However, the man in charge at the moment got down right on eye level with the offender and simply said, “Yes, we are all big, fat idiots!” I was momentarily shocked at his answer and wondered if dealing with kids had finally usurped his reasoning abilities. Mr. then began to explain to the child that because we are all big fat idiots, we need Jesus. That, my friends, is one of the best explanations of the gospel I have heard in a long time.

I wonder if today is simply a typical Monday and fact that the Resurrection occurred changes nothing in your life the day after Easter.

I wonder if it already lost on us that we celebrated the fact that Jesus died on the cross because we are all big, fat sinners. I wonder how many of us are so enamored with the “big, fat idiots” around us that we have forgotten that we are like Paul, and the worst of them all.

If I am hungry, I get something to eat.

If I am cold, I grab the nearest blanket or turn up my heated mattress warmer.

If I have a headache, I reach for the aspirin.

If I am thirsty, I grab a Diet Dr. Pepper.

If I am lonely, I text a friend.

If I am tired, I turn off all the lights and take a nap.

When I have a need, I find a way to fulfill it.

I have been in a place that I needed Him to make it through the next minute but I am not there right now. Honestly, most days I just plow through and don’t necessarily need Him.

Something radical must be done. I don’t like living this way. I know better.

Tomorrow, I am embarking on a journey. I am creating a need for Him in my life. I am choosing to do without some things so that I can force myself to need Him.

Let me explain, imagine I cooked Brad the most fabulous of dinners (I know, unbelievable, I told you to use your imagination for goodness sake) picture steak, steamed veggies, potatoes, and a wonderful dessert waiting on him when he walked in the door.  A feast for him of pure deliciousness waiting for him but he didn’t know I was cooking (he is used to this NOT happening) so he grabs some McDonald’s on the way home. He is very full from the yucky McDonald’s but sees the great meal I have made for him and pretends to enjoy. However, no matter how good my meal is(we are still pretending), Brad is just full and has little room for the goodness I have prepared.

This is me!! I am so full from the junk that even when I try to focus on God, I am too full.

This type of living is no longer acceptable to me so I suckered a few friends into doing this with me. Starting tomorrow, we are following Jen Hatmaker’s example from her book 7 and eating seven foods for a month. I can’t even think about next month, it involves clothes, one of my favorite indulgences. You thought I was crabby last month? Just wait till 7 is in full swing.

I am tired of being so full of junk that I miss God.

Are you?

Click here to check it out. I just posted a new blog on being crabby – have any of you ever been crabby?

I pray that the book of Job speaks to you the way it spoke directly into my parched heart.

Telling our story has brought back so many memories that I had shut up tight and I woke with a burdensome heart this morning.

Memories blinded my vision and left me breathless.

I felt the weight of grief pushing me back in time; a time when Jake was alive and splashing in a kiddie pool.

I lived in the past for a few minutes and then crawled out of bed and to my coffee. I started my day, silently thankful for new mercies each morning.

After I dropped my oldest off at school, I drove back home as the sun began to rise. As I watched the sun rise, hope arose within in. The God who created the sun holds me. The God who spoke that very sun into existence knows my name and collects my tears in His bottle. As I focused on the Majestic God I serve and sang Amy Grant’s “Better Than a Hallelujah,” a different reaction occurred inside me. My song was no longer “a mother’s cry in the dead of night”  but a whispered, broken hallelujah with the rising sun.

Immediately I knew there was something “better than a hallelujah”

a broken hallelujah.

God continues to remind me of how important stories are in the life of believers. We were privileged to have our local news reporter tell our “God story.” I thought you might like to see it. 

Click here to watch 

Since I have written my book, I often have friends walk up to me and say, “I get you now. I totally get you.” I didn’t realize I was hard to figure out, so I have been pondering this for a few days.

What has changed? They know my story.

Stories have power.

Stories change the way people view one another.

Stories reveal the evidence of the conflicts in each others lives.

Stories open up our understanding of each other.

Stories create compassion by allowing others a glimpse into the innermost parts of our being.

Stories illustrate to those around us that we are fallen and in need of a Saviour just like everyone else.

Stories make room for grace.

We could all use more grace. Grace given and recieved.

Maybe, before we get frustrated at the single mom with her unruly kids or the teenager with no parental support, we took the time to learn their story. I am pretty sure our views of them would change? Maybe, before we rail on our kids as they walk in the door, we took an extra moment to find out how their day was. Maybe, before we jump to the conclusion that an acquaintance ignored us at the store, we considered what is going on in their lives. Maybe, if we thought about how life is hurting others before we made rash judgements, we could show love to the unloving.

Jesus, in Matthew 9:12 said, “But when he heard it, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.”

Maybe, if we remembered we are called to share Jesus with the spiritually sick, our view of others would be radically different.

Then maybe just maybe, we sit down with that person and share our story . . . our story just might help their story.

Send flowers = get lucky.

Seriously?

I have been contemplating love all day. It is Valentines Day in here in the good ole’ US of A.

1 Corinthians defines love so differently. Love is patient, kind, it doesn’t envy, boast, dishonour, or is proud. Love isn’t self-seeking, isn’t easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. Love delights in truth; it always protects,  always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.

Wow, love doesn’t really have much to do with flowers. Don’t get me wrong, I am not against flowers but they don’t define if you are loved or not.

Tonight, while sitting in a semi-crowded mall eating Chick-fil-a with my favorite men (Brad, Drew and Jackson) I realized that love was staring me in the face.

Love is sitting around a table talking, laughing, and reminiscing about our day.

Love is more than getting lucky .  . .

Love is taking turns getting up at the crack of dawn to drive your son across town for football practice.

Love is holding your tongue when you are frustrated.

Love is spilling out words of encouragement.

Love is the reassuring glance from across a room that you are the only one.

Love is a quick text during the day showing you are thinking of each other.

Love, in marriage, is getting lucky. Sorry, Mom

Love is picking up the clothes next to the hamper, silently.

Love is doing the dishes without a dishwasher.

Love tucks your kiddos in at night.

Love holds you close in the darkest of nights.

Love gives. And it gives some more.

And then gives some more.

How?

“We love because He first loved us”

When we realize how lavishly we have been loved, we can liberally love those around us.