHOLE story on marriage, but it's a little bit of REAL.

The Real Story - Christianity

This has the potential to be really long, but I don't have time for that today, and I'm sure you don't either. So, I will keep it short and simple...err...I'll try anyway.

Being a follower of Christ is easy. And, its hard.

I was six years old when I asked Jesus to live in my heart and wash away all my sins. I remember it very clearly. I also remember being 12, and deciding it wasn't enough anymore to just have Him in my heart, washing away my sins. I wanted to know Him more, and hear Him speak to me, and understand His Word, and live a life that was pleasing to him. Those desires came from a childhood of watching my parents model for me what Christianity should look like.

My parents have different stories. My dad grew up in a Baptist preacher's home, and also got saved as a boy, but he had what he would call "a wild youth," followed by a rocky divorce between his parents when he was in college. By then he has reformed his wild ways, though, and had met my mom, and if you know my dad now, you know him as one of the most deeply rooted men of God you've ever known.

My mom did not grow up in a Christian home. Her parents didn't take her to church, and they didn't tell her about Jesus, and they didn't model a life that is devoted to Christ for her to see and desire for herself. No, she was invited to church by a friend from high school. And she went, and she accepted Jesus as her savior, and she began inviting her parents and siblings to church. And if you know her now, you know that the rest is history. She models for everyone around her a life lived to serve her Lord.

So, how did two people, from such different upbringings, manage to make such an impression on their own child that she wanted to have exactly the same kind of relationship with the Lord that they had?

It was easy. And it was hard.

It wasn't a prayer they prayed and then that was it. It wasn't a long drawn out ritual of purging their life of every single thing that didn't have Jesus written on it.

It was, it is, a walk. It's a journey. Its putting one foot in front of another, and it's knowing that sometimes you can't walk, you have to crawl. And sometimes you have to be still. And sometimes you stumble, and sometimes you take steps the wrong direction. And a lot of times it feels like you're hurtling along with no idea where you are going or if you're even on the right path.

It's screwing up. It's reconciling. It's messy. It's whiter than snow.

Its the ultimate sacrifice. It's the deepest depths of love.

Walking with Christ will require nothing from you except your willingness to accept Him.

Walking with Christ will require every single ounce of your life.

The Real Story about Christianity is this : it looks different for everyone, and it looks the same. And no matter how bad anyone thinks they have been in their life, the blood of Jesus is thicker, and covers it all. And no matter how good someone thinks they have been in their life, their sin is black enough to require the same blood, covering over it all.

And there are days when a walk with God looks a lot more like a stroll off a cliff wearing a blindfold. And days when it resembles an opossum playing dead in the road. There are days filled with laughter and peace and blissful joy. There are days when we doubt...there are plenty of days of doubt. And there are days filled with relief and forgiveness and thanksgiving and reconciliation.

The point is...to walk.

Fail. Succeed. Keep trying. Cry. Scream. Laugh. Dance. Forgive, because you have been forgiven.

***The Real Story about Christianity isn't our story at all.***

It's the story of a love so powerful, so overwhelming, so all consuming, that it couldn't do nothing while we drifted away. Love had to ACT.

And if that Love lives in you, then it will compel you to act as well.

It will be simple. It will be impossible.

LOVE tells His story through your life.

That's what Christianity should look like. That's the Real Story.