Divergence

     We're on a roll today getting things done in and out of the house, so I hate to stop just to write. But my head is writing for me. When it happens, it comes to me; I don't go looking for it. I've been lying low on the election results and still hope for a particular outcome. However, it shouldn't have even been close! Over 70% of Americans claim to be Christians, although that's down from 85% in the 90s. So to me, this just got personal, maybe not like you think, though. It's time to put up a new flag. Don't get me wrong, not long before the election we replaced our tattered Trump flag with a new one. But it's time to be put out a Christian flag and get to doing the groundwork that we should have already been busy with. This all is about influence, and if we have none in our personal lives then we can't expect it in our political ones.                    

     There are a lot of issues at play, but the one I hear above all others is abortion. Here is where I'm going to diverge from the majority of conservative, Christian women, and if this makes our paths part then sobeit. I can't afford to consider feelings, especially when I, like Christ, mean to save not condemn. We have lost regard for the blessings of the womb, instead holding our wombs hostage from the Lord and to the number of children we think will be convenient for our families. I'm not talking about killing babies; I'm talking about never conceiving them to start with. I can say with resolve that the seven children I had were for the Lord. As I have written previously, I was never a "natural" at things home and family. If every professing Christian family devoted their lives to the command of fruitfulness and raised the resulting fruit accordingly, the gridlock in our nation would not be possible. The numbers would speak for themselves.

      Mom, who can't have any more children, all I ask is that you join me in a new way of thinking, in a new way of counseling our young women as Titus 2 commands. It's not for us to tell our girls or anyone else's to do what makes them happy when Biblical happiness is defined as fearing and following the Lord. I'm not interested in all the excuses of why this can't be done. As my favorite verse says, "Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established" (Proverbs 16:3). That's totally opposite of today's psychology of figuring it out then making a plan. Set your heart to obey, and God always works out the rest. 

     While you're rethinking family, rethink buying the products and entertainment that provide dark influence. Stop wearing their clothes; stop listening to their music; stop watching their shows; and stop getting your education from them. I, for one, have determined that since my children still have the opportunity in America to "play" to earn a college education and/or a living that I will support nothing less than it be for the Lord in music or in sport at a Christian college or in a Christian environment. 

     Don't confuse this with having an impact on society. Although I do take seriously that our daughter play only Christian music and that our son play football only for a Christian college, I also take seriously that as they have encounters with nonbelievers in their daily lives they do not, "become undercover Christians or rabbit-hole Christians. Rabbit-hole Christians pop their heads out only when they must. Their only contacts with the world are mad dashes to and from Christian activities. They live with the unspoken motto, 'The less contact with non-Christians the better the day.' They pop out to get in the car to run their Christian kids to the Christian school. They listen to their Christian radio, run off to their Christian Bible study, then go to lunch with their Christian friend. After dinner they pop out to visit their Christian friends for Christian fellowship," as described by the "Evangelism Is" book I read on the plane.

      All this "activity" is well and good, but then how do we follow the directions of Paul in Timothy 2:24-26, "And the servant of the Lord must not strive but be gentle to all men, apt to teach, patient, in meekness instructing those that opppose themselves; if God peradventure will give them repentance to the acknowleding of the truth; and that they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, who are taken captive by him at his will." First off, I can say "hanging out" with them would not be Jesus' answer nor did he "hang out" with sinners as people conveniently subscribe to. He ate with and talked with people who genuinely wanted to know about Him. Secondly, we have to make enough margin in our errands and routines that we let God brush us into people. And that's how we influence our communities, not by arguing with people we don't or barely know on social media. 

     We need to "assemble" ourselves back together and move forward no matter the political outcome. There is ground to take today in our own backyards.

Grit, Get Some

The real problem that people have with Trump is that he’s a man, a real man. I don’t mean that he’s always right or that he’s always genteel. I mean he calls it like he sees it. Last year in a unexpected conversation, I told a teacher that Trump's a man of grit. Would we send a pale-faced, fragile man out to fight the wolves? Such was David, one whom every time I read of I become frustrated with and enthralled with all at the same time. But who are we to judge the actions of a great man who believed his sin was in secret and now is revealed to the whole world, when in true confession he said to God, "Against thee, thee only, haved I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest" (Psalm 51:4). Who are we to be taken aback by such grave doings? I, for one, am not. I know that I am capable of and have been guilty of some of the very same sins. Do not harshly judge and dismiss a person for a fall to temptation for a temptation you’ve never been in a position to have. Back to Trump though …our country, being in a fiscal battle, needed a man of skill, a man with experience not a man of lofty ideals. Such were the differences between Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. Washington spoke of trusting and following God into battle while Jefferson created his own bible negating all the foundational, miraculous deeds of Christ. The other day I told Mike that in personality he falls somewhere between President Donald Trump and drag racing legend, John Force! The truth is that the majority of the time I don’t like his tone and sometimes not his even purposes. But something I’ve learned is that on every major decision for where to live, how to educate, where to work, where to worship, and with whom to associate; he’s been right. Pure and simple. I have a marriage that has to be managed the way Esther did. It doesn’t really matter what I like and don’t; I have to remember to only come to him with the big things, managing smaller things myself. Funny that I fathomed in a post two summers ago how in his poor health he and I would live a new life of collaboration: cooking, shopping, and teaching together. Ha! He’s still a man’s man, and it may kill him, but he’ll go down swinging. A difference between Esther and me is wealth. Every day including yesterday is a decision of survival. The Impala finally went back. He bought it while he was still working prior to his heart failure diagnosis and has held onto it firmly all this time as a means to keep a good credit score in hopes of home ownership again one day. He’s tried everything legal under the sun to get rid of it before now. Megan’s selling her Jeep came just in the nick of time, albeit a couple of months earlier than she intended, so that’s what you’ll see me trolling around town in. This week holds other hard “issues.” Our neighbors have grown so fond of one of our dogs that they’ve all but claimed him, luring him with food and providing him with bedding and shelter. I’ve been biting my tongue and cooperating for a year. Last night, I couldn’t do it anymore after she confessed that she had fed him and intended to shelter him for the night after I specified that she not. Today also, we have to deal with the actions of a teammate of one of our kids. People are so used to everyone rolling over that they do and say whatever they want. No fear, no respect, no regard – a thankless generation. Harpers ain’t rollin’ over. We’ve managed to get some grit. You should get some, too.

Hello, Little One

     Hello, little one. Your daddy and mama are among the most giving people I know. Last Christmas alone they supplied funds toward a snow blower and stove to Papa Mark and Gramma Miish.  And now for us, they have provided an all expenses paid trip to Alaska all the way from North Carolina: flight, food, car, cabin, and even a suitcase for me, Mamachelle, and Extra Tuffs for Papa Mike. 

     This trip was in lieu of the one planned for Papa Mike to tour the Western US with Mama and Daddy. I think Mama, with you on the way, wanted to do what could potentially be Papa's last big trip, considering the condition his health is in. Little did she know that Alaska instead would be the "hoorah," not necessarily the "last" but one that can never be replicated.

     Getting there was hard for your mama. She got a migraine on the second flight of the three it took to get there. The first night we all four stayed in the room together at a hotel in Anchorage. The drive to Soldotna, your daddy's hometown, was cloudy and foggy. But then it all lifted for the rest of the 12 days! Upon arrival at Papa Mark and Gramma Miish's, a favorite meal of your daddy's, fried fish and sushi, was soon underway and then something I've never done, the "processing" of a moose, which went on for days actually. 

     We were introduced that same afternoon to our "cabin," a mini-cabin really, which was perfectly charming to me but quite tight for Papa Mike! I thought I'd give him the bigger bed, which happened to be the one in the loft. His cumbersome descent gave me one of the biggest laughs I've ever had in my whole life. Of course, we switched. 

     When, in the night, I had to make a mad dash for the glorified outhouse, the charm suddenly turned to alarm. I had seen pictures of the wildlife that roam the property. So, I added a new level of thanks to my prayers each time I got back in my bed unharmed!

     Papa Mark and Gramma Miish, and your Aunts Neakita, Alaina, and Katelyn gave us the grand tours of both Homer and Seward, port cities surrounded by strikingly beautiful waters speckled with colorful boats against the back drop of nothing less than glaciers! 

     We were totally unprepared for another trip we got to take! A fellow church member of theirs, Jim, took us up in his plane while Papa Mark flew in the co-pilot's seat. Papa Mike and I sat in the second row, with Mama and Daddy in the back. Just because we all had headsets did not mean that I understood what all was about to take place. We flew over the oil rigs and along the coastline of the national park. It wasn't clear to me that we planned to land anywhere until we were practically on the beach, a beach where the only residents were wild. I wasn't anywhere nearly as interested as everyone else in exploring, regardless of the scenery that leaves one breathless. The discovery of bear AND wolf tracks confirmed my suspicions. I was relieved when Papa Mark revealed that he was "packing" a formidable weapon. Then, and ONLY then was I comfortable enjoying our picnic of sandwiches and salmon dip. 

     Our exit was not as smooth as our entry, and I was to the point of tears with excitement before I even knew that we barely missed the waterline before take-off. And that was after we got stuck in the sand and had to dig out the plane!

     As we went on down the coast, we finally found the prize, grizzly bears digging for clams in the muddy inlets. Jim flew us low to see all that we could, just as he did through the mountain range and into the "bowl" where the glacier lay and where your mama still fighting morning sickness, a pilot herself, gave up the contents of her stomach to the turbulent flight. 

     The intermittent events at Papa Mark and Gramma Miish's led to more significant happenings than these. We had game night, and there was a party for Daddy where lots of family friends came to celebrate his birthday! But there was a Sunday afternoon meal that made the whole trip take on new meaning. Your Daddy's youth minister asked if he'd been baptized. When I heard him, I went and inquired, "Did anyone suggest you ask him that?" When he replied, "No," I KNEW that God was at work because we had just been discussing it a few evenings ago.

     While Daddy's parents gathered as many people as they could, we all headed toward Sports Lake to witness both your daddy hold back tears as he testified of the time he knew he could not go on without the Lord and walk down into the cold, cold water to be baptized in order to publicly show the outer cleansing that happens on the inside of a Believer in and Follower of Christ. I, of course, cried as with every other baptism I've been present for. Sometimes I laugh at myself and say that's the reason I know that I myself am saved!

     The "water" plays such a big part there on the peninsula. We went on beach strolls with Daddy and Mama to find shells and rocks and your daddy's favorite, agates. My favorites were the small green rocks and tiny pink shells. I brought them home and put them in Aunt Madalynn's flower pot. The boat ride we got to take out to the camp site where Daddy and his sisters used to go with the church was to me the most beautiful of all, just because I couldn't stop gazing at the aqua color of the glacier water. 

     We got a fire going, snacks out, and bug nets on. There was bear skat everywhere, so I was keeping my eyes peeled at every turn, especially hiking up the waterfall with brush all around! Papa Mark, Daddy, his sisters, and their dog, Tundra, all climbed to the top, while Gramma and I had to be escorted down from our halfway marks. 

     Papa Mark's mom, Grandma Dawn, had us over twice and had everything just so! We got to see the horses Aunt Katelyn works with and where Gramma works to get the Gospel out to the natives and from where Papa Mark flies staff, volunteers, and supplies for Samaritan's Purse! Papa Mike got to see even more than we did. We'll call that an upgrade just like the cabin one we got. When everyone left from the last tourist weekend of the season, we were placed in the Honeymoon Cabin for free. It was many times bigger than the first and not only had "indoor" plumbing but also had a jacuzzi!

     We saw moose and caribou right on the sides of the roads. More importantly I got to know your aunts on these rides. Katelyn is a bundle of laughs. Alaina listens and helps. And Neakita has struck out on her own and is someone I could talk with all day. This kind of thing was the true objective of the trip. 

     Meanwhile, Aunt McKala, Abigail, and Autumn were in North Carolina staying with Uncle Macklynn and Aunt Madalynn. He had broken the growth plate of his pelvis sprinting during football practice and was still dependent on crutches. Then, two weeks before the trip, Aunt Madalynn fell on her skateboard (that Papa Mike had given permission but not blessing for - God does that too, so remember it) and broke the radius bone in her arm in two and had to have it reset. That was it; I called the trip off, until I found out that Daddy and Mama couldn't get refunds. So three days before, I changed my mind when Madalynn said she was feeling better and when McKala continued to convince she could handle two three-year-olds and two broken-up teens for 12 days!

     Now, Papa Mike, Daddy and Mama, and I are back in the Lower 48 awaiting your expected March arrival. You've begun moving in Mama's belly, which reminds me of what David said, "I was cast upon thee from the womb: thou art my God from my mother's belly" (Psalm 22:10). You have ones going before you seeking and serving Christ. Child, may you always do the same.