Day of Anticipation

December 23 is my favorite day of the Advent season. The expectation for Christmas is thick in the air and the anticipation is heavy on my heart. Something magical will happen tomorrow. We just have one more day to wait.

Growing up December 24 was the day Baba and Dido would drag us around to friends and family, singing Christmas carols and handing out tins of cookies. The trunk of their Chrysler was always full of Christmas tins and the tins were full of at least eight different kinds of cookies. We'd dress up in our Christmas finery, load up and spend the day driving from house to house. Though it sounds like torture, it was actually a lot of fun.

Somewhere towards the end of the day we'd end up at Grandpa and Grandma Lubovich's house. They weren't my grandparents, but we called them Grandpa and Grandma. They were the cutest little Ukrainian couple ever and kind of reminded me of gnomes. Grandma's voice was high and sweet and her accent made it hard to understand her. She'd hold my chubby face in her hands and kiss me, saying sweet things and telling me she loved me. Grandpa had a warm, deeper voice and his English was better. And he'd hug and kiss us too. Their home smelled of moth balls and pickles. Not an appealing description, but I smile when I think of it. We'd sing songs and exchange gifts and then we'd eat. Pickled everything: onions, mushrooms, and even pickled fish. I never ate the fish.

I'm not sure when our Christmas Eve visiting stopped. I think I was in junior high. I don't know if it's because most of the people we visited were gone by then or maybe we just didn't all fit into that old Chrysler any more. But then Christmas Eve was the day my sister and I would walk around our neighborhood and give Christmas treats to all the neighbors. Sometimes, they'd give us treats back. The best treats were the homemade spring rolls from Mrs. Quintong.

Later, after Baba died, we celebrated Christmas eve in true Ukrainian style for a few years. I was in college and spent a lot of time researching the traditional celebration and trying to recreate it. I'd make three loaves of braided bread, coiled into a wreath, stacked one on top of another. And there were to be twelve dishes, most of them pickled items. The food was nothing special but I think it gave me sad heart comfort.

Eventually I met Scott and Christmas eve morphed again. Blending his family traditions with mine was hard. Christmas Eve lunch on the boat with his dad and step-mom. Then dinner at a Mexican restaurant with his mom followed by aebilskivers with his grandparents. I loved Scott's Grammie and PopPop. And after we got married, they changed again. Christmas Eve supper was now at our house and then family friends would come and while the night away.

Our celebrations still start on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow, we will have a "fancy" breakfast on the good china. We will make aebilskivers and drink apple cider like we did with Grammie and PopPop. Then we'll open presents. Later in the evening, my family will come for a luau.

The anticipation and expectation of all the goodness and fun that will come tomorrow is stored up in happy memories and missing loved ones. And that bittersweet feeling makes me think back to the first Christmas Eve when Mary was anticipating a baby and Israel was expecting a Messiah. And something magical happened. The King of the Universe was both the baby Mary anticipated and the Messiah Israel expected born in a barn, laid in a trough, heralded by angels, worshiped by shepherds and rich men. A baby born to make all sad things come untrue. And that makes me anticipate the day He will return for us. What a glorious day that will be! And I will get to celebrate my King once again with all my grandparents!

Why I'm Not Cheering for Phil Robertson

I commend Phil and the cast of Duck Dynasty for proclaiming their Christian beliefs and viewpoints. I applaud them for standing up to A&E when the station wanted them to stop praying in Jesus' name. I herald them for being bold and real. I salute them for professing biblical truth that is not politically correct.

But I've read the GQ article and I'm not cheering him on for his crass comments.

Before I explain why, I want to be crystal clear: I believe the Bible is very clear that sex and marriage are for one man and one woman. If you ask me my opinion my answer will be clear. It is not easy for me to state my beliefs because there are people I love dearly who are gay and/or believe it's okay and that the Bible is irrelevant on its teaching about homosexuality.

My disgust isn't because of his stance on homosexuality. Did you read that? I do not disagree with his interpretation of the Bible nor his beliefs. And I agree that he has his right to "freedom of speech" and can state his opinion. So, just to re-cap, I agree with his biblical stance on homosexuality and condone his freedom of opinion/speech. We're clear on that, right? Good. Then I can continue.

My problem is he was vulgar. He was distasteful. His words were more along the lines of being "of the world" than being "in the world." Read the article for yourself. It's the quote about male and female anatomies that turns my stomach.

We know, from other quotes, that Phil reads his Bible and quotes it. He paraphrased 1 Corinthians 5:9-11 and Revelation 21:8. And his paraphrase is not incorrect. The Bible indeed condemns sexual sins as well as deceit, idolatry, greed, slander, pride, hate, murder, gluttony, sloth, jealousy and more.

The Bible even condemns vulgar talk. Ephesians 4:29, Colossians 3:8, Ephesians 5:4.

And, I'm sorry Phil Robertson fans, his talk was vulgar, crude, and obscene. That I cannot endorse.

So, some of you reading this are thinking, "Well, Kristy, yes this was offensive. But Jesus was offensive. So it's okay." I'm glad you said that. Yes, Jesus was offensive. He was quite off-putting. To whom? To the Pharisees, to the religious leaders, to those taking advantage of and abusing the citizens they were supposed to be serving, leading, loving, protecting, guiding.

Let's take a look at the interaction Jesus had with an adulterous woman. Adultery is also a form of sexual immorality according to the Bible. John 7:53-8:11 gives us the story of the Pharisees presenting an adulterous woman to Jesus hoping He would condemn her. Jesus answers them, "Let you who has not sinned throw the first stone."  Then when they all left, presumably humiliated or infuriated, He said to the woman, "Neither do I condemn you. Now go leave your life of sin."

Let me ask you, who was offended by Jesus in this passage? Was it the woman caught up in sexual sin? Or was it the self-righteous who'd hoped Jesus would make them feel better about themselves by condemning someone else?

Now you're thinking, "Okay Kristy, you have a point, but 'love the sinner, hate the sin.'" This idea is likely founded in the interpretation of Jude 1:22 which says, "Try to help those who argue against you. Be merciful to those who doubt. Save some by snatching them as from the very flames of hell itself. And as for others, help them to find the Lord by being kind to them, but be careful that you yourselves aren't pulled along into their sins. Hate every trace of their sin while being merciful to them as sinners." 

The words that stick out to me here are: "help them to find the Lord," "being kind to them," and "being merciful."  Did you read help, kindness or mercy in Phil's vagina-anus comparison? No. His response to A&E's resultant suspension which you can read here is more in line with the command to help, be kind and show mercy. And perhaps that is the statement he should have made to GQ in the beginning. 

You see, Phil Robertson, like all of us, has the right to freely express his opinion according to the U.S. Constitution. I support him 100% in that right. But he has the responsibility, according to the call given in the Bible to all Christians by Christ, to love others. To love them as he loves himself. That responsibility does not come with the right to condemn or to judge.  It includes the right to exhort someone who is sinning, but it does not come with the right nor the freedom to condemn. Jesus himself did not condemn the adulterous woman. He told her not to sin anymore, but he didn't call her names, he didn't tell her how evil she was. He didn't say she was illogical or point out how silly and defeating her sins were.

In his vulgar comparison Phil pointed out how illogical the practice of homosexuality is and he said that sin is not logical. Correct. Alcoholism is not logical. Stealing is not logical. Lying is not logical. Gluttony is not logical. Sloth is not logical. Jealousy is not logical. Adultery is not logical. Pride is not logical. Murder is not logical.  Hate is not logical. Boasting is not logical. Hypocrisy is not logical. Slander is not logical. And yet we are all sinners and we all do some of these illogical things.

Logic does not explain why Christ, ruler of the universe, Savior of the world, was born in a trough so that He could die on a cross for all those illogical sins you and I commit every day of our lives. Logic would have let each of us pay our own price for the sins we committed. But God LOVED us too much to let logic rule the world. So He illogically sent His son as a baby who offended the self-righteous religious and political leaders and then endured torture and death so that we could be SAVED from our sins forever. 

The world around us already knows what the Bible says is wrong. They already know we Christians have a long list of things that we are against. They already see us saying one thing and doing another. What they don't know is that we are just broken, screwed up sinners ourselves who have found mercy and grace at the foot of the cross. They don't know that they can find that same mercy and grace in the same place because we're too busy telling them how messed up they are. We're too busy hating the sin. We haven't spent enough time loving the sinner. So they don't know. They don't know. And that, is just illogical.

So, I don't condemn you for sticking up for Phil. I don't condemn Phil for speaking his opinion. I don't think he should be suspended from A&E. I don't think he should be forced to stop praying. I don't agree with people who think his interpretation of the Bible is wrong. I think you should write letters to A&E if you feel led. I think you should defend your beliefs.

I'm just not sure how much of this has won hearts to Christ and introduced a broken person to mercy and grace.

Silly Sayings not fit for a Savior

Recently I've seen a lot of "Merry CHRISTmas" and a few "Keep Christ in Christmas" and a couple "Jesus is the reason for the season." Frankly, it kind of irritates me.

Christmas is about celebrating Christ's birth. That I am not denying. I don't think that should be down-played or minimized at all. I think we should be able to say "Merry Christmas" without fearing we might offend someone. I think we should keep Christ in Christmas. But I don't think that slapping a catchy little phrase on the birth of the Messiah brings Him even the slightest bit of honor. I actually think it trivializes it even more than the fat guy in the red suit. I don't think that these sayings actually keep Christ the focus of anything. I think they just put a band-aid on a broken world and make us feel good about ourselves.

Some Christians think that by using those catch-phrases they are somehow sharing their faith and spreading the gospel. Um, no. These messages are mundane and insincere. They don't capture the depth and breadth of what happened in that cave two thousand years ago. Instead they just put a nice, palatable, simplistic, sweet-tasting smile at a moment that wasn't nice, wasn't palatable, wasn't simple and sure as heck wasn't sweet-tasting.

Let me re-cap. Jesus, God's only son, became human. Became a baby. His parents were poor. His mother was an unmarried teen. He was born in a cave/stable/outbuilding surrounded by animals and his first bed was a feeding trough. He came as a baby because that's how WE needed Him to come so that we would accept Him because we cannot grasp how magnificent and holy He actually is. From the second He was born until the second He died, people wanted Him dead. And yes, that baby came to this world for one purpose: to die. To die for you. To die for me. To be tortured and hung on a cross.

That is not a sweet moment. That is not palatable. That is off-putting. That is something that a cute little rhyme cannot convey.

And, as if that's not enough, when these words are written, they're in a big happy font. Or when they're spoken, they're spoken with a Dr. Seuss voice. And then the writer or the speaker GOES RIGHT BACK TO THEIR  REGULAR DAILY LIVES LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED. As if saying "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" somehow excuses or explains why there's Christmas shopping and baking and wrapping and caroling to do. It's like a commercial.

I don't have a problem with Santa. I don't have a problem with Christmas shopping or baking or card-sending or any of the rest of it. It's all good. But when you take a sacred event like the incarnation and dumb it down with "Merry CHRISTmas" I throw up in my mouth a little bit because Jesus didn't come to earth so that we can make ourselves feel good about over-spending or be self-righteous because we know the "reason" for the season.

And here's the real coup de grace: most of the world -- certainly most of America -- already know that Christmas has something to do with a baby in a manger. What they don't know is why that matters to them. They don't know why they should care. They don't understand why that's important. And no amount of patronizing, puerile mottos will explain that.

So yes, Jesus is indeed the  most important part of Christmas. He is Christmas. But can we give that a little more respect than a trivial, mindless saying?

Why I Love Halloween

Halloween is a holiday with dark roots.  It celebrates death, horror, and even evil.  It's hard to find Halloween anything that isn't a witch, zombie, vampire, ghost or cursed black cat. It seems as though, everywhere you look there's something dark and dismal.

Yet, it's one holiday I've come to love.

I grew up in a God-fearing family, attended conservative Christian school and a great big church with lots of programs. Today, my childhood church would still be classified as a mega-church. 

Our school had Harvest Day and we all got to dress up as something Historical, Biblical or Literary.  In kindergarten, my pals and I dressed up as Job and his children. In first grade, I was Delilah. I skipped second grade, but my entire third grade class dressed as Cherokee Indians.  My entire fourth grade class dressed as pioneers. In fifth grade, I was Queen Liliuokalani.  In sixth grade, we dressed as a bridal party out of some book I had read.  We'd parade around the gym and then go to our classrooms for candy and games. It was fun and we often discussed that we were celebrating God's bountiful harvest. But mostly, it was just good-natured fun.

That was just at school. Our Wednesday night Pioneer Girls program at church also had dress-up parties.  One year I dressed as Vanna White, which is hilarious because I was a chubby brunette, but hey, that's the magic of costuming.  The next year, I dressed as the Lady in Red.  (side note: my mom owned a bridal/formalwear shop, so there were always lots of sequin dresses to choose from while being a cowgirl or a hobo proved more difficult for me)

But the Halloween that made me really start to like the holiday came when I was in 9th grade.  I dressed as a pirate that year, in case you're wondering.  My youth group hosted a haunted house in the youth building on our church campus.  I know some of you have stopped reading and some of you have pre-judged my church and its leaders for holding a haunted house.

The youth staff decorated the entire two-story building and we traveled through the "haunted house" with our small groups.  Every room featured a different Bible story all pointing to the amazing grace shown to us by the Almighty and Merciful Savior. My favorite room featured John the Baptist; he was already beheaded, so it was just his head on a silver platter in the middle of a table.
It was the coolest thing ever.  There were other stories told too, like that of Mary Magdalene and of Stephen.  And if my memory serves me, there was a crucifixion scene as well.

I don't know how many 100s of kids came through that display that year. But I remember how all of us were affected by what we saw.  It put real faces and real feelings to thousands-year old stories. It made the Bible real and tangible and palpable.

Eventually I grew up and when I met Scott, we decided we wouldn't "do" Halloween. It's an evil holiday after all and Christians should have nothing to do with it. Then we had Adam. And I couldn't resist dressing him up as a mobster when he was 18-months-old.  But still, no Trick-or-Treating, no Halloween décor. We even taught the kids to say "Happy Harvest" because Halloween is evil and it's a holiday no Christian should celebrate.

The reality is, no matter how much Christians condemn Halloween, no matter how much they try to ignore it, that won't change Halloween. The ONLY thing that will change Halloween is Jesus.

Halloween is perhaps the darkest time of year.  And Jesus calls us to be lights in the darkness.  He doesn't tell us to run and hide from the world. He calls us out. He calls us out of darkness and into the light. He calls us out of darkness and into the light and to share that light with people.

The Light defeats the darkness. Jesus defeats death. 

And then there's this amazing opportunity to do just that because people of all walks of life, hurting people, broken people, happy people, sad people, angry people, poor people, rich people come and ring our doorbell and hold out their hands for and ask us for something sweet. What sweeter thing is there to give them than the love of Jesus?

This year is the second year our church is hosting a Trunk-or-Treat event in Bismarck.  Again, some people think this is ridiculous and maybe even "sinful."  But I look at it as one of our biggest ministry opportunities ever.  Hundreds of kids will come through the parking lot, asking us for candy.  But that's just what they're verbalizing.  What they're really asking for is what we all are asking for, "Please, love me?"

So, the kids will come, we'll talk to them, ask them about their costumes, put candy in their bags and connect with them right where they are just like Jesus connects with us right where we are.  We won't judge them for picking a Dracula costume.  We won't condemn them for dressing like Miley Cyrus.  We'll just love them.  We'll pour candy into their bags and love into their hearts and then we'll let God take over. 

For some of these kids, it's the only time they have a positive interaction with an adult.  For some of these kids, it's the only time they'll experience Jesus.  And for the parents that come with some of them, it might be the first time in a long time that they feel like they're part of the community, that they're loved and accepted.

So, yes, I'm a Christian and I love Halloween not for the witches and goblins, and not even for the candy.  I love Halloween because I can let my light shine in a very dark world.  And, that, folks, is what being a follower of Christ is all about.

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel? No! I'm gonna let it shine."

Tugging on My Heart Strings

Last month, Adam had his first ever sports physical since he will play football this fall. Everything was fine, but the doctor heard a heart murmur and said we'd need to see the pediatric cardiologist the next time he came to Bismarck. This mama, prone to anxiety as she is, fell apart.

We've known Adam has a murmur since he was a newborn. Gracey has one too. But for whatever reason, the doctor thought that it should be checked out by an expert. He assured me it was probably nothing and signed the sports release, but "probably nothing" is never reassuring.

Today was the big appointment. I was a mess most of the day, crying between Avon deliveries and on the verge of a panic attack. Adam was very nervous but tried to be tough. He went to the bathroom three times while we waited for the appointment. Scott was our rock, concealing his own worries to reassure both of us and lead us in prayer. Repeatedly.

Dr. P came in and asked us and Adam some questions. He was a little concerned when I told him about Gracey's valve issue as a newborn. (read about that here) Then he listened to Adam's heart. For. A. Long. Time. In several different locations front and back. Then he listened to, palpated and timed major arteries. It. Took. Forever.

He told us that Adam's murmur sounds innocent. He said it's the kind of murmur that is common in children aged 2-5. Adam is 9. He said since Adam isn't having any ill effects of a murmur (passing out, chest pain, etc) and that all of his valves and arteries sound good otherwise, so an EKG isn't necessary at this point. But if when he is 12 the murmur is still there, then it will be time for an EKG as a 12-year-old heart should not sound like a 2-5 year-old heart.

Then he drew a sketch of the heart and explained that some cardiologists thing this type of murmur is caused by an extra ligament in the heart that kind of reverberates the way a harp string does. The ligament has no purpose, most people don't have this little extra ligament and all it does is make a musical sound in the heart.

You could hear a collective sigh of relief come from the three of us.

As we got up to leave, I said to Adam, "Dude, I think Dr. P just said you have music in your heart."

Dr. P agreed and said that yes, Adam does indeed have a musical heart.

I started crying (again) and could only whisper, "Thank you Jesus."

As we got into the elevator, Adam looked at Scott and said, "I've got a song in my heart, Dad. A song in my heart for Jesus."

I don't want Adam to have an EKG in three years. I want his murmur to go away and to never cause us stress or worry again. Yet, if having a murmur will keep Adam's heart turned toward Jesus, then I can live with that.

Pro-Respect

Even though I agree that life begins at conception, it is very hard for me to be joyful about the North Dakota bills signed this week.

Why? Because as my friend pointed out tonight, both sides have gotten so ugly. And she's right.

If I post on my blog or on Facebook that I am pro-life and/or in favor of North Dakota's decision, I am both a hero and a villian. Some of my friends and family will agree with me and maybe even applaud me for speaking my viewpoint. Others will disagree and probably accuse me of being ill-informed or even hateful.

I mean, honestly, why can't we all just get along?  You're not going to change my mind, I'm not going to change yours. I respect your opinions and beliefs. And I like you as much as I like someone who agrees with me. I don't call you names and I don't think you're stupid. I'm glad you have your opinion and I'm glad I have mine. If you want to post it all over Facebook, go for it. I'm not offended.

Now I want to put this idea out there for all of you, pro-life and pro-choice to mull over: is this empowering to women when both sides are screaming "You're wrong" in every woman's face? Is it honoring God?

So whether you're rejoicing or raging tonight, remember someone else is feeling the other emotion and she has as much right to her opinion and her emotions as you do. With rights come the responsibility to be respectful.

As of tonight, I am changing my stance on the issue. I am no longer pro-life nor pro-choice. I am pro-respect. Won't you join me?

Hawai'i In My Heart

For my birthday, my sister gave me this sweet necklace. As you can see, the heart-shaped pendant has the islands of Hawai'i stamped into it. When I slipped it out of its tiny brown, I thought, "Hawai'i in my heart." As I fingered the pendant, while driving Adam to chemistry class, a poem crawled out of my soul.

 

Hawai'i in my heart, forever from the start.
Always in my heart, hurts to be apart.
Hawai'i is in my heart.

Islands amidst the sea calling sweetly to me,
"Come be shaded by a tall banyan tree."
Aloha my only plea.

Whispers through the trees floating on the ocean breeze,
Over the mauna and over the seas,
"Come home, come home to me please."

Sweetly scented air, yellow flowers in my hair,
A lei to share, how I want to be there.
Aloha plenty to spare.

I took a sandy stroll and there I left my soul.
Console my heart with the waves' crash and roll
And wash away worry's toll.

Hawai'i in my heart, forever from the start.
Always in my heart, hurts to be apart.
Hawai'i is in my heart.

Mahalo nui loa to my sweet sister for the birthday gift and the sweet inspiration. 

Slamming Doors

It stinks when the realization hits you that you had to get hurt in order to figure out what God has for your life right now.

Nothing like having the door slammed in your face so hard that your toes get caught and your nose gets splinters. And if you're like me you think that this means you've still got a chance because your toes are stuck under the door. That's what "having a foot in the door" means right? It's dark and lonely on this side of the door  and you desperately want to be back on the other side. You jiggle the knob, knock on the panels, "Let me in! I'm supposed to be in there!"

Then someone on the other side stomps on your feet until you have no choice but to yank them out from under the door. In doing so, you fall backwards, stumbling, trying to grab the door knob to stop your fall.

You flail backwards like a cartoon character falling off a cliff. Falling, falling, falling. Panic starts to build. You're crying, thinking of ways to open the dang door, wishing there was something you could do to get yourself out of this predicament. You're blaming the door. You're blaming yourself. You're blaming the jerk that slammed it shut in your face.

But just before you go splat on the cold hard floor of rejection, you whisper, "OK God. I give up."

Suddenly big strong arms are around you and you're safe. You're loved. He looks down at you resting in His embrace and smiles. Warm comforting peace slowly fills your body from your stepped-on toes through your sucker-punched gut and into the tip of your splinter-filled nose.

You take a deep breath and sigh. You're safe, but it still hurts. That door didn't close on its own. Someone, probably someone you trust, someone you counted a friend or maybe even a loved one, slammed it. And if that wasn't enough then they stomped on your feet. It hurts. A lot.

You start to explain to God what happened. You try to justify your hurt, anger and sadness. Bug He just puts His finger to His lips. "Shhhhh...." Your grumblings cease.

"I'm sorry you were hurt," He whispers. "I tried to get you to close that door on your own, but you weren't paying attention. You were consumed with doing what you thought was My Will that you weren't listening." He smiles and squeezes your hand.

A light bulb goes off in your head and suddenly it all makes sense.  He sees the realization in your eyes and smiles again.

"You were doing a wonderful job but didn't you notice no matter how much of yourself you poured into this, you just feltl ike you were hitting a wall." 

You nod. He hugs you close.

"Oh dear one, I'm sorry you hurt yourself."

You nod, smiling through the tears. He holds you against His chest and you melt into His embrace. His steady breath and strong heartbeat wash away the doubt, the anger, the sadness. You forgive the people who hurt you. They were unwitting tools of God, used to push you toward Him and His will.
Now it doesn't seem like such a horrible injustice and an unhappy ending but a beautiful beginning ordained by God.

When He sees that you've forgiven and understand all that happened, He gently places you on your feet. There, next to the old door now boarded and nailed shut is a new door. It is open and a warm glow streams out of it.  He puts His hand on your shoulder and says, "OK dear one, now here's the door for you. Here's the path I want you to take. Go. Make me proud."

Gently He pushes you toward the door. You approach cautiously, afraid this door might suddenly swing shut but then the glow of possibility and potential envelops you. You smile and go through the door. And it's kind of like waking up in technicolor after weathering that grayscale tornado.