Author Archives: Jane

THE SPACE IN-BETWEEN

Published July, 2000

Like most parents, my husband and I used to look forward to the summer.  It was our Space In-Between.  I was a classroom teacher, and my husband directed a summer camp.  We were just as excited as our kids.

Three whole months stretched out before us, a vast expanse of special time In-Between where we could enjoy cool pine tree forests, take special interest classes with no report cards, and linger late in the evening with the kids over a Scrabble game.

We enjoyed the summer as a family.  It was a pause in life, a time to catch our collective breaths.  Best of all, this was a time to anticipate renewal.  The coming school year shone brightly ahead, and we all made plans for September when we would be able to start with a clean slate.

But this year…this Space In-Between…it seems to stretch out with no end in sight.  Our youngest child has his high school diploma in hand.  He is enrolled in a college 2,000 miles away, and as I walk by his room this summer, I keep wondering what it will look like after he takes out his clothes and all his favorite possessions.

Yet, it’s not really the things I see changing before my eyes that make this Space loom so large and vast ahead of me.  It’s the things unseen, the questions that keep popping into my head for which there are no answers.  How did we do as parents?  How will he fare in the real world?  And, biggest of all, who will be his god?

This is a time when a parent sets all the worries of a lifetime out on the table, and we start worrying about the worries.  Did I spend too much time wondering if his teeth needed braces?  Given a choice between losing his winter jacket and losing his faith, did I really have the right focus?

Justin assures me he will look for a church close to campus, and I know his college encourages students to stay in their faith.  He professes a belief in God and in Jesus, but are there any little questions, small seeds of doubt that will bloom in the coming culture of college where kids are pushed to challenge tradition?

I come by these fears honestly.  My husband and I, for separate reasons, lived a secular life for forty years.  We were happy in our ignorance, until we met our supreme challenge of life.  We quickly learned how little help our pride and self-satisfaction offered us when we fail to acknowledge God.  Jesus literally saved us.  He literally showed us the Way.

We have done our best as parents to be transparent with our children, to share our faith walk, and to encourage them to follow.  But this is a pretty radical change for children in their teens as they witness their parents reaching out for God who was never welcomed in the home before.  I know well the life of doubt, of self, and of wandering.  Did we come to Jesus soon enough to share the power of His transforming love with our children?

Early in the summer I asked my son, “What do you think about going to buy a Bible of your own choosing?  Would you like to pick out a Bible that has just the right type of notes and translation to help you read on your own in college?”

My heart did a somersault when he told me, “Sure.  I’ve been thinking about that myself.”

Yesterday we went to the Christian bookstore.  As I left him to make his choice, unfettered by motherly coaching, I walked down aisles of children’s books.  Pictures of happy Veggies and pop-up books sharing the Christmas story renewed regrets that my husband and I had missed sharing the joy of Jesus with our children when they were young.  Like a patient hurrying to get her flu shot at the last minute, I wanted to drag Justin from the Bibles over to this aisle and read him bedtime stories on the floor in the bookstore.

Lunacy?  Of course.  But desperation calls for desperate measures.  The Space In-Between this summer is filled with so many possibilities, and I can no longer see to the end of the Space anymore, when classes would normally resume at the grade school and we’d all be tucked safely away into a life that’s close and comfortable.

I placed the pop-up books back on the shelf just as my son came round the aisle with his brand new Bible in hand, unsoiled, and protected in a tight plastic wrapper.  As much as I wanted to know this new Bible would keep him in the safety of faith in Jesus and be my Mother’s guarantee, I finally saw the truth.

The Space In-Between now belongs to Justin.  I can no longer engineer his life, getting him up in time for church and thanking him for saying grace at the table.  I can ask him, from a distance, how his faith is coming…if he gets time to read his Bible.  But only from afar.

I now understand the sense of urgency Paul must have felt, writing to his Christian disciples in Ephesus.  What joy must have filled his heart when he received news from Timothy, evidence of the Thessalonians’ continued faith.  And in Paul’s heart I see the glimmer of a new heart I must develop as a mom.  “I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better.” [Eph 1:17 NIV]

Love continues.  Prayer continues.  And my own faith continues.  My children can still witness the love of Jesus, the power of God in our lives.  But only as my husband and I perfect our own faith–perfect it in humility, confession, repentance, service, compassion, and love.

It would be easier to go backwards, to worry about our young children paying attention in Sunday school.  Of course, I can still worry about our children at college, even from afar.  But Jesus leads me in the more difficult Way, the life of witness through example.

Maybe the more important questions for Justin when he calls home will be when he asks me, “How’s your faith, Mom?  Do you still read your Bible in the morning?  Do you pray for me each day like you promised?”

The Space still looms ahead, a vast unknown.  I have to let God have His own way with my children.  The comfort I have comes, as it always does, from submitting in prayer:  “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.” [Mat 6:9 NIV] And I let go.

BACKWARDS PRAYER

Praying Hands GlowI believe even atheist writers pray when they send manuscripts off to agents, editors, and publishers.  Hey, if a prayer helps to bring attention to your manuscript, why not?

For sure, Christian writers pray up a storm.  I joined in the pack.  It felt very much like my prayer for the lottery, “Lord, let me win the $20 million jackpot, and I’ll be a good example to the world on how to spend it.  I will.  Really.”

God up in heaven must have one entire galaxy saved for all the prayers from Christian writers, “Lord, if it be Your will, please let my book be published, and let it be a million seller, and let me show everyone how humble I can be when Oprah chooses it for her book club.  I promise.  I know I can be humble.  Really.  Please, please, please, pretty please.”

Trouble is, I’ve spent a few hours walking the bookshelves of Barnes and Noble lately, and I know there are quite a few books on the shelf that better belong in the fiery furnace…God willing.  There’s more than enough evidence out there to prove that anything can get published, given the human profit motive.  Sadism, child pornography, murderers, worshipers of Satan…authors of enough darkness to make any human heart tremble.

In my heart, I know I’m never going to be able to validate God’s approval with a book contract.  Given enough words, enough paper, and enough mailing envelopes, like mud, something’s bound to catch in the wheels of the machinery and end up on the New York Times “just published” list.  It’s not spiritual.  It’s more like a math problem of probability.

I’ve changed my prayer. I know the darkness of my heart.  I’ve practiced hiding my caustic motivations in the midst of fields of verbal daisies.  Only seconds after I write a scathing indictment against a former friend, I can make my face a mask of gentility. I no longer have any assurance that God approves of my writing.  I tremble at the damage I might do.  If anyone knows the depth of my sinfulness, without a doubt, God does!

I pray backwards today.  “God, please, please, please, if any word I set on the page brings disgrace on you, clouds the grace of Jesus, and breaks a heart he came to mend, please, bury it at the bottom of the pile, hide it, burn it, trash it.  Keep it from the light of day.  And let me bang my head against wall after wall after wall, until I know in defeat that you have set your face against my prideful will.  And more than anything, give me the grace to empty the ink from my pen in thankfulness to You.”

Amen.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Copyright 2013.   All Rights Reserved.

WHY WRITE?

Inkwell BlueThe house was quiet.  Vic was at work, the kids at school.  Resolved to put an order to my randomness, I pulled the chair up to the wide oak desk and started cleaning out the folder of papers collected at the American Christian Writers Conference, the first writer’s meeting I ever attended.

I filed away instructions on writing spiritual meditations, along with a full page of editors and addresses, any one of whom might buy two hundred words.  I copied editor Steve Laube’s web page address into my computer, and made a mental note to write thank you’s to the writers and editors who had looked over my work.

Reaching the bottom of the stack of papers, I discovered the outline of Cecil Murphey’s opening keynote speech.  My outline was empty of notes, never having been one who could listen, concentrate, and take notes at the same time. Cecil had begun his speech with one question typed at the top of his outline, “Why write?”

In 40 years I had never asked myself this question.  It never occurred to me.  Even now, the answer seems too obvious.

I write.  That’s what I do, like breathing, eating, blinking, and moving.

My feet walk, my mouth talks, my heart beats, my fingers write.

It is the only way to empty the thoughts out of my head so I can concentrate on cooking a new recipe for dinner.

It is my personal thumb tack to pin down ideas, hold them in place, to keep them from coming back time and again, when I really need my mind to work on more practical matters.

It is my way of arguing with myself, thinking, evaluating…coming back in a better frame of mind at a later date to straighten out my confusion.

It’s my way of giving relief to my husband Victor, not holding him accountable to listen to everything I want to say.

It keeps me from boring my friends.

It hints at a tiny way of connecting with people who don’t know I’m here, and don’t care if I am.

It holds my feet to the ground.

It lets me hear God speak.

I write…because I have to.

It’s the only way I know to live.    End Scroll

AN ABUNDANCE OF SIMPLICITY

Published October, 2001

It started as an imaginary game.  Phase One of  a new home development sprouted out of the dry desert ground just minutes from my husband’s job on a large research farm near the small town of Maricopa.  Staring at the wood studs and up through the open rafters of the future model homes, we replayed the popular billboard slogan for each other.  “If you lived here, you would be home by now.”

Not that Vic minds the forty minute drive to work.  He has grown to love the slow transition from the clogged streets of the city, southward past the last vestiges of  Tempe farmland, a right turn around Dugan Dairy, and then a quiet drive into the wide open spaces of desert.  It’s a literal transition from clutter to space, an unraveling of mental tension and a reconnection with the earth as God created it.  Breathing is easier; thinking is possible.

Still, we thought…we could live just down the road from work.  We could actually live in the open spaces away from city smog.  No more hustling and bustling.  And our imaginations took over.

What if…what if we sold our BIG home and bought a little home, we asked each other.  What if we sold all of our unused possessions, gave them away–starting over again in a little way just like we had started thirty years ago as fresh college graduates.  Just the thought of having rooms filled with emptiness seemed to release a major burden for each of us.

Our imaginations took flight.  Over the weekend, laying on our backs in the living room, we surveyed the four walls covered with baskets, paintings, and cabinets of trinkets.  What did we absolutely need in our “new smaller home?”  What could we live without?  At the kitchen table, we mentally cleaned cupboards.  One set of dishes, a spice rack, and our pots and pans—was that really all we needed to eat healthy meals?

On trips out of town this summer, we began to imagine our hotel rooms as home.  One bed, two chairs, a small desk, dresser and bathroom.  We felt complete.  Returning home, one trip after the next, slowly the tension between the true clutter of our life and the open spaces we envisioned began to gnaw at my heart.  Did I really have to dust hundreds of knick-knacks for the rest of my life?  Did we really have to move just to rid ourselves of life’s complexities and distractions?

Then suddenly, as if God could no longer stand my complaining, His gift arrived.  After months of what-if, we have acquired an empty room, a patch of carpeting surrounded by four walls, a practice space of nothingness.  Our daughter moved into an apartment, taking her furniture with her.  Yet, what might have been a cause for sadness and loss punctuated by the absence of her lovely smile has blossomed into possibilities for all of us.  A room of space, a desert room of openness and breathing and thinking—right here, under our very roof.

We are of one mind.  This will be our desert preserve, a guarded space.  Last night we moved in a bookcase and arranged the shelves with favorite titles.  I spread out the Moroccan rug from our daughter’s travels, and a lamp stand points three beams of light up and down across the books and onto the quilted pillows in the corner.

In the darkness of the late evening, we laid back on the Moroccan rug and let our eyes adjust to the glow of the streetlights filtering into the room and across the walls.  Twinkling above, florescent stars made me smile.  They seemed bigger now, without the furniture.  They had space to play against, to fill the room with their warmth.  Vic’s toes wiggled, a detail that struck me in the open space of the room.  I reached out for his hand, and he squeezed mine back in response.

Custom dictates that a room without furniture is incomplete.  But Vic and I know that would spoil God’s gift.  In a world filled with man-made creations, God has given us back the simplicity of life, a room of space for listening, an expanse of stillness where He has room to fill the spaces for us, to tickle our toes and squeeze our hands, to whisper and remind us.  Be still, and know that I am God. [Psa 46:10 NIV]

IN THE HANDS OF THE MASTER

In the Hands of the Master

Published April, 2000

My son walked out the door early this week with note cards in hand, still rehearsing his speech on his walk to school.  He nodded goodbye, as I gave him a quick pat.

Even after twenty-five years, I can clearly recall my own cold, clammy hands on the day I gave my first high school speech.  Standing at the podium in front of my classmates, I felt terror strike every bone of my body.  I was up front, alone, in a quiet room, staring into 25 individual faces staring back at me.  They waited.

Worse yet, five students and the teacher each held a sharpened pencil and Evaluation Form.  If they couldn’t hear me, they would check a box.  There were boxes for eye contact, information, diction, and more, with a large space at the bottom for COMMENTS.  I could never have imagined that I would want to experience this fright again.

But, today as a writer, I willingly submit my work to the Evaluation Form, a formal process of critiquing.  It still strikes terror into my heart, even though my “classmates” today are friends and fellow writers.  I turn over pages I have created from blood, sweat, and tears, and I sit as they quietly read and mark.  Will they laugh at the right spots?  Or yawn?

Lately, in the silence, as we work to critique one another’s work, I am struck by the wondrous process of critiquing we Christians are involved in as we turn our lives over to God.  I begin to understand God’s process with me.

Trust in the Lord with al your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.  (Proverbs 3:5-6 NIV)

  • Seeking Perfection – When we critique writing, we imply we are moving toward perfection.  But it’s important to remember that perfection is a goal.  No written piece will ever be perfect.

Likewise, for us as Christians, there is only one living perfection, Jesus.  Bringing Christ into our lives as Lord requires a special understanding of our place on earth.  While seeking to follow in His way, we must always acknowledge how vast our imperfection is and how merciful God is to love us just as we are.  A Christian’s Critique is the process of submitting to a greater loving wisdom than we alone can ever possess.

  • Beginning in the Heart – The best writing begins in the heart.  When a writer knows her heart and what she desires to say, she gains a focus.  She knows where she is aiming and is able to gauge success when readers discuss her work.

Likewise, Christians must know our own hearts.  We must know we are fully committed and devoted to Christ.  Lip service defeats the critique of the Master.  He is unable to help us follow the Christian way because our heart is not set on keeping to His path. God knows our hearts.  He knows when we are fully involved in seeking His Critique.

  • Living Within the “Rules” — Writers must know the absolutes of writing, then use them with subtlety and imagination.  We have a creative “free will” to say, tell, and inspire.  But if we ignore the basic rules of good communication, we will leave our readers confused and frustrated.

As Christians, we must acknowledge God’s rules as absolute guidelines for our lives.  As part of this acknowledgement, we must commit ourselves to God’s Word, reading and studying it daily.  We will never understand God’s Critique if we don’t understand the rules He applies to us in our Christian lives.

  • Born of our Uniqueness – Once the rules of language and communication are understood, a good writer must be an individual.  She must speak with her own voice for her own message in her own way.  Critiquing is not intended to make her write “just like” the authors on the best seller lists.

God is a wonderful Creator, the master of diversity.  He creates no clones.  As we listen for His guidance, we must rest in the assurance that His rules and guidelines will allow us to express the love of Jesus in exciting and new ways.  As God prunes a weakness from our life, He will encourage a special talent or strength.

  • Humble our Hearts – Even in the midst of the critique process, when a writer has handed her story to her friends, and when she has assured them, “Yes, tell me what you think,”—even then, a writer must have a humble heart that willingly submits to the instruction and observations of others.

God gives us His Word and His many servants, pastors, friends, and the church.  But God’s Critique requires a submissive spirit.  When we hear His instruction, when we realize He calls us to change, we must submit to His wisdom with a glad heart.

  • Praying for Guidance  — Writers must listen to the critique, but not every suggestion merits a change in the writer’s work.  Critiquing becomes a delicate balance of truth and discernment.  Some suggestions are easy to understand.  Others require a writer to seek further.

As we listen for God’s critique, open and willing to submit, Christians must beware.  Many speak “for” God, but not all are “of” God.  We must discern the truth.  Submitting to God is not a passive decision.  It requires the utmost in diligence from us.  And when we are in doubt, we must actively bend our knees in prayer.

  • Listening in Silence  — In the midst of prayer, both writer and people must submit their efforts and understandings to the greater wisdom of God.  We must listen.  This is perhaps the hardest task in the writer’s and Christian life.  Listening requires concentration, patience, rest, and quiet.  Have we made moments in our busy days for listening?
  • Acting in Courage  — In the midst — Once wisdom makes itself known, we must act.  A writer can put her story in the drawer out of fear of failure, but she dishonors her God-given talents and the efforts of her critique friends.

Likewise, we can find many reasons for following God almost all the way.  Oftentimes God’s Critique is going to place uncomfortable demands on us.  He’s going to push and stretch us. Our future growth as Christians must be built on our daily actions, submitted to God’s loving critique.  Actions are our gifts to God, a demonstration of our faithfulness and love.

Instruct a wise man and he will be wiser still; teach a righteous man and he will add to his learning.  “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.  (Proverbs 9:9-10 NIV)

When our hearts are open, we know that critiquing is not a process of finding fault.  It is a process of formation, of growth.  As either writer or Christian, I am growing when I am a willing participant.  What a praise to know God’s love is concerned with the minute details of our life.  May we rejoice as He moves, shapes, and guides us on the Way!

GOD’S HOUSE

Published April, 2001

When Vic and I bought our dilapidated Victorian house, all of our friends knew where our time and money would be going.  They were right…fifteen years marked off not by seasons or holidays, but by home-improvements.

What they didn’t know, though, was that my heart really wasn’t tied to the house that would demand such devotion.  My heart belonged outside in the yard, even more run-down than the house.  Oleander bushes around the back yard were no more than stands of tall dried sticks.  At least they hid the sorry truth of our yard from neighbors, a full expanse of packed, hard dirt, a vast brown wasteland.

Move-in day was simple for us as young marrieds in our first home.  We set our clothes in the closets and carried in our dining room table and chairs.  Move-in finished!  Excitedly, we grabbed our remaining small wad of money and drove to the nursery, making our first home-improvement purchase, trees.

Trees wouldn’t care how bad the house looked.  They would grow undaunted by the list of tasks demanding our attention.  We could survive without tile in the kitchen or curtains on the windows, but we absolutely needed trees.  And grass, a flower garden, a vegetable garden, a hose, a drip irrigation system, lawn sprinklers, and monkey vines to grow over the new trellis and up onto the peaks of the roof.

Almost immediately after we planted and mulched the last tree, Vic arrived home with two long 4×4 posts, a stack of lumber, a pile of used red brick and a sack of cement.  “What’s that?”  I asked.  His answer, “A patio.”  I had no idea!

One year later, plus ten more stacks and piles of lumber and bricks, an electrician, planter beds, and an overhead drip and mister system for twelve pots of hanging ferns and spider plants, there it was.  We had our Mexican brick patio.  It doubled the square footage of our house.

Meanwhile, inside the house, we hung curtains, patched cracks in the walls, put up a new ceiling in each bedroom as soon as falling plaster made it necessary, and rewired the house to eliminate the fire hazards of ancient cloth covered wires dangling across attic beams.  We refinished wood floors and installed new bathroom fixtures.  But the improvement projects that really mattered most to us were the ones that took us outside.

We slept inside the house.  But we lived outside on the patio.  We grilled, we hosted neighborhood garage sales, we entertained with volleyball, and we sat swinging on the porch swing, just ‘hanging out,’ breathing in misted air and watching new fern fronds grow.

Improvements on the inside of the house soon were merely ways of moving the outside in:  a skylight over the bathtub, an enlarged kitchen window looking out over the ferns on the Mexican patio, and French doors from our bedroom directly out to a separate, smaller redwood deck patio with a gurgling fountain.

Fifteen years after planting our first tree, I think of the early Jewish nation traveling with tents, living under God’s sky.  I know they suffered terrible heat and suffocating dust storms.  Insects slept with them.  No, life wasn’t easy.   But life had its rewards.

I wonder how much of God’s beautiful house do we no longer “see,” living inside the permanent homes of comfort we’ve built?  How many conversations with God never happen because we don’t have a tree overhead and a bed of grass to lie in?

Oh, to hear the wind pushing at the side of a tent!  Oh, to hear the clear call of the birds, “Come out!”  Oh, to live unfettered outside in the house God built for us with His own hands, looking up to the majesty of the house God holds for us one day.

God Sets the Lonely in Families….

Published July, 2002

God sets the lonely in families…
Psalm 68:6

His words tug at my heart.  The psalmist is my daily encourager, friend, and teacher…he reminds me of the power of possibilities in the coming day.

I close the Bible and turn off the reading lamp so as to be able to soak in the approaching dawn.  The sounds of birds outside announce the birth of a new day just over the edge of the horizon.

In the cool morning air, I close my eyes and settle into the anticipation of one of God’s many common miracles…a fresh, bright day.  My feet propped on the low table, unexpectedly in the quiet, like a drop of fresh dew, the psalmist’s words return to me.  Insistent.  One simple line from hundreds.  God sets the lonely in families.

My mind stirs.  How peaceful this morning has been…a peace born of recent family events.  Only four days ago we gathered with family and friends to celebrate the graduation of our daughter Jamie from college.  It was a magical time.  Our son Justin flew in from the east coast, and we all came together on an outdoor patio for dinner–former neighbors, a baby sitter who became a permanent family friend, uncles, grandparents, former high school pals with their new spouses, and college roommates.  My daughter hugged me.  “This was so wonderful,” she said.  “All the people who are important to me—it’s been so special to spend the night with them.”

This has been a month of families for us.  We travel next week to celebrate the graduation of our California nephew.  And we will also meet his newborn baby for the first time.  Another patio, another party, an extension into our lives of his lifelong friends and family…people important to us because they are important to him.

It’s easy to forget, during these times of joyful celebration, that families are often hard-won blessings.  There is a sister who has disavowed family ties and refuses any contact.  Insults, never retracted, have been forgiven but not forgotten.  Even with uncles and nieces on the patio, we feel the tinge of unspoken family resentments not yet healed, but set aside for the time being.

God sets the lonely in families.  Like the break of dawn, families are another of God’s common miracles.  They are so expected, so common and ever-present, that it’s easy to forget God’s part in their creation.

Unlike the sunrise, however, they are God’s special miracle of creation:  our union with the Creator is required to make the miracle.  What a blessing born of the miracle of forgiveness I have experienced this month.  Letting go of past insults, my sister-in-law and I came together on a business trip and enjoyed a seaside evening of dinner, talking, and laughing.  Family restored…by God’s healing touch.

No better picture of the healing restoration of God’s touch can I think of than another approaching family event…a wedding.  And this wedding will be no uncommon miracle.  It is a testimony to God’s mercy as He works with our imperfections.

Only a year ago, two high school teenagers rejected the patient counsel of parents and gave into passion and temptation.  They created a new life.

While this was the classic “problem pregnancy,” God’s own patient counsel worked in the hearts of the family.  Rejecting the idea that any problem was too big for their Heavenly Father, the parents committed love and acceptance to their daughter, her boyfriend, and their developing baby.

For nine months the seeds of human love were nurtured with prayer and submission to God’s Word.  Where temptation might have prompted anger, accusation, and rejection, instead obedience to the Lord created restraint, patience, and love.  And where humans cooperate with Divine Creation, God sets the lonely in families.

As the teenagers accepted human and godly counsel, their baby was born into God’s promises.  Over the many succeeding months, the new mother and father have been able to create godly love from physical love.  And next week they will give their son the gift of family, becoming husband and wife.

With my feet up and my eyes closed, His words tug at my heart.  The psalmist from centuries before is always able to reach into my modern life as a brother and share a smile or tear.  He is a good companion for the mornings, a kinship of God’s eternal family.

God’s many common miracles…the power of His creation shines bright in the sun and rolls strong in the ocean currents.  Greater still, the blessing of His creation calls to us as His helpers, His agents, His children.  God sets the lonely in families.

THE LITTLE THINGS

Published January, 2001

The NEW Millennium, 2000, gave mankind such hope.  It suggested a transformation of the world.

What a joyful day we spent on New Year’s Eve, watching the new millennium unfold like a delicate rose across the planet, one time zone after another.  Newscasters, cameras, and ceremonies around the globe all synchronized to show us the magic of midnight revelry in Spain, Germany, and Brazil.

We called our daughter in Madrid, Spain, “Happy New Year!”  With phone in hand, and our television popping fireworks, we exclaimed, “We see you!  It’s midnight in Madrid, and we see the fireworks.  It’s beautiful!”

Instead of  the long-anticipated worldwide calamity, God seemed to show us, in one long-lived day, what humanity is capable of at its best.

What I wouldn’t give for January 1, 2001, to ring in the same beauty.  But once again, we humans are focused on the wrong thing. In the year 2001, there is that untidy little digit, the “one.”  It gives an edge, a point to the rounded thousand.  What is there to celebrate, we ask, when 2001 is just another year?

Eventually, truth sinks in.  We will add digit upon digit, one year at a time, a collection of years without worldwide significance.  Uninspiring numbers 2016, 2256, 2891.  Each year will melt into the next…a thousand times before mankind again feels a compelling desire to reflect on his place in the world, of man’s effect on mankind.

We should have learned a millennium-sized lesson on January 1, 2000.  For that one hopeful day in the life of  planet earth, we focused on the beauty of a new sunrise and our fellow man with whom we share such beauty.  Sadly, though, a sunrise lasts only minutes.  Reassured that impending disasters and world destruction were no longer possible, life quickly returned to normal.

The mid-east is a land divided where people come both to worship and to kill.  In the United States of America, we are busy perfecting ways of counting ballots to grab an election.  The ozone layer continues to recede.  And we still bury number six plastic in Arizona landfills because recycling is not a priority.

The New Millennium has become just another millennium.  Worn-out and over-rated.  Is it little wonder?  We wanted to change the world without realizing the need to change the human heart.

Environment.  Recycling.  Taking a stand for the environment is easy.  Trying to get a cup of coffee to go without using one more Styrofoam cup isn’t.

World Peace.  Ban the bomb.  But looking at my own family, how many feuds and bitter words are responsible for people refusing to talk with each other?  How easy to write a letter, make a phone call, meet for coffee–extending compassion and admitting our own offenses.

We wanted to pack all of our human hope into one year, 2000.  We wanted it to bring a New Millennium.  But do we want the new millennium to grow out of old habits?  We must remember that a millennium comes to us one decade, one year, one week, one minute at a time.

The coming year is no less important than the year 2000.  Preparing for 2001, we must exhort one another anew.  Each day we are given a chance to make perfection.  The words of Jesus are no less true today than when He spoke them, “For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.  The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in him, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in him.”  [Mat 12:34-35, NIV]

If we truly paid attention on January 1, 2000, we caught a glimpse of what we could make of this world.  We saw the reality of bringing good things out of the good stored up in us.  And that hopeful vision alone should turn our hearts to the tremendous possibilities ahead in a new year.

WITH CHILD, OFFERING HOPE

 Published October, 2002

As Kim tells her story, one is struck at once by her special qualities.  Her quiet, compassionate voice is evidence of the comfort she offers the women who come to see her.  But as time passes, her quiet determination and commitment become apparent.  They are the rock-solid bedrock of her 18-year commitment to helping and counseling pregnant women.

Kimberly Hackett-Schmidt is the Director of With Child, Ltd., a full-service pregnancy resource center.  Dedicated to helping women make informed decisions, With Child offers free of charge pregnancy testing, referrals to Medical Providers, counseling on her options, assistance with adoption of she chooses, parenting mentorship, and material assistance.

“A woman who thinks she’s pregnant is going to find us through the phone book.  We are listed under abortion alternatives,” Kim says.  Even so, “we have quite a few people who call us looking for an [abortion] provider.”  When these women contact With Child, they find counselors who offer an accepting and supportive environment where they can think through the abortion decision and what it means.

“Somebody walks in my door, I immediately send up a quick one-sentence of Lord, your words, not mine,” Kim says quietly.  “We all have different things that matter to us.Where one woman would come in, I would talk with her about the medical risks of abortion, the breast cancer link, the potential risks of sterility in the future.Another woman, I might talk about post-abortion syndrome, the emotional risks of an abortion.  I think it really depends on who the woman is, who God tells us she is.”

Kim has a heart for women considering abortion.  “It’s from where I’ve been,” she shares.  “I’ve made that decision personally to carry a child to term that was unwanted.  I was raped when I was 14 and became pregnant.  My baby was stillborn at seven and a half months.”  Kicked out of her home because she refused to have an abortion, Kim made plans for her baby to be adopted.  “I chose a family to raise my child,” she says.  “Joshua didn’t live, but I made that plan.”

As a 14-year-old pregnant teen in the 1980s, Kim suffered for her decision to carry her baby.  But she is resolute in her commitment to life.  “I never, ever would regret not having the abortion.  I had seen way too much loss in my life, having been abandoned by a mother and a day and shunned.  An abortionI would have been abandoning my child,” she explains, “I would have been following in the footsteps of those who had abandoned me, and that was something I could not take part in.”

Years later, Kim feels no bitterness over her childhood struggles.  They actually have prepared her to understand the emotional pain of women who return to her after having had abortions.  “The regret is almost universal,” she says.  “I have heard thousands and thousands of times, women speak of the regrets and the deep-seated regrets that they have from having an abortion.”

Many of these women seek Kim out to counsel their friends.  “Those women bring in their friends,” says Kim, telling her, “‘I had an abortion when I was fourteen.  My girlfriend is thinking of an abortion.  Help me.”

Under Kim’s direction, With Child, Ltd. goes the “extra mile” in offering women the assistance they need to turn away from abortion and continue their pregnancies.  Beyond the initial meeting, Kim and her staff offer women dedicated, hands-on, on-going counseling, which may include walking with her through the birth of a child and placing the baby with an adoptive family.

Serving 3,000 clients per year with a volunteer staff, the annual budge of With Child is less than $30,000 per year.  As word of mouth spreads, the number of women coming to With Child has been steadily increasing for the past year.

After 18 years of serving women, Kim is as dedicated as ever. She and the staff at With Child, Ltd. are here to make sure of that each woman in a crisis pregnancy is recognized as a human being, deserving of compassion.  “I never wanted a young woman to have to go through alone what I had gone through alone before.”  And thanks to With Child, they won’t.

Contact With Child, Ltd. today at 602-788-5434.  Kim Hackett-Schmidt is also available to speak to women’s groups and or congregations.  She also invites anyone interested in helping With Child ministries to call.  “Volunteer counselors, receptionists, childbirth and parenting educators, and handymen are always needed.”

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NOTE 2013 UPDATE:   With Child is growing and under the direction of Michele Murney.  Michele took over the leadership of With Child upon the passing of Kim Schmidt in a 2009 auto crash.  Kim is missed dearly, but her organization is thriving and continues to serve families.

PRECIOUS WHISPERS

Published October, 2002

Tears formed as she studied the card in her hands…tears of joy.  “Receiving this card just weeks before my baby was born was such a blessing,” says Lori.  “I had been missing someone I hadn’t yet met; I couldn’t wait to see and hold her.  My daughter’s ‘words’ expressed precisely what I was feeling.”

What made this message from her daughter so special was the fact that Lori’s daughter was yet to be born.  Even so, the card, given to her by a friend, opened communication between Lori and the child she was carrying.  It created a new link between mother and child.

One of a set of four, this new line of cards was presented to the public in early September. Inspiration for the Precious Whispers cards for pregnant mothers came to Joe Huot when his wife Brenda was pregnant with their own child.  Pouring through the cards in the store, he wanted a more personal message to his wife about the baby she was carrying.  What did their baby look like right now?  What feelings might the child have?  Joe envisioned a card that would give parents an eye into the womb…and into the heart and mind of their unborn child.

Joining with family members, Precious Whispers was formed, enlisting the creative talents of Aaron and Tracy Thomason.  With attention to every detail of the card’s picture and message, the creators designed separate cards to convey the life and feelings of the baby at four different stages in the womb.

At 6 – 9 weeks, when the mother discovers she is pregnant, the baby is already responding to touch.  A photograph of a baby’s hand holding her mother’s on the outside of the card, is explained inside in the message.  Mommy, you just found out about me and you are feeling anxious.  Everything is new and unfamiliar to me, too, but your touch lets me know everything will be all right.  With love, from your Baby.

“We want to create more of a bond between the mom and the baby,” says Thomason of Precious Whispers.  “We want mothers to feel like this baby is thinking.  It loves the mom.  It has a connection there.  We just want that to go both ways.”

Winning raves from everyone who saw the cards at their release, Thomason says, “People kept commenting, ‘Wow, that’s a great idea.’ One gentleman bought a set and came back later.  He said, ‘I gave it away, and so I’d like to get another set…actually give me two.’  Then he came back after the end of the night,” Thomason laughs, “just as we were beginning to break it down.  He said, ‘You know what, I gave those two away.  Can I have some more?’”

Perfect for doctor’s offices to give to expectant moms, the cards are also wonderful notes of encouragement to keep on hand for friends who are pregnant.  Available in sets of four, cards can be purchased directly from Precious Whispers through their website at www.preciouswhispers.com.

Plans are already underway to expand the card line.  This is great news to Angela who says, “These cards enable you to ‘hear’ your baby.  I wish they had been around when I was pregnant.”

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Note, 2013:  Cards are no longer for sale.  Website is not active.