First Pictures

A few random pictures from my first few weeks here.

Welcome to Arkansas, the natural state.

And this is where the magic happens, folks...

My coffemaker. Yes, it's that important.

Baxter, a dog I met my second week here. You'll notice he's sitting on my bed. Cheeky little fellow, but I like him.

I took this picture right across the street from my little church, Christ Church Conway. You'll notice the sign proudly proclaims "Conway - Home of Kris Allen". Who is Kris Allen? Only the most recent winner of American Idol! Conway, Arkansas, is his hometown and about thirty minutes away from Little Rock.

Well, that's it. A few snapshots of my world here in Arkansas.

The Truth about Me

Note: I hesitate to post this because I don't want to cause certain brothers and sisters in Christ to stumble. But you need to know the truth: I can't live a life of holiness by the sheer force of my will. It is God's work from beginning to end. How often I have tried to clean myself up apart from God's grace. But the same grace that saves, is the grace that sanctifies. How liberating it is to leave behind all of that pretense and run to the cross of Christ as my only refuge and defense. When you're done reading this I'll meet you there.

I hate when people find out the truth about me. I prefer that they view me as some type of “super-Christian”. It’s disheartening to have to share with people who I am and where I've come from and see something very like pity cross their faces.

I’m not going to lie, for several years now I have bristled and, for lack of a better word, freaked-out, when anyone has belabored the last few years of the drama that is my family. Mostly these people have included my mother and sister.

Last week it was time to tell a few people in Arkansas the truth about me: how my alcoholic, abusive father died when I was five, how my mother re-married a man when I was seven, whom she later divorced when I was twenty-five, because as it turned out He loved porn more than his wife and children. I am still working through many issues from this eighteen year period of abuse at his hands.

When I tell people the edited version of my story I try to keep things light and happy (if such a thing is possible) and end with “God is good, and He knows what He’s doing”, which is a truth I will readily give my assent to at anytime. However, the truth is that I am deeply scarred by this deeply fallen world, with all the issues and problems such scars bring. Knowing God is in control and working all things together for good doesn’t somehow exempt me from the “work” that working through all these issues involves. How glad I am that God is reconciling and restoring this world to Himself through Jesus Christ.

I hesitate sometimes to be “real”, a real person with real issues and struggles. The main reason is sin. I am full of pharisaical pride. As I was growing up I was taught that Jesus saved you so you could live a moral life on earth and one day go to heaven. I was in training to be a little Pharisee. The person who taught me this, not with words but through example, was my porn-loving dad. He didn’t smoke, drink, or cuss. He went to church every Sunday, and placed his ten-percent in the offering plate, but never one penny more, because that’s what "good" (read: nominal) Christians did. Of course, the rest of the week they could live like hell, as God seemed not to notice the other six days of their lives. Oh, and live like hell he did. He cheated on his wife (or should I say wives, as he has had several), mentally and emotionally abused his three oldest children every single day, and resented (and as far as I know still resents) every minute of his pseudo-Christian life.

So most of my life I lived with this example of what a “good” Christian looks like on the outside, and was taught that on the inside I could be full of dead men’s bones and it was just fine with God. But it wasn't. For the past three years or so God has been completely blowing my mind with the truth of who He really is and how I am to relate to Him on the basis of that truth.

I’m so glad that since eternity God has been pursuing me for a relationship with Him through Jesus Christ. I mean, that is just unbelievable. All of those years of hurt and pain, all of those hurtful, hateful words hurled at me, the snubs, and belittling that went on behind closed doors have only served to bring me to God. He has taken all of those truly horrible, sinful things and brought them into subjection in order to serve His purpose and bring me to Himself. Only a sovereign God could be capable of such a thing.

I know God did and does allow horrible things to take place in my life, and not just in my life, but in the lives of others as well. What is He about? I know, because the Bible says so, God is angry with the wicked every day. God will judge my dad, as He will judge me. The question is: am I under His mercy through Jesus Christ, or under His wrath without an Advocate. I have hope through God’s Word and the witness of the Spirit that it is the former.

The summer I entered high school I went to a Christian camp and promptly fell in love with the son of a missionary. In my eyes he could do no wrong – my love for him was absolute and unconditional, until the day I heard him say “crap”. Being the son of missionary cannot always be fun. To be under the scrutiny of people at all times must be wearying. It must be something very like being an actual missionary...

Anyway, when I heard him say the forbidden word I immediately lost respect for him. How a “good” Christian could ever have a crappy day, much less use that disgusting, and decidedly “un-Christian” word to describe it was beyond me (also note this was about thirteen years ago and I was a sheltered little home-schooler. We didn't say things like that in my home. Adultery, yes. Naughty words, no). Little did I know that there would be days in my life when nothing would seem to express the way I felt like a really good cuss word (and not “crap” either. I mean a really good one).

But, you will say, what about the Bible verse which says “let no unwholesome word come out of your mouth, but only that which is good for edification”? Oh, absolutely. That’s why I hold back most of the time (I dare not say all of the time. I have too many reliable witnesses who would be more than willing to confess to how much I love a well-chosen cuss word). But often times this restraint is motivated, not by faith in God’s love for me when He commands such behavior, but by the desire to appear admirable to people. Also, if there is anybody out there who loves me like I loved Brian Estep, I would much rather they go on loving me, than not.

All this to say that I am ready to talk about my past again; I haven’t been for a really long time. You see, I’ve been convicted lately about what a Pharisee I am. It’s so easy to slip into that mindset when no one knows your past and you can work off of how you appear now - if not really sanctified, than at least better behaved. It is wearying, and evil. I’m not advocating bad behavior for the sake of not being a Pharisee; but I am advocating that I stop putting my hope in good behavior and my own ability to live a moral life.

I want to step out of the filthy rags of self righteousness, clean out these dead bones, and cling ferociously to Jesus and His righteousness. I suck at living a moral life. Why? Because the Holy Spirit will never endorse or enable me to do it apart from Jesus. The Holy Spirit is a real big fan of Jesus, I’ve found.

In the midst of hurt, pain, and sin I thank God that He’s still drawing me to Himself through Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. He doesn’t give up, just relentlessly pursues me. So now you know the truth about me – a broken, messed-up, sometimes foul-mouthed sinner, who needs Jesus to keep on saving her from these things and saving her to her highest purpose: glorifying God and enjoying Him forever through and because of the person and work of Jesus Christ, and Him alone.

It is the ultimate freedom.

A Sunday Hymn

Help My Unbelief

I know the Lord is nigh,

And would but cannot pray,

For Satan meets me when I try,

And frights my soul away.

And frights my soul away.

I would but can't repent,

Though I endeavor oft;

This stony heart can ne'er relent

Till Jesus makes it soft.

Till Jesus make it soft.

I would but cannot love,

Though wooed by love divine;

No arguments have power to move

A soul as base as mine.

A soul so base as mine.

I would but cannot rest,

In God's most holy will;

I know what He appoints is best,

And murmur at it still.

I murmer at it still.

Help my unbelief. Help my unbelief. Help my unbelief.

My help must come from Thee.

- John Newton, 1725-1807

Chorus:Clint Wells

We sang this hymn at church today. I think it beautifully highlights our complete inability to make ourselves right with God. Even repentance is a gift. I needed to pray this hymn today. I would, but cannot...Jesus, I need You to change my heart and turn it toward You. Mercifully grant me repentance and love for You according to Your will.

The Purple Cow, or Joanna and Jeanne Laugh Their Heads Off

Once upon a time, when Karen, Joanna, and Jeanne were in junior high they fancied themselves writers. This belief led them to compose a dreadfully silly, drama-soaked missive simply titled "Our Saga". One of the characters in the aforementioned story was a cow of purple persuasion, aptly named "The Purple Cow". He even had a theme song, which was actually just a Phil Keaggy song with the words "Purple Cow" inserted where "Love Divine" had once been. Sometimes the girls still sing it when they are in a silly mood, or when they are at a one-of-a-kind restaurant named "Purple Cow"!

Karen found "Purple Cow" in a travel guide. Of course, we knew we had to go. When we got there we found our own table and ordered, what else, Purple Cow milkshakes and malts, vanilla-flavored purple madness. This picture is simply entitled, "Purple Gluttony".

After we all drank A LOT of purple milkshake I threatened to "purple throw-up". Karen did not appreciate that, but Joanna, she of the iron-stomach (except where pickles are concerned), drank on. I have never been more proud of her.

After we had our fill of purple, we ventured outside. Karen insisted we pose in front of the "Purple Cow" sign. We tired out hardest, but we couldn't keep a straight face. Especially when a lady sitting on the patio of the restaurant gave us a look as if to say "what the heck is wrong with those girls? They should know better!" Indeed, we should.

Observe the way Joanna imitates the women. She started laughing and as we all know, once Joanna starts laughing, I do. Karen simply sighed (she was always the more mature one. Even her "Saga" entries were more refined, if such a thing could be possible), and muttered "typical". Well, yes, but I think that's why she loves us so much.

Finally we got it together.

I'm so glad Karen and Joanna came to visit me this weekend. I love them so much! Wouldn't you?

The Weekend in Pictures

This weekend Karen and Joanna made the seven hour trek from St. Louis to Little Rock for Labor Day weekend, bringing some much-needed laughter and fun with them. It is so good to be around people who know you so completely and like you anyway! Here are some photos from this weekend, along with the accompanying stories, or course.

Karen and Joanna met Bud and Nancy, my host family for the year.

Don't they look like fun? When Joanna thanked Nancy for allowing them to visit for the weekend Nancy said, "oh, well, we really had no choice" in her off-beat way. Joanna laughed and laughed. So did I.

Randy and Ferdine are missionaries in Italy with SIM. They have been staying at the Big Blue Farmhouse for their summer furlough, but left today. My life will be much less interesting now that Randy isn't around to pick up the dog and dance with him across the room.

Karen, Joanna, and I had many adventures this weekend, including trying to track down the "little rock" of Little Rock. We didn't ultimately succeed in that quest, but we did find many other interesting sites, including this big statue of Casimir Pulaski. He is Karen's personal hero, affording her a day off from school once a year. Can you see the admiration in her eyes?

Well, you could see it if she didn't have her super cool sunglasses on.

Speaking of Karen, she made an unexpected friend in Little Rock. MacGregor-dog fell in love with her! While I basically ignore him (except when he slobbers on my dress pants, or knocks books out of my hand in a desperate bid for attention, or barks, barks, barks his head off at 5:30 in the morning, at which times I scold him), Karen taught him to shake paws. Nancy is still talking about how much she liked Karen, and even MacGregor looks a little depressed. Karen, come back!

Oh, sure, he looks innocent enough, cute even, but don't let him fool you. His bark is chilling, especially early in the morning.

Before they left, Karen took a pciture of me in my pajamas (and not even my cute ones! In fact, I think Randy mocked them at breakfast) in front of the Big Blue Farmhouse. I include it only because I want you to see where I live. It's quite picturesque, don't you think?

Well, that's enough for tonight. Come back tomorrow for pictures detailing our trip to the Purple Cow.

Discourse on My Present State, or Poor, Poor Pitiful Me

These days my feelings vacillate.

There are days when I deeply love this new place, and then there are days when loneliness creeps in and I start to feel sorry for myself. "They've all forgotten me" is what I think, and then I feel like crying. Or, when I have to go to the office and work there for eight hours, alone, and lonely, and bored out of my mind, my only lifeline the phone with which I call people who themselves are vacillating, wondering if they really want to go ahead with their After-school Good News Clubs. "You'd better go ahead with that club!" is what I think, because if they don't, then I am a huge moot point.

I find myself checking Facebook. A lot. I realize this is pathetic, but it gives me a sense - albeit false -of connectedness. I tell myself that now is a good time to read all of those books I have piled up beside my bed, or write a book, or jog (yeah, right!), or take up some type of handy-craft, say knitting, or scrap-booking (this is even more unrealistic than jogging), or just sit and commune with nature (there is A LOT of nature around these parts, most of it incredibly itchy), but no, I crave people.

There are people in Arkansas, I just don't know them yet, I guess. One of the things I love about Arkansas though, is Bud and Nancy, my host family for the year. I wish I could spend whole days just following Nancy around with a notebook to write down all of the crazy, funny, wise things she says. The other day she reminded me not to eat the dog food which she had put on the kitchen counter, "Jeanne! Now, don't eat the dog food!" As though there were some danger of my actually doing this (note to self: don't eat dog food. Also, try to stop looking like a person who would eat dog food). She is just hilarious. The other night she was making fun of televangelists, and their "holy hair-dos" as she calls them. "Just think", she said, while watching one of them beg for money, "if I only send in some seed money we could all be rich!"

Yes, there are plenty of interesting people in Arkansas, but none with whom I've really connected. I am a stranger in a strange land. The only person here who can't wait to see me at the end of the day is MacGregor, and he really isn't a person, but only the very large dog which the Hancocks own. Apparently, he loves me. The other night we had a "guest", the French bulldog of a guy named Lane (also not my soulmate), and MacGregor had a fit when I started to pay attention to Baxter, running around the house, nipping at Baxter, just generally being a nuisance. "Oh, he's so jealous! He's showing off for you!" exclaimed Nancy, by way of explanation. If only MacGregor would realize I don't feel the same way, because, well, he's a dog. And he barks. A lot.

Anyway, it would be nice to find a friend. I am all the time tempted to walk up to someone reasonably sane-looking and just ask them "will you be my friend?", but I feel that would be even more pathetic than endless Facebook surfing. How does one meet people in a new town? Church. Yes, I'm trying. The grocery store? Possibly. Work? I'm the only one in the office! Probably I'll start talking to myself after awhile, and then no one will want to be my friend. "Don't talk to her!", people will start to say. "She's weird!" Maybe they already do. Maybe that's why I don't have any friends. Hm...

Yes, well, it is a little humorous. A very little. At least I still have that. In my hours upon hours of pure loneliness, I can amuse myself with pithy little antidotes about my life in Arkansas. But really, it isn't so bad. Some of the greatest people in the world were lonely - all of the Reformers at one point in their lives, the Puritans, many, many famous explorers, Mary, Queen of Scots - I mean, they all had stretches of loneliness. They are also all dead. Well, I thought blogging would cheer me up, but now...

Some days I vacillate.