When the "Crash" happens...

(Quick disclaimer: This is longer today and a bit heavier. When you read this, please remember there is more to the story yet to come and not all churches look like the one described here.  I was reluctant to share some of this, for fear it would only affirm what some people think about church already.  But I assure you, there are healthy, loving churches.  Find one!) 

What do you do when you unexpectedly stumble to the ground?  I look around, hope no one saw, and quickly dust my pants off, hoping to hide evidence of the fall.  Now... my husband on the other hand, would burst out laughing at himself and hope someone was around so they could share in the humor.
     But, what if you fell and were severely injured?  What if everyone with you had the same "event" and you were left dazed, wounded and incapable of helping yourself, let alone, others?  In a car crash, this can happen.  The injured need the aid of bystanders just to get to safety.  They need a medical team to bind up their wounds.  They'd depend on others to help them while they regained their strength.  Eventually, though, the occupants of the crash would heal, gain strength and move on with the daily grind of life, even though their bodies may show the scars of the "event" for a lifetime.
     We had an "event" in our family that likens itself to a "spiritual car crash".  My dad was a pastor in Hermiston for almost 2 years.  There were so many sweet people there and the highs were awesome!  We saw God do some amazing things in people's lives and have some very precious memories there.  But in this church, there was a secret undercurrent that had severely wounded several pastors before us. The pastor that was there just before us ended up in a psychiatric hospital.  Now, it was dad's turn and it didn't take long before the "crash" began to happen.
     I remember hearing my parents talk late at night (I'm sure they thought I was sleeping...sorry mom!)  and they both shed tears as they questioned whether or not we were suppose to have ever moved there.  How could this be God's will?  How were we suppose to live this life if it wasn't about seeking the Lord, but pacifying the needs of a few?  We had also never been so poor.  But that was not the full source of our affliction.  It came in the form of two (the ONLY two) deacons of the church.  It seemed the puppet shows we'd put on became a picture of the strings my dad was told to move to.  He never measured up in their eyes.  There was criticism for bringing the "low-lifes" into our church..."how is that going to help bring more offering in?"  Dad saw them as people who needed Jesus.  There was criticism if dad preached past noon.  Actually, one of the deacons would start pacing the back of the church and point to his watch.  There was criticism that mom didn't host more people in our home for dinner.  What no one knew is there was hardly food enough for us some days.  Often, Dad, Mom and I ate one meal a day. Had it not been for government school lunches my siblings would have felt this hunger, too.  The high school didn't have a cafeteria so we had open campus.  They say, necessity is the mother of invention.  So, out of hunger, I started giving piano lessons to buy my lunches. It still makes me sad when I look back at those pictures because we were so thin.  One lady asked my mom what "diet" she was using because she saw that it was really dropping off pounds.
     The tragedy in this situation was that there was an invisible war being waged.  It was a spiritual one!  I can not see the heart and motives of a person anymore than you can see mine.  So the WHY behind this can not be answered easily.  To see what someone is made of, we can tell a lot by the fruit of their lives. There was a vein of distortion in the leadership and it was hindering to the Body.  Our family was just the next in a line of casualties.
     When the crash hit, my dad was so deeply wounded he was rendered helpless for a time.  My dad had always been strong and confident.  But he was a man crushed under the blow of disappointment and pain.  He had wanted to be a vessel used by God to tell people about Jesus through full-time ministry and walked away broken and confused. He took us home...to Montana.  This was the summer before my Senior year.
     Back to my initial question about falling down... what do you do when you fall, get injured severely and it is suppose to remain a secret?  You swallow hard, learn not to cry and get back to being busy for Jesus (a.k.a. busy at church).  That's what we did.  Looked around, hoped no one really saw we'd fallen down, wipe off the dust and throw some new clothes over top the ripped ones and keep walking.  I don't recommend this, by the way.  It leads to bitterness and a diseased heart.  Not to give away the ending, but I know the Great Physician and he eventually did surgery to remove my bitterness and repair the wound in order for healing to begin!
     This chapter of my story was difficult though.  I grew more confused about what God wanted from me?  Did I even need to go to church?  I didn't like what had happened behind church doors.  Couldn't I just toss out church-life and love God?  A root of bitterness sprang up towards anything "church", yet I found that the next phase of life was more busy "for the Lord" and at times, more "fake" than anything I'd previously experienced.  I wanted genuine.  A genuine God, a genuine faith, a genuine family and genuine friends.

Committee of Voices

Some days my head is quiet and I think they've gone to sleep
Then something hits a mem'ry and my eyes begin to weep
I wish they'd all be silent for they wear me to the bone
Why can't I find the "off" or "mute" like I have on my phone?


Some days they like to chuckle, some days they love to yell
But either way, they make me feel a pris'ner in a cell
They clatter and they like to make a ruckuss in my head 
Since they won't stop their talking guess I'll just go off to bed!


I have a whole committee of strange voices in my brain
They started many years ago and sing the same refrain
"You know that your are worthless" or "If only people knew"
"You have to do that better" and "Give up, you know you're through."


But not so many years ago, a friend took time to say
"You know my dear, I think we need to stop right here and pray."
She pointed out a lot of lies that echoed in my head
And told me how to hear the Truth and follow it instead.


"God never meant for you to sit and battle this alone.
He gave his Word, it tells us truth, Now take this with you, home."
So when my whole committee of strange voices came to jeer
I started speaking really loud, "My God said have no fear!"


I must admit, it seemed real odd to talk aloud at home
My kids would spy around the wall and see I was alone.
I know some days they must have thought that mom was crazy, yes
But I had found the joy that comes from God's sweet tenderness.


I am too glad to tell you this, that voices can be snuffed
of all their lies and cruel deceit, replaced with God's great love!
"Be still and know that I am God... You are my precious child!"
My heart's so full of peace and joy, not often is it riled.
                                                                       by Candi Haidle

Now, please do not worry!  I am truly NOT possessed, alright?  Never was!  I wrote this because it captures how it feels when I battle in my mind.  Lies are powerful if they are believed.  Remember, Satan has been a pro for a loooooong time at getting people to buy into his lies.  God's truth is what sets us free!  This friend who told me to "just start speaking truth right out loud" and "quit letting that garbage rattle around in there," helped me to understand why it's so good to have God's Word hidden in my heart.  I haven't found the mute button for the voices in my head, but they are very, very quiet compared to the committee of screamers they used to be.  I hear Jesus, my Shepherd's voice, instead.  And on the days when a voice wants to whisper something that makes me doubt or fear, I just ask..."Jesus, is that true?"  He is so faithful to answer.  And his voice is so sweet!  (ah....peace.)

Pack it up for Portland! Dad's going to cemetery...I mean, seminary.

(Act One - Open curtain on U-haul)
We moved to Portland, Oregon the summer before I went into 7th grade.  My brother informed people Dad was going to be a pastor and go to "cemetery" (seminary).  I thought Portland was the most beautiful place I had ever seen!  My junior high felt more like a amazing college campus but many of the kids looked like no one I'd ever seen in Montana.  Crazy hair in rainbow colored mohawks, piercings in places I'd never seen pierced, holes burned into their clothes.  And there were rich kids that bragged that they paid a hundred dollars for a pair of pants, and this was in 1985!  Culture shock!  It didn't take long to understand it was going to take work to find my niche.  Fortunately, I fit in perfectly as a band geek.  I met some very sweet, "normal" friends here.  I was often surprised when someone would ask, "What does your dad do?"  I was proud of my dad and how he was following God's calling into ministry, but began to realize  people made assumptions about who I was because of this.  Assumptions that I was ultra-spiritual and never was tempted to swear or cheat; like I was born with holy blood or something. When dad completed school, we started actively seeking a place to serve.  I began telling my friends that I was probably going to move.  "Where?"  Well, we didn't know yet.  We were waiting to see where God would lead us.  "What does that mean?  Is God going to send you a letter or something?"  It was a faith building experience and  I boldly believed God would direct us.  None the less, it was a slightly odd question to explain to my peers.
     You'd expect to do an interview in order to get a job.  But how about interviewing the kids to see if the parents were qualified?  Crazy, right?  Evidently, not to one church we visited.  I know that not every church is as nutty as this one where Dad candidated, but let's just say it was a very strange car ride home as we discussed what happened. Our heads were still spinning.  At one point, board members had begun asking us kids questions.  "Do your parents fight?  Would you say your dad is a man of prayer?"  Weird, huh.  Was this from God?  It sure didn't seem like it.  Fortunately, dad chose NOT to look any further into this one.
(Slight intermission)   
     God was faithful though.  We left beautiful Portland and moved to Hermiston, Oregon when I was 15.  We were excited about what God was going to do here through us as a family.  Dad was really excited about preaching and connecting with people, mom had zeal in spades when it came to children's ministries, and us four kids...well, we saw it as our ministry, too.  We used music every turn of the way and my brother and I used to joke about being the "Christian version" of the Von Trapp family singers from The Sound of Music, right down to the family puppet shows!  We all got busy working for the Lord... or the church.  Something like that.  (Enter confusion over serving God versus serving the church, stage left)  But that's for another day...

Mad Flannel Graph Jesus

Have you ever held a baby in your arms, and had an argument with your spouse?  I have.  It surprised me when our baby's little bottom lip started to quiver and he quietly began crying.  My frustration hadn't been aimed at him, but he picked up on the tone of my voice, and it frightened him.

TONE MATTERS!  Tone matters.  Yes, our tone truly does matter. (sigh)

     The way we hear words deeply affects us.  When I listened to bible stories, I often heard Jesus' tone as very angry.  "Oh, you of little faith..." he'd say with arms crossed, shaking his head. That was the way my mind pictured him.  "If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching," Jesus replied. (John 14:23)  Again, I felt as though his finger was shaking in my face while I read those words.  I don't know if it was my personality, strict household rules, church teachers who taught with harsh tone or all of the above, but I had a hard time not hearing Jesus sigh loudly, speaking with a "holy tolerance" only he could muster up after thousands of years of stupid people.  My sister and I have spoken about this many times over the years.  Why did we feel like we were always "busted" when we'd read God's Word.  Somehow, shame often showed up after reading it.  I discovered it was the tone with which I was reading it.  When the bible uses the words, "Jesus said," there is rarely any adverbs to tell us HOW he said it, so you hear his voice the way you perceive him.

 
    My imagination was fantastic!  I built butterfly cages out of wood and Saran wrap, had legions of animals that lived in my pretend world, and an invisible identical twin sister named Julie (she was the "good" sister).  But when it came to letting my mind conceive the truths and stories of the bible, I had already been told what it all looked like... Jesus was a flannel graph!
 

    He was stuck in the same position for practically every story.  You know the one, where it looks like he is preaching and pageant waving at the same time.  Now, I have to tell you, I chuckle as I write this because my mom loves flannel graph story telling.  Flannel graph is not an evil thing.  Actually, it can be a great tool.  But, I do think my imagination would have done a better job making my Savior seem more alive than "impersonal frozen statue Jesus."  Why is this part of my story?  Because many years of my impressionable childhood was filled with a strict, irritated, impersonal, posed version of Christ.  So when I was very little and would sing the song, "Oh be careful little hands what you do...for the Father up above is looking down in love, oh be careful little hands what you do," it scared me.  He didn't feel loving. I thought Jesus was tapping his sandal foot, holding his arm out and saying, "Behave Girl!"

Tone matters.  And this is frightening!

     Obviously, my story doesn't end there because I met God's Grace.  But many of us, for what ever reason, feel shame even after we are saved.  I know now, God isn't yelling at me through his Word.  Actually, I've met Jesus and his hand isn't stuck at all.  It has grabbed hold of mine, like a loving Father.

Love... A Child's Perspective

WHAT IS LOVE?  I asked some dads and moms to ask their kids to answer this question, too.  I thought it would be fun to see what a child's perception and understanding of love looked like. Here are their answers.

LOVE IS....

...sharing your stuff

...when somebody pushes someone and they forgive them

...to care or be cared for by someone

...an ongoing feeling for someone/a different kind of caring

...it isn't about honey

...sharing my zebra (their favorite toy!)

...Jesus

...someone who loves you with all their heart like Jesus love you.  He died for your sins.  My favorite verse is 

    1 John 4:8 God is love.

...being a friend to someone

...I don't even go to "kitten-garden" yet, I don't have homework.  (Said to dad by a preschooler when asked to answer the question and pretend like he was doing homework like his siblings.  Too cute not to include!)

...I think love is when you like someone very well. 

...being kind.  When you help someone do something.

...can be romantical or something else.

...is a song.  Love could be a heart.

     Some days, my kids blow my socks off with their insight into something that I thought was beyond their years. Such as the day I finished reading the bible story about Joseph and his 11 brothers.  At the end, I asked Tate, then five years old, "Do you know what it means that Joseph forgave his brothers?"  He said very matter-of-factly while pushing his car around in the carpet, "Yep.  It means he started loving them with all his heart again."  Wow!  Out of the mouth of a babe!  Other times, I've had to pause as I realized they had perceived something through the lens of a child and it was skewed; like the little girl who sat on the plane, holding tightly to the chair, waiting for take-off.  The mom could see her apprehension.  "What is it, Honey?" Mom asked. "When do we get tiny?" she answered.  "What do you mean?" Mom questioned, trying to understand.  "You know, when we are flying in the sky and the plane shrinks real tiny."  Kids have a logic all their own.  Sometimes it's completely inaccurate.
     What does this have to do with my story?  I was a child once, (much to my kid's surprise). Children learn what they live.  These years are very formative to our beliefs and fears.  What I learned in my childhood, I call my "default setting."  It's how I learned to do life, and what I tend to naturally go back to.  I think sometimes we forget that children are VERY perceptive and a lot like little sponges.  They watch, listen and try to imitate.  If we talk and live a certain way, our children will imitate it, merely because it's what they know.  Now, us parents can NOT be perfect and provide a mistake-free environment. But, love truly does cover a multitude of sins. So let us love well and ask for God's grace and wisdom as we teach our children.  I pray that I teach God's truth with oceans of grace and love, because I am convinced a child needs grace more than us adults, since they are just tender little shoots growing into who they will be and easily trampled and bruised.

     One last super-cute story about my little nephew, a.k.a. "the cutest sponge ever".  My brother, Matt, had been home for a week with his 4 kids while his wife, who works for the airline was away for some training.  He'd drop the 3 older kids off at school each morning and head home with his youngest, Eugene, and work on some things around the house that he was wanting to surprise his wife with; painting, putting up crown-molding.  He'd walk in the door and say, "Ok, Eugene, here's the deal.  Today we are going to...... and you are going to be my helper."  The last day, Matt was still deciding what project to do, so he walked into house, hung up the keys, walked up the stairs, and headed into the kitchen to make coffee.  Eugene silently followed behind him, every step.  Finally, Eugene piped up and asked, "Dad when are you gonna say what my deal is today?"  Oh, yes, they are totally listening....and evidently, anticipating!

     

What is Love?

Words.  They evoke many things in us.  We hang them as decorative plaques on our walls.  

Live, Laugh, Love

Obviously, words spoken are a wonderful means of communication.

"I love you so much!" 

...or they can be a powerful weapon that can deeply wound.

                                        "I never want to see you again!"                     

Words administered with ink onto pages, tell stories, bring imaginations to life, and record history.

                              We the people of the United State of America...                                                                                              

And Jesus is the Word according to John 1:1.  Words are very important!  


Sometimes when I ask my younger kids if they know what a vocabulary word means they'll say something like, "Well, I know what it means.  I just don't know how to explain it."  I think that can happen to adults, too.  We may even use the word often, but when asked to explain what the word really means, we find that it's hard to define.  Let me prove this point.

What is love?


I think it's safe to say we all know WHAT it is, but how do you explain it?  Can you put it into words?  How do you explain love?

I'd love to hear how YOU explain love.  If a child asked you to explain it, could you?

My, how you've grown!

"Quit standing on your toes!  That's cheating!"
It's not uncommon to see growing children stand back to back, measuring to see who is taller.  This is serious business!  Yet, accuracy between kids is rare.  Hands reaching to feel the tops of heads often seem to go up an invisible incline to achieve the desired advantage.  Being the biggest is the BEST, after all.

We have a doorway full of pencil marks with names and dates.  It's where our kids like to be measured.  Tate is winning right now...even over his dad!  Trey's goal in life is to pass up his older brother who is 6'3".  Every so often, one of the kids pipes up and says, "Hey, measure me because I think I've grown again.  Can you check?"  Physical growth is easy to spot.  Pants look high watered, sleeves get short, doorways seem to shrink, and believe it or not, ceilings can actually get fingerprints on them from boys practicing their basketball moves.   My, how they've grown!

Growth is a natural desire.  After giving my life to Jesus that night at camp, I knew I wanted to grow spiritually.  I wanted to be mature enough that if someone ever wanted to ever throw me in a furnace I could say, "My God is able to save me, but even if he doesn't, I will still follow him!"  I'd heard the stories of those who'd followed Jesus at all costs.  I met Richard and Sabina Wrumbrandt one night while dad was still in seminary.  I had read Richard's book, Tortured for Christ.  He had lived years in a Romanian prison and still loved his God.  More shocking to me than that was that he loved the men who had tortured him!  His unshakable faith and immeasurable love was what I longed to have.  He seemed a spiritual giant to me.  I wrote a song that captured my new desire.  It asked, "Do I love you enough God that I would die for you if it was ever asked of me?"  I took my personal growth serious.  I spent time getting to know Jesus in a personal way for the first time.  I talked to him; studied my Bible; listened to believers around me...soaking it all up like a thirsty sponge.  Growth was good!

At the age of 15, our son, Tate, seemed to grow half a foot practically overnight.  People couldn't help but mention it every time they saw him.  You can't hide major growth spurts. When I was 14, my growth was spiritual, but obvious.  Our family's heavy involvement in church-life gave me ample opportunity to plug in and serve often.  Soon, I was hearing words of encouragement from those around me.  It was like I'd grown that "half a foot" overnight and people couldn't pass by without saying, "My, how you've grown."  It was good to be encouraged, but somewhere along the way, my perception got skewed.  Since I am a people-pleaser by nature, and had already struggled with a puffed up sense of knowledge years earlier, it made for an unhealthy kind of growth.  All too quickly, I began to feel like maturity in Christ came from being a busy worker for him.  In my head, the continual comments turned from encouragement to measurements of growth and maturity.  I was eager to sow seeds in my life and grow, grow, grow!  I just didn't realize yet that I'd allowed a seed of lies to begin to grow.  A weed and flower look an awful lot alike when they are first springing up!

The reason I am sharing this part of the story is that I believe that it's a key point in my focus becoming blurred.  I started out with my eyes fixed on Jesus.  I wanted to love him, like Richard Wrumbrandt, so deeply that I would be willing to lay my life down for him.  But, it wasn't long before I got distracted by all that I was doing for him.  It's easy to do!  Regardless of whether we are in junior high, mid-life, or retirement, we can loose the joy of our salvation and unintentionally turn into workaholics for Jesus.  Work is much easier to measure than Love.  Busyness can be placed on a scale that reports the numbers of hours involved in an activity. It's impossible to gauge Joy the same way.

Like kids on a playground, Christians tend to carry an invisible measuring stick, which we use to see if we, or others, are measuring up.  It's dangerous.  It makes our "biggness" the issue instead of the greatness of our God.  I wanted to measure up. Standing on my toes slightly, I held my head high and tried to be as big as I could reach.