Let Me Just Say, I Love Scripture Songs

Though it may not be evident from my history of posting, I really, sincerely enjoy music. I love to sing, and my husband will testify that I can, and do, make up songs about just about anything. 


I know I am not unique in that when I hear words set to music, I am more likely to remember the words. This was why my mom set my telephone number to the tune of the "My Little Pony" theme song when I was three. For those of you who are not familiar with "My Little Pony," I have the video posted here for your enjoyment. If nothing else, this video will give you an idea of why I expect the world to meet up to my idealistic standards:

Based on how much this ridiculous theme song affected my life at a young age, I am convinced that the music I choose for my (future) children to listen to is very important. I recently ran across this gem called Seeds Family Worship. Their mission statement is, "Planting the seeds of God's word in the hearts of families." 


If you don't mind your children learning Bible verses in either New International Version or English Standard Version, check out Seeds Family Worship. They have five or six albums out, all filled with Scripture passages set to catchy tunes. 


I've had Philippians 4:6-7 bouncing around in my head all day because of them. Not a bad thing. And after listening to the "My Little Pony" theme song, I'm sure that you are more than ready to have something else in your heads too. Enjoy!

Christmas in a Dirty Shed

Merry Christmas, everyone!


Oh, is it already December 26? 


Husband and I took a few days off of work and have been making merry in Minnesota with first his family and then my family.We're still at my family's house, but things are quiet this morning. My little brother and sister are still asleep (Both of them have the night owl genes that I did not inherit. I was gasping for energy already at 8:45 last night.), my dad is reading a book with some tea at the table, Husband is doing the newspaper crossword puzzle at the table, my mom is reading the rest of the newspaper in a cushy chair in the living room, and I am using my mom's computer to read up on the connection between polycystic ovary syndrome and sugar and contemplate the possibility of starting a sugar detox for Husband and myself.


Husband and I have had a wonderful Christmas with both of our families, but something that we did with his family has firmly anchored itself in my mind and is whispering promises to stay there for a while. 


On Christmas Eve, all of Husband's family was invited to the house of his younger sister, Younger H. She lives and works at a camp right now. When we arrived at her house, apple cider and other goodies in tow, we were greeted at the front door by a sign that read "No Room in the Inn" and Husband's brother-in-law M, who took our dishes and pointed us with a smile toward the little shed to the side of the house. 


Candles flickered around the inside of the shed as Younger H ushered us inside. She invited us to take a blanket if we thought we might be cold and then take a seat in one of the chairs crammed around the focal point: a small square wooden bin resting on a milk crate. Inside the wooden bin was a towel wrapped up into a baby-shaped form. 


I must admit, I was hoping we wouldn't be out in the shed long. It was cold. I thought the bench I was sitting on might be dirty. There were seeds or bird poop on the floor of the shed.


Younger H led us through a reading of the Christmas story via Luke 2, as well as some hymns. When we were done with the reading and singing, Younger H said (and this is not a direct quote),


"I just have a few things I wanted to say... I hope that being in the shed makes you think about how there was no room in the inn for Jesus. I'm so thankful that everyone in our family here has made room in their hearts for Jesus. It's easy to celebrate on Christmas with our family and forget that not everyone has made room in their hearts for Jesus. Take time now to think of someone you know who doesn't have room in his or her heart for Jesus this Christmas."


Younger H was in tears as she said this, and it was her tears as much as her words that convicted me and made the moment stick. It's true: I usually don't spend much time on Christmas contemplating those who don't know Christ and the joy and hope this season does not hold for them because of that. But what is also true is that I do not usually feel the anguish that Younger H obviously feels for those who don't know Christ.


The day of Christmas is past, and we who know Christ have been reminded of the hope that is ours because God deigned to descend to earth as our Savior. 


Encouraged by this reminder, think of someone you know who does not know Christ. Who can you share the Good News with in the coming year?

A New (for me) Form of Prayer

I struggle with prayer. Mostly, I struggle with staying focused.

For example, I may start out praying for my little sister. A few seconds later, though, I realize that I also wanted to pray for the victims of the latest natural disaster that I read about in the news. Then I may remember that I never spent time confessing sins that I know need to be confessed, which might lead me to praying for a coworker I dislike and want to learn to love. Then my thoughts may start wandering to the to-do list I have sitting on my desk at work and I start making a mental note of things I forgot to put on the list in the first place. I start to worry that I won’t have time to get everything done that day, and I pull out my planner to write down the absolutely imperative things I’m afraid I’ll forget.

Before I know it, I’ve worried myself right out of prayer and into the nitpicky details of my daily life. At that point, if I’m feeling especially tenacious, I’ll try to discipline and quiet my mind back into a prayerful state, but if I’m feeling anything less than the utmost motivation, I’ll give up and move onto the rest of my morning routine before leaving for work.

Because I struggle so much with prayer, I try to learn more about prayer. And because there are oh-so-many books about prayer, I know I am not alone in my struggle.

An acquaintance of mine introduced me to new book on prayer recently: Praying in Color: Drawing a New Path to God. The back of the book describes that this form of prayer “…can take as little or as much time as you have or want to commit… Drawing is half the prayer, the other half is transporting the visual memories or actual images with you to pray throughout the day.”

I was inspired, and after reading through the book (a quick read), I took my somewhat inflexibly pragmatic brain to task. I’ve included some of my most recent in-color prayers. The first one shows my prayer through and meditation on a psalm:

The second one here shows a prayer of frustration about a sin I struggle with, as well as prayers for some organizations that my husband and I support. (The name of a missionary we support has been whited out of the shape on the right.)

Because I tend to be a visual learner, this has helped me call to mind prayers throughout the day when I normally wouldn’t think to pray.

And, let’s be honest, the bold colorful result at the end of a prayer time is also part of why I like this prayer form. Sometimes I just want a tangible result to my prayers, and this is one way to gratify that desire a little bit without trying to force God into a corner and demand that He make the prayer time feel worthwhile before I leave the act of prayer.

This prayer form takes more time than what I usually allot myself to pray, but the results are a richer and more focused time of prayer.

I think I’ll continue to pray in color, at least sometimes.

While I wait, I also learn to pray.

A New Perspective on the Size of Our House

Demographics are rapidly changing in our little Iowa town. I like this a lot. I love getting to know people who come from a different culture than me, and right now, this is the place to be for cross-cultural interaction.

Ten years ago the town I live in was about 99% white, and most of those people were of Dutch decent. Today the percentage of people of Latin American decent has risen to be about 12% of our town’s population. That’s a big change in ten years.

After having lived for many years in the Minneapolis/St. Paul suburbs, living in a small town with a wide socioeconomic range has been intriguing and exciting. White flight has already begun, sadly, and parts of our small town are starting to look like uniform suburbs, but the demographic change has been so rapid that affluence is forced to brush up uncomfortably against poverty.

This is good for me.

My husband and I rent a little house that meets our needs very nicely. It’s not big—a kitchen with a dining nook, a living room, a tiny bathroom (though it does have a bathtub, not just a shower), one small bedroom, and a dank, dreary insect-infested basement. The only time I think the house isn’t meeting our needs is when friends or family come through and we can’t offer them any place to stay for the night except the floor in front of our loveseat. Sometimes I want at least one more bedroom.

While we wait for the pitter patter of little feet in our home, my husband and I have been trying to get to know people in this little town. So, we joined a Bible study with people from our church, and in the interest of wanting to get to know people from the Latino community, I’ve started cooking monthly with a group of Latina ladies I met through the library.

Both the Bible study and the cooking group rotate from home to home of those participating in the group.

When we rotate to different homes in our Bible study, I start to feel dissatisfied. The Bible study is all young couples, and only two of the five couples in our study have children. However, all of the couples except us own nice, new-looking houses. With multiple bedrooms.

How, you might ask, do very young couples afford large brand-new houses? I haven’t the faintest idea.

When the Bible study took place at our house in June, I was nervous. We hadn’t yet gotten our window air condition unit, and the temperature in the house was hovering around 83 degrees. In order to get everyone in a circle to be able to discuss our study materials, we had to pull literally every chair that we owned, from the desk chair, to the dining room table chairs, to the flimsy card table chairs that we keep downstairs. It all felt inadequate, after sitting on puffy sofas for Bible study in other homes.

In July the cooking group came to my house. All five women, including myself, clustered in the kitchen, bumping into each other while we cooked, while the five children who had come played with the toys I borrowed from the library’s story hour supplies.

One of the ladies present had not been in the United States long. Always eager to practice my Spanish-speaking skills, I chatted with her a little bit outside before everyone returned home. She was wondering, she said, how many people lived in my house with me.

“Just my husband and I,” I told her.

“Oh.” She paused and looked at the house behind me. “Only two people in your whole house!”

After everyone had gone, I went back inside our house and looked around. From where I stood by the front door, I could see into every room in the house, but I looked at each room with a fresh perspective.

Only us in this whole, big blessing of a house.