A couple of months ago, a semi-truck delivered a massive load of bricks across the street. A few days earlier, the framers and roofers had finished their jobs and the windows had been installed. It was time for the bricklayers. A new house was being built in the place of one that burned last year. The new house is two-story and pretty large, so there were a LOT of bricks. The bricklaying crew arrived and they started with the very first row. Day after day after day, I’d watch them work, but they seemed to gain very little ground because of the large scope of the job. The area to be covered was just so great and the bricks were just so small. The guys would work a full day and, from my shady front porch, it would look like they’d made a very insignificant dent in the formidable work to be done. In addition to size of the house, they had so many corners, windows, and doors to navigate. From where I sitting, it was painfully slow work and it seemed like the final result would never be achieved. 

Last week, I passed a highway crew at work. Nobody likes to see those orange signs and a long line of taillights indicating road construction ahead. I’m always perplexed at the painstakingly slow process of building roads and highways. The projects are long and winding and the end is never visible. Day after day, month after month, those people work on their lengthy projects in small half-mile increments. There are so many layers and steps to finishing a road. When they’re done with one small section, they just move on to start it all over again, so they can gain just a little more ground. Again and again and again. Mile after mile after mile of work to do and progressing just a little stretch at a time. The end goal is always somewhere out there beyond the horizon. Out of sight and seemingly unreachable. 

I have to say I really admire the people who can do those types of jobs. Maybe that’s why I notice them as they work. I’m amazed by them. Those people who can work so faithfully for weeks and months and years and still remain so far from their finished project. We’re all wired differently. I don’t know if it’s my self-diagnosed attention deficit or just my restless and impatient nature, but that kind of work would drive me absolutely mad. Maybe it’s why I chose work where I could make a lot of visible progress in one day and look back and get some sense of achievement from my obvious headway. If I feel overwhelmed by the impossible magnitude of a task, I’m more likely to throw in the towel long before I’m done. I don’t really like that about myself, but maybe there are a lot of us who are that way in our work life and our spiritual life, too. 

As Christians, we’re kind of feeling that way about the world these days. I know I am. Surely, I can’t be the only one. If you’re not, you must live in a hole and I’d love to come visit you there. Here in my town, we had a harsh reminder, last week, that hit really close to home for me. A reminder that we live in a world that’s sick with sin and there’s nowhere we can go to run from that. It’s not about our zip codes or street address, because there’s not a nook or a cranny anywhere that evil hasn’t found to trespass. This was also just another indication of how long and deep and wide the issues are in our society. The problems are massive. They stretch on and on and on. One broken thing leads to another broken thing which feeds another broken thing. Sometimes, even our “solutions” create more problems. Homelessness, crime, drugs, moral decay, lack of personal responsibility, government dysfunction, family breakdown. If we listed all the challenges, it would be as overwhelming as paving a coast to coast highway or bricking a skyscraper. 

It’s easy for us to see problem stacked upon problem, throw our hands up, and declare the whole thing is useless. It’s just too much. It’s too far gone. It’s more work than we can handle. Even if we worked day and night, we couldn’t make a dent so why bother. It’s tempting for us to just walk off the job. 

When we’re overwhelmed with what’s going on around us, we can only do what we know to do. Jesus hasn’t returned for us, which means it’s not quitting time yet. No matter how discouraging the world is, we have to keep doing what we know to do. Go, teach, love, share. One brick at a time. “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time, we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” Galatians 6:9 If we persevere even when we feel like we’re not making any progress, He promises results. Our efforts will not be in vain. “And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the founder and perfecter of faith.” Hebrews 12:1-2 The answer to every one of our world’s problems is Jesus. There are so many people who just need Jesus. If they only knew how He could change the trajectory of their lives. “But how can they call on Him to save them unless they believe in Him? And how can they believe in Him if they have never heard about Him? And how can they hear about Him unless someone tells them?” Romans 10:14 

God, help us to keep on doing what we know to do. Even when. 

JONI 

 

This week, we’ve all heard a big deal being made about the first day of summer and summer solstice. We, Southerners, hear talk about the first day of summer in late June and we just shake our sweaty heads and mumble angrily to ourselves. Down here, summer arrives before all the Easter chocolate is eaten. Basically, it's the same reaction we have when we hear them announce the arrival of fall in September with hot cocoa and wool sweaters on TV, while we still have mosquitos buzzing around our heads and have sweated through our clothes. 

Yeah, we've been having summer here for quite a while now and, next week, it’s really supposed to kick it up a notch. We already have to get about 8 miles down the road before the car A/C can even think about overcoming the heat in its climate control battle. And we don't think about parking in the sun unless there's no other choice available— or we have some foil wrapped potatoes and a chuck roast in there that we want to cook for supper. After turning off the car in the parking lot, we have approximately 4.6 seconds to exit the vehicle before anguish and life threatening conditions ensue, so preparation is always the key. We know how to get our things and get out. 


There's been a fly buzzing around in each Southerner’s house since early May. They almost always hang around in the kitchen if they know company is coming. Each housefly is assigned a home to torment until it falls victim to the swatter, at which time, his replacement is sent. Mosquitos will take you apart faster than a school of piranhas if you stay out near any accumulation of water, in the shade, or just about anywhere if it's close to sundown. Wasps, horseflies, gnats, and all of hell's other winged messengers, have been unleashed for months now. And we don't open the doors at night unless we want to hear beetles banging their heads on our lampshades for hours on end. 


Snakes are crawling and we've been watching our step since Valentine's Day when we were told they were up and at 'em already. Down here, we like to share postmortem pictures of the snakes we kill in our yards on social media and that's been going on for weeks now. We all enjoy a good game of 'What Kind of Snake Is This?' more than anybody. Snake posts have been on the rise, this year, so we must continue to step with extreme caution. 


Our glasses are fogging up when we get out of our cool cars. Everyone looks like Marcie from Peanuts staggering around in the parking lot for a couple of minutes. Tis the season for sunburn and razor burn and sand burn and chafing. And depending on our hair's texture, it's either frizzed up like Kaepernick or flat to our heads like Pee Wee Herman. Neither, a good look. We can leave home all fresh and clean and, an hour later, look like we're on the highway crew and are just getting off work. Our hair is wet and sweat’s rolling down our backs, our necks, our red faces and we are just not a pretty people right now.
We can comfortably enjoy our decks and patios and porches between the hours of 2:30 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. and plan all our outdoor events accordingly. A restaurant’s outdoor seating is only occupied by the very bravest among us. The hot, humid air is as thick as our Mamas' pie filling and as heavy as a bad biscuit. It's hard to breathe and even harder to want to. The will to live is in its most tested season. Sometimes, we go to Hobby Lobby, walk right past their 4th of July section, and just sit amidst the pumpkins and scarecrows to renew our hope that there will be better days ahead- in just 4 or 5 more grueling months.    


Upon entering any building, we've been using our proper summertime etiquette. Our first greeting to those inside is always a reference to the oppressive heat. It’s our way of saying hello. “Boy, it’s a hot one today.” This is expected upon arriving at the bank, a store, church, salon, or even funeral home. No matter where you are or what the occasion, heat and heat indexes are always appropriate summertime topics in the South. Rain chances are also a popular choice, this time of year. If you mention impending rain chances above 50%, it gives hope to all who hear and a crowd will start to form around you. 


It’s about now, “the first day of summer,” that the flowers on our patios start looking distressed. We don’t try any heroic measures. We just let them go. They’re DNR. They want to go over the rainbow bridge or whatever it's called for plants and we give them our blessing to go in peace. We know we wouldn't want to have to sit out there in this and try to look pretty.


So, go ahead and celebrate the first of summer. While much of the country is marking that sweet milestone in their low humidity, we're down here just trying to survive our first trimester of summer. We are hot and we are irritable and we are not ok. 

 It's that time of year again when churches on every corner have banners and advertisements up for their Vacation Bible Schools. Most of the churches around here go all out for Bible school just as it should be.  The decorations, themed snacks, very involved crafts, and over the top props are just so elaborate. The kids love it and how could they not? The grown-ups just spent 3 solid weeks at the church with table saws and scaffolding creating a near-exact replica of the solar system in the sanctuary. 

I was looking through some pictures on Facebook that a church posted and I couldn't help but think how different it is now from when I went to Bible school. You know I'm all about some nostalgic strolls back in time so here goes.

Back then, there were three kids who were selected to hold the American flag, the Christian flag, and the Bible. They were the big dogs for the day. As the pianist played a "marching in" song, everyone would file in behind the chosen three. I remember sitting down on the hard, creaky pews- my legs sticking to the varnished wood. Bible school was one of the few occasions when we could wear shorts to church, so it was beyond awesome.  

Anyway, there were no palm trees made from paper mache or larger than life jungle animals cut out of plywood or two story rocket ships made of foam core board like there are today. I don't recall any twinkly lights, large boulders fashioned from crumbled Kraft paper or beach scenes on the stage complete with an umbrella, Adirondack chairs, and wave sound effects. No, as I recall, there were just the preacher, the music minister, and the podium. Oh, but if you walked in and saw the slide projector set up, you knew it was going to be a really exciting day. 

Just below the chosen three were the six kids, who were picked each day to take up the offering (aka the change we found in between the vinyl car seats and in the bottom of our Mama's purses that morning.) These offering takers were the kids, who were runners up to the flag holders in the complex Bible school hierarchy system. I, myself, never submitted my name to be considered for any of these spots. I was really shy as a kid and had no interest in the front of the room. 

After we said our pledges, sang our songs, and took up the mission offering, it was off to our classroom.  We headed down the hall and there was no grassy pathway cut from indoor/outdoor carpeting leading to the room and our names weren't perfectly penned on laminated, themed shapes hanging from the ceiling.  There were no freshly cut stumps to sit on and no real tents set up in the room in which to have our lesson by lantern light. No, we walked in and the teacher was like, “You see those brown, folding chairs set up in a semi-circle facing the bulletin board? Go sit in those.....and don't run." Oh, those metal chairs were so cold on your bare legs, so you'd put your hands under them until it got warmed up.  

We didn't pretend like we were all on safari riding in a jeep and we didn't sit around a faux campfire made with a few logs and tissue paper flames, while we had our lesson. The teacher wasn't wearing a cowboy hat, didn't use a black light, and didn't bring in any live amphibians for us to pet. There were no stuffed monkeys hanging from the ceiling and no thoroughbred horses out in the parking lot for us to sit on. No, she just sat there in the brown folding chair with her Bible in her lap and those old school pictures that she'd pin to the bulletin board behind her when the time was right. Something like these might have, very well, been your only visual for the whole day, so you had to glean the most you could from it.
 
After we finished our story, it was time for crafts. Not the kind of crafts they do today. No, there was no going to another decorated room where supplies were laid out for some HGTV worthy craft....like building a coffee table or blowing your own colored glass or something. Back then, it was "Ok, now pick up your chair and take them back over to the tables, where we will have our craft. Do not slide the chairs because we don't want to disturb the class below us!"  

This was my favorite time in Bible school. I was all about some crafts. The same teacher would reach into the cabinet and get out a stack of construction paper, a few bottles of glue, some popsicle sticks, and a pack of those foil star stickers. On a really good craft day, we'd all be issued a baby food jar and maybe fabric scraps or a tin can and some old wallpaper sample books from which we'd fashion some really attractive keepsake. Something our mothers would feel obligated to display somewhere.  

On the days that the teacher would mix up the powder tempera paints, we'd be given a man's old shirt turned paint smock to protect our new summer shirts bought down at Sears and Roebuck. The teachers were always sure to warn you to be careful not to drip paint on your Buster Brown sandals, too. And if you finished your craft before everyone else, you were given a mimeographed coloring page and an old coffee can full of broken crayons as a time filler.  
 
While the beautiful crafts dried on another table, it was on to snack time. Let me tell you......there were no Pinterest-worthy snacks there. No, sir. No themed snacks for us. No bird nests made from chow mein noodles and jelly bean eggs. No edible Noah's arks fashioned with icing, graham crackers, and animal cookies. Not even any gummy fish suspended in blue Jell-O and served in clear cups.

We were old school.  "Ok, everybody go sit down and we'll pass out the butter ring cookies and the Dixie cups of tepid cherry Kool-Aid." There was nothing organic and nobody asked about food allergies or gluten. As the week would crescendo, you might get a chocolate sandwich cookie......not an Oreo, mind you, but a store brand chocolate sandwich cookie. Finally, the snacks would peak on Friday as the teacher would pass out the twin pop popsicles. There was no color requesting, though, because there just simply weren't enough reds to go around. Someone had to get orange and it might as well be you. Then, there was that year our church bought the snow cone machine.  Can you say Christmas in July?
 
Before it was time to go home, there was only one more stop.  Recreation.  Again, no themed games, because, well, there were no themes for our Bible schools back then except Jesus and, well, there aren't many games that can be played with a kickball that emulate Jesus. I suppose it's hard to take away any measure of spiritual growth, while attempting to hit other children in the head with a rubber, inflated ball in order to acquire points. There's nothing "Jesus" about that. So, what they did in the 70's, you see, was say, "Here's a ball. Go play and we won't try to draw any parallels between this and the lesson we just covered". This gave the teachers time to sit and visit and eat their vanilla ice cream cups with the wooden spoons, the upper echelon of snacks reserved for the teachers only.

After we all worked up a sweat and smelled like a herd of goats in a summer rain, it was time to gather our things to go home. We'd go check to see if the glue and paint on our craft had dried sufficiently to take it home. Oh, you always prayed it was so. There was nothing worse than having to leave your craft behind to dry.

I have fond memories of Bible school. I looked forward to that every year. It wasn't as fancy and decked out as it is today. I suppose if we did it the old school way now, these iPad/Xbox/iPhone kids would likely fall out of their unadorned chairs and hit their heads on the undecorated floors- completely overwrought with boredom. I guess you just have to rock along with the times.  

Either way, working in Bible school is a big job and whether you did it back in the days of paste jars, felt boards, and butter ring cookies or you're doing it now with your cellophane waterfalls, crape paper jellyfish, and choreographed songs, you're doing important work!

I had a birthday, week before last. I turned 55 and we need to talk, ladies. 

Birthdays have never bothered me, really. I’ve always taken them in stride. So far, the numbers aren’t that bad, so I proudly state my age when asked and hold my head high. Sure, there have been outward signs of the passing years. We talk about those all the time around here. The inability to remember what I’m doing in the middle of doing it. The various things that have started to droop and lose elasticity. The constant struggle to keep my goatee at bay. Yeah, there’s been all that, but something happened to me at 55 that I’m not liking one bit. The weird thing is that it started almost exactly on my birthday as if it had my birthday on its calendar. Like one of those dashboard lights that comes on in your car at a set time. Things just started happening about four days before my birthday and they’ve been happening ever since. I’m speaking of night sweats and sleep disturbances. 

To my older readers- ya’ll didn't tell me 55 was the age your hormones hand in their notice. Or more like quit on the spot, grab their purse, head to their car, and not even finish out the day. A little heads up would’ve been nice. Please, send tips. To my younger readers, take 55 and subtract your age and that’s about how long you have left for fun and games. I had a partial hysterectomy, a few years ago, but my hormones were still going strong- until that fateful weekend before my birthday. 

That weekend, it was like my subscription to estrogen expired. You know how it is when your six month complimentary subscription to Sirius runs out in your new car? One day, you’re jamming to the 80’s on 8. The next day- static. I didn’t receive a notice informing me that my hormonal service agreement was about to run out. I didn’t get a courtesy call reminding me to make other arrangements. I didn’t receive a letter offering any sort of extension. No, they just cut me off without any warning. I visualize some burly, sweaty guy with a wrench from the water department who came in the night to shut off the valve. 

I’ve started waking up a couple of times a night. Around 1:00 and again at 5:00 and I can’t go back to sleep for a while. I’ve heard my friends speak of this, but I’ve always quietly listened and thought, “Well, bless your heart.” I couldn’t relate to those tired and frustrated souls. Sleep has been a skill at which I’ve excelled, my entire life. God gives us all gifts, you know. Slumber is mine. Even before my birth, my mother became concerned and visited the doctor because I rarely moved. Even then, I was honing my skills in the womb, so it really busted my bubble when this started. 

I’ll get up to get water or go to the restroom and, before I can get back to sleep, my mind is swirling and I stay awake for an hour or two thinking random and free-flowing thoughts. Not the kind of thoughts you’d expect a mother to have in the night- worries about the children, the moral decay of society, the kind of world the next generation will be left to traverse. No, the random thoughts I’m talking about are not unlike those a person under the influence of drugs might have. An inner voice starts- “There are some things we need to ponder before you go back to sleep. Tonight’s topics will include- The striking resemblance of your new postman to Jim Cantore. A complete analysis of a conversation you had in 1997. Are brussel sprouts really just baby cabbages? Did you or didn’t you remember to lock the back door? Liquid detergent vs pods. And we’ll close our session with the theme song to The Love Boat and you won’t be able to get it out of your head for, at least, an hour.” 

Then I wake up a couple of more times a night and I think the bed is on fire. I’m certain that there’s no way I could be that hot and the bed not be on fire. Or maybe it was on fire and I slept through the firemen putting it out because I’m drenched. Sweating all over like I ran a marathon and then went straight to bed. And I also find myself asking the same question over and over to random people- “Is it hot in here?” So, let me just say ahead of time that this summer will not go well. I will not be ok. Y’all check on me. Which brings me to a product recommendation for you if you, too, suffer from spontaneous human combustion. I got a Dreo fan for my birthday and it has been a lifesaver! It has a remote control, 4 speeds, swivels, oscillates, and the highest speed produces wind gusts of up to 100 mph- which is likely what had me thinking of Jim Cantore at 1:00 am. Your sheets will be flapping in the wind. It’s the coolest fan I’ve ever had- hands down! In case you’re interested, here it is on Amazon. Between it and the Woozoo fan, this one had much better reviews. I know there’s someone out there who needs this information. 

Well, we were supposed to have fun and talk about lighthearted topics today, but we’ve had a tragedy to happen in our town, this week. The worst kind. A child was killed in an accident. Whenever there’s something like that, I don’t feel right about going on with business as usual. Our town is a deeply connected place. The young boy was related to my sister-in-law. I’d never met him, but he was obviously very loved and I can’t imagine what his family must be feeling. 

We don’t get things like this. We can struggle and eventually come to grips with losses that occur later in life but, when death comes to claim life in its earliest and most innocent stages, well, we don’t do so well with that. There’s just no way to make it seem ok. We clumsily stumble with our words because there simply are limits to our language. There are thoughts it can’t envelope and pains it could never encase. There are just no words strong enough to hold up under the weight of some feelings.

Our world is full of situations that leave us speechless. It’s nothing new. Lately, I’ve been feeling the word Paul used long ago, perplexed. Perplexed about a lot of things. Synonyms of perplexed are addled, confused, disconcerted, puzzled, baffled, at a loss. At a loss might be the one I’ve used most. News headlines, tragedies, sicknesses, persecutions, inhumanities, lawlessness, injustices. The stories are coming fast and furious at us as we walk around with technology in our hands. After a while, we can start to feel kind of numb- like we’re unable to do much besides sit and let them ricochet off of us. And maybe wonder when something is going to hit close to our home. 

But, there’s the next part of the verse. “We are perplexed, but not driven to despair.” Other translations- “but we aren’t depressed”, “but we don’t give up.” Not everything will make sense to us on this side of heaven. Goodness knows it doesn’t. I’m certainly not adequate to try to tackle the theology of why things happen like they do. All I know is Jesus promised us there would be trouble in life. He wasn’t kidding about that. “But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) He wasn’t kidding about that either. “Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later.” (Romans 8:18) In the meantime, we keep lifting each other up, helping where we can, sharing the hope of Christ, and holding onto the promises of God. 

God, be near the broken-hearted. 

JONI 

 

I was 26 years old and had been married for a couple of years. I was pregnant again after having a miscarriage. We’d decided not to find out the sex of the baby, so we had a boy and a girl name picked out and both clothing options ready for coming home from the hospital. It was a Sunday, about a week before my due date, when I started having contractions. 

Davis and I had taken the childbirth classes offered at the hospital- the ones where they teach you to breathe through the pain. Yeah, well, that doesn’t work. It was still the 1900’s, so they played a VHS movie on the VCR of what happens during birth. Davis’s eyes bugged out as he ate his complimentary refreshments of cookies and lemonade from the cafeteria. I’d read What to Expect When You’re Expecting from cover to cover. I knew what was supposed to be happening and when. I had a list of instructions from the doctor’s office and a checklist of how to know when it’s time. I knew the criteria for heading to the hospital and we weren’t quite there yet. 

So, we walked around the neighborhood. Somewhere, I’d read walking could speed things along. So, we walked and walked. All afternoon. Finally, my water broke all over the bedroom floor and our time of departure was no longer a mystery. I’d never seen Davis move so quickly. Or drive so fast. 

The pain was getting intense and I rode to the hospital knowing that I was about to become a mother, but I had no idea what that really meant. Yes, I expected sleepless nights. Yes, I knew my day to day routine would change. Yes, I knew there would be added expenses. But, I was only aware of facts I had read in black and white. 

Sunday turned to Monday and a lot of drugs made it all a blur. You might even say I was as high as a kite at that point. At 3:03 a.m., the doctor announced we had a girl and, after just a couple of hours of sleep, they brought her to me. Some of the drugs had worn off and I was starting to feel less fuzzy. That’s when it happened. I was able to hold my daughter for the first time. 

I studied her perfect face and ran my fingers through her thick, brown hair. I pulled her little foot out from the blanket and studied it carefully. I traced her ears with my fingertip and spoke her name softly- the one I’d had picked out since I was 12. Her eyes met mine and they told me she’d been waiting to put a face with my heartbeat. My breathing. My voice. This little person I’d just met had already taken complete possession of my heart. It was in an instant with no fanfare or warning or fuss. It just happened. In that very moment of time, I would’ve died for the tiny soul I’d only known a few minutes and I had no explanation for it except I was her mother.

Ever since that day, her joys have been my exhilaration. Her disappointments have been my greatest frustrations. Her dreams have been my deepest longings. If you want to see my face light up, let her walk in the room where I am. Her accomplishments are my purest form of delight. Her celebrations feed my soul. Kind words spoken of her are the most beautiful sound to my ears. Her sadnesses have been my deepest sorrows. And I’m never quite as happy as when she’s elated. The very same is true for Carson, of course. They are extensions of me. What they feel, I feel. Maybe even more deeply. This was the part I didn’t know about when I left for the hospital that day. This was the part they don’t cover in any of the books. They can‘t teach it in any class. You find it out soon enough on your own. For the rest of my days on earth, the lift of their joys and the weight of their disappointments will continually be tipping the scales of my heart one way or the other and I’m completely and utterly helpless to change that. I have no explanation for it except I am their mother. 

There is nowhere motherhood wouldn’t go. Nothing it wouldn’t sacrifice. No solution it wouldn’t try. No possession it wouldn’t give. No amount of time it wouldn’t invest. Nothing it wouldn’t do without. No place it wouldn’t look. No hurdle it wouldn’t clear. No job it wouldn’t tackle. No odds it wouldn’t try to beat. No discomfort it wouldn’t endure. No price it wouldn’t pay. No chance it wouldn’t take. And there is no explanation for it except for the love of a mother. 

I realize thoughts of motherhood can take us all to a million different places. The highest peaks of joy and love. The lowest valley of sadness and longing. There’s a most beautiful side to it and another one that has more jagged and painful edges. I’m not sure what this holiday will look like for you. Wherever you find yourself this Mother’s Day, I pray that God will meet you there. 

If your Mother’s Day is spent missing someone you loved deeply, may He pull you close to Him in your grief. If the day digs up regret and second guesses, may you feel God’s warm grace covering you. If it is clouded with worry and uncertainty, may God quiet your mind. If the day is a reminder of your disappointment and unfulfilled dreams, may He give you the gift of peace and contentment. If it stirs up memories of pain and hurt, may He help your heart forgive and move forward. If the day is greeted with physical and mental exhaustion, may God grant you renewed strength and focus. If it is filled with love and joy, may He receive your gratitude all day long. If it is riddled with questions of why, may He satisfy your mind with His answers and promises. If the day emphasizes your loneliness, may God sit near you and keep you company. If it’s brimming with admiration and appreciation, may He give you the words to express it. If the day presents the opportunity to help another woman get through her difficult version of Mother’s Day, may He help you seize it.

However you spend your weekend, I do hope it’s full of love. 

There’s been so much going on, lately. May is always like that. We’ll talk again next week. About things like birthdays and mammograms. 

Y’all have a wonderful weekend! 

JONI