Standard of Living – Page 3 – Inspired Ramblings

Ready to rock the big 4 0

Yep. That’s right! I haven’t given it much thought before. Age isn’t a big deal to me, but when someone ask the age difference between my cousin and me and during that conversation we concluded I turn 40 this year, I started ruminating.

I spent most of my childhood with a broken heart. With love and respect to everyone in my life, the pain and (seeming) rejection of a mostly absent dad left a gaping bleeding wound. (I’m so grateful to be close to him now.)

Along with that, I always felt like a misfit among my peers. It wasn’t their fault. I was raised in a faith community where roles and rules were clearly defined and again, with all due respect, I did my best to fit the mold outwardly, but inwardly I could never find my place.

During my teen years I made regrettable and unfortunate decisions that only further wounded my already scarred soul.

My early twenties were wrapped up in unhealthy relationships.

In my late twenties I met and married my amazing husband.

In my early thirties we buried our first-born child.

I gained a lot of weight.

I lost a lot of weight.

With the addition of two more biological children and becoming a foster mom, these littles and these past few years have given me purpose and mission. (Though none of them will ever replace our daughter, nor would we want/expect them too.) My husband has loved me imperfectly, but oh so beautifully, scars and all. And the love and mercy and grace of Jesus has overwhelmed me, completed me, seeped into every broken crevice and healed me.

I think about the clay pot I keep in frequent eyesight. The pot was broken, shattered in some places, and left lying in what seemed like ruin. But carefully, lovingly, the pieces have been glued back together. This pot is a beautiful analogy of my life; broken, scarred, pieced back together. The holes where the light shines through are where I pray my love, my joy, my empathy, and the light of Christ radiates into the brokenness of others, sharing the same healing and love I myself have received.

I have finally found my place, my loves, my identity, my life. I have embraced my uniqueness and realized I’m really not that different than most people afterall. I feel better physically, emotionally, and spiritually, than I ever have. I’m totally down with being me, having my own voice, singing my own song, writing my own script, without trying to fit into a box or mold others might expect for me.

I have earned every laugh line on my face. The emerging wrinkles and creases are “character marks,” each one has a story all their own.

My actual birthday isn’t until August, but I see this fortieth year as my “year of jubilee” and I plan to celebrate all year.

I am not celebrating the absence of adversity or without the awareness of the frailty and uncertainty of life. I am celebrating the abiding, comforting, healing presence of Jesus, knowing that he has held me through a lifetime of pain and sorrow and he will continue to walk with me throughout my life journey.

I am celebrating healing, joy, peace, contentment, and fulfillment in spite of continued uncertainties, worries, and fears.

I’m glad someone reminded me early in the year that this is the big forty for me so I can live it up. I am ready to rock the big 40!

Simplifying in 2017

Six people in a 1700 square foot house has caused me to re-evaluate “stuff.” We’ve always had clutter but I never saw it as excess, just disorganization.

I’ve long felt the call to live simply and sufficiently and in many ways I feel like we do. I cook nearly every meal from scratch with many homegrown preserved ingredients. I make our own variety of soaps, detergents, deodorants, and try to live as closely to the earth as possible. We have one TV in the whole house, which is one too many if you ask me. I shop at second hand stores and we wear our clothes completely out. We live and work and play very closely as a family, focusing on building character, relationship, and communication skills and try to avoid excessive digital/electronic time.

But now, now we’re busting at the seams of this sweet little brown brick ranch and I realize the piles of dirty dishes and clean unfolded laundry are more because of excess than disorganization. It’s not that I’m disorganized, although my husband and brother-in-law would sniff at this comment or rather burst into fits of uncontrolled laughter, but we simply don’t have the room for what we have.

This sign on the door of my kitchen cabinet aptly sums it up.

I’m responding to the internal tug to minimize, simplify, reduce, and refocus. I’m pretty sure God and the universe are trying to tell me this, because I’m seeing shared links, blog posts, books, and quotes about simplifying everywhere.

Besides clearing clutter and excess from our home, I’m also taking a hacksaw to the commitment calendar and it feels oh so good. I’ve had to practice saying “no” in the mirror, but I’m getting the hang of it. My life is of little value to others when my own well is empty and dry. My prayer is that I maximize my opportunities to serve in the capacities to which I am called.

I will share more with you along the way, but here’s our pretty little cabinet that contains all our dishes now. (And it’s still more than what we need daily.) Imagine, I thought we needed an entire cabinet for cups and glasses and one for plates and bowls and I still didn’t have room for everything before the purge.

I hope you all have something to look forward to in 2017. I’m looking forward to a slower pace.

Peace and Love, y’all.

Unclenching my grasp and breathing peace

Eight years ago I was balancing work and a newborn baby. My job as a staff-writer for a local community paper allowed me to work from home at times.

One morning I opened my work email and in place of my signature and work title it read, “I will unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.”

The words took my breath away.

The message was perfect for me at that time in my life, but I couldn’t imagine who, how, or why my work signature was changed to that sentence. I called my co-workers and they knew nothing about it. I logged back in and there was my original work signature as pretty as you please.

It left me unsettled not knowing how or why it happened, but the message stuck. My co-workers were equally intrigued and so poignant was the message that one had it written in calligraphy on a beautiful note card and framed for me as a gift. That framed message sits on my desk at the Sadie Rose House today and it always seems to catch my eye at a time when I need to be most reminded.

I never thought before or since to search the Internet for that quote.

This past year has been one of grasping, clenching, holding, releasing, and growing with two foster children in our home. One has been with us for more than a year now and the tension of rooting for others to get their lives in order while loving their child that feels like our own has driven me to my knees many times.

My grasp was firmly clenched, the little fingers wrapped tightly around my heart. Releasing this precious child to the process has shaken me to my core. I breathed way more anxiety and fear than peace.

Another child joined us more recently. Again I find myself loving, grasping, clenching, and holding even though this one will most likely be temporary.

I have known moments of peace recently, but the reality is that we are barreling through life at breakneck speed and the train is having trouble slowing down. We are fighting fierce battles against hellish addictions and patterns and learned behaviors. At the same time we are fighting stigmas that are coming from the most surprising places.

Through it all, I have been grasping my own abilities, answers, sanity, and love, clenching tightly to my own strength. There are many days my well is dry. I open my tightly clasped fingers to see my own strength evaporating like a vapor. What little I thought was there seems more like an illusion in light of the chasm of need.

Now we are here in this season of advent where, as Christians, we prepare for the coming of the Savior. I’ve said it, heard it, read it… Emmanuel, God WITH us. We celebrate a Savior who enters our darkness, chaos, mess, and brokenness, and whose love permeates every broken messed up hellish place of our life. And yet I’ve struggled to feel it in my heart even though I know it in my head.

Where is this Emmanuel in the broken stories of our foster children? Where is he in the grief of those whose children, spouse, parent, best friend has died? Where is “God with us”when nations and cities and regions are ravaged by war. Where is he when people are neglected and power abused, sometimes even in the name of this God?

And then today, my dear friend shared a post on Facebook that once again took my breath away.

“Christmas at Midlife

I am no longer waiting for a special occasion; I burn the best candles on ordinary days.

I am no longer waiting for the house to be clean; I fill it with people who understand that even dust is Sacred.

I am no longer waiting for everyone to understand me; It’s just not their task

I am no longer waiting for the perfect children; my children have their own names that burn as brightly as any star.

I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop; It already did, and I survived.

I am no longer waiting for the time to be right; the time is always now.

I am no longer waiting for the mate who will complete me; I am grateful to be so warmly, tenderly held.

I am no longer waiting for a quiet moment; my heart can be stilled whenever it is called.

I am no longer waiting for the world to be at peace; I unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.

I am no longer waiting to do something great; being awake to carry my grain of sand is enough.

I am no longer waiting to be recognized; I know that I dance in a holy circle.

I am no longer waiting for Forgiveness. I believe, I Believe.

-Mary Anne Perrone

Via Sacred Dreams”

Did you SEE that?! Did you catch it?! Right there, smack dab on the middle of this beautiful advent poem is THAT VERY SENTENCE!

“I unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.”

When I read my friend’s post, my breath literally caught in my throat. I have been grasping the wrongs things. I have been looking for Emmanuel in a God who comes and makes everything right, (and I believe one day he will.) But I’ve been caught up in looking for “God with us” in leaders and princes and kings and changed circumstances.

But no, “Emmanuel with us” is right here in our home, wrapping his arms around broken hurting foster children. He is with us in the friend that walks with those in grief, sharing tears and offering shoulders. Emmanuel God with us is working through the lives and hearts of those who are silently and anonymously bringing Christmas cheer to the hurting and lonely. Right here in the middle of our messed up broken hellish lives Emmanuel is sharing coffee and bagels with those on the streets, loving the unloveable through very ordinary broken people just like me.

Clearly this sentence, “I will unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out” is timely, poignant, and personal once again.

I’m letting go of my own abilities, releasing my grasp and relinquishing all to the One who meets us at the point of our need. When my life is fully surrendered to Emmanuel’s love, mercy, and provision, then and only then can I truly unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.

May you also experience Emmanuel God WITH us this Christmas season and in the coming year.

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Autumn has always been my favorite season. Initially I was going to name this my obligatory thanksgiving post, but there’s nothing obligatory about it. I wouldn’t have to share anything publicly, but I truly can’t help it. There is a well-spring of gratefulness inside me brimming with thanks, and I cannot help but let it spill over.

I am thankful for all of the obvious things, freedom, faith, family, friends, shelter, food enough, clothing.

But I’m especially thankful for small things too…

Like Christmas lights. I hung this string in the boy’s room this evening and haven’t stopped looking at their beautiful glow. I am thankful for these lights and think of those who do not have the ease of electricity.

And fun in the fall leaves. I love their crunch, their smell, their color, and the endless hours of fun they provide for childlike hearts. I am thankful for fallen leaves and think of those whose hearts are so heavy they cannot find the joy in them.

I’m thankful for birthdays and feasts. We had a birthday Monday and Tuesday this week in our household, so Tuesday evening I made this spread of meat loaf, hippie loaf (a bean and veggie loaf), stuffing, herbed roasted baby potatoes, Dijon glazed green beans, mushroom gravy, cranberry sauce, and an apple, grapefruit, pomegranate salad. (All recipes except the meatloaf came from the Forks Over Knives App or the Meal Mentor app so everything except the meatloaf and cake were plant-based.)I also made the plant based pumpkin pie and pumpkin cranberry cookies the day before. I seldom cook so much at one time, but this was such a worthy celebration; my husband and our newest foster child whose life and presence is worth way more than a hearty meal. I am thankful for food, for abundance, and think of those who are hungry as we eat.

I am thankful for frosty mornings. I know most people think I’ve lost my mind when I say this, but I absolutely love a good frosty sunshiny morning. I am thankful for our wood stove, for jackets and coats and a trusty old van with a heater on these beautiful frosty mornings and think of those who are shivering in the cold.

I am thankful for the beautiful area we call home and that even though I am currently too busy to do much hiking or horseback riding there are scenes such as this that I can enjoy from my van. So often I stop for a five minute reprieve to enjoy the scenery and inhale the fresh air. I am thankful for tranquil places and spaces and think of those who live in fear and threat of violence.

I am so thankful for the hope and promise of an eternity with God, where all these earthly cares will no longer plague us. I am thankful for this hope and pray for the hopeless.

I could go on and on and could still never truly count all my blessings. I am bountifully rich in soul and love and even worldly things that to name them all would be an impossibility.

I will leave you with a link to one of our children’s favorite songs.

You can’t roller skate in a buffalo herd.

Wishing all a gentle and peaceful day of thanks.

The gift of routine

I’m sorry I haven’t posted in awhile. I have a great recipe post in the works, but in the meantime, I’ve been ruminating on the gift of routine.

We recently added another youngster to our home through foster care. (That would explain my lack of posts because we’ve been getting to know one another.)

Sometimes as adults we feel stuck in a routine rut. We get up, we go to work, we come home, we navigate evening activities on the schedule, and so on, and for the most part it can feel pretty mundane. For children who’ve never had that consistency, routine can be one of the greatest blessings we can give them.

All children (and most adults if we’re honest) want to be reassured that life has routine and rhythm. We want to know that when we go out for the day (or night if we’re working night shift) that our humans are going to meet us back home at the end of the day. We want to know that when we leave home, we will return after whatever work or activity we are attending is over. We have a familiar places we frequent, places we pass daily, patterns, routines, that make up the big picture of our lives.

While breaking out from routine can be healthy and necessary from time-to-time, never discount the security these rhythms give us, especially our children.

Confessions involving food, love, aging, and first-world problems

Last evening I was going to write a Facebook post how, without planning, everything I made for supper started with the letter S; salmon, Spanish rice, slaw, and spiced pears. It was simply a random observation that made me smile sometime during the preparation. Our palates were pleased and our tummies took in probably well more than our bodies needed.

At some point during the evening I sent a Facebook message to a Haitian friend. He is associated with an orphanage where I volunteered some time and I worried about their well-being in the aftermath of Hurricane Matthew.

While the husband so dutifully worked on dishes, I took a required online nutrition education class for a program our foster child is associated with.

The evening got away and soon after the children were tucked in, I succumbed to slumber as well. The baby had a second fitful night, sneezing and coughing until I sat upright and held her. She slept better then and I dozed. I tried waking the husband twice this morning since the baby was finally in a deep sleep and I was holding her, but we both dozed off again until it was about a half hour before we had to get out of the house. At that point we all jumped up like something was chasing us, scrambling to find clothes and get breakfast.

I came downstairs to find last night’s rice and slaw still on the counter, unrefigerated and uncovered. My mood was quickly going from exhausted and grumpy to just plain mad. We eat leftovers for lunch every day so this not only meant delicious healthy food had been wasted, but that we also needed a plan b for lunch.

The husband and I celebrate 10 years of marriage tomorrow, but life felt anything but romantic at this point. Of course it wasn’t “his fault,” but he was an easy target for my mounting frustrations.

I jumped in the van, raced the kiddos off to school at which point I noticed my gas needle was on E.

EMPTY, that’s what I saw and how I felt.

After fueling up I scurried to my mother-in-law’s to take her to the walk-in clinic for some routine lab work. When I got to her house she couldn’t find her required paperwork. When my husband called the doctor to inquire about having it faxed over he was told the clinic is closed on Fridays.

I had skipped breakfast, a second cup of coffee, and the baby was wearing mismatched clothes (at least it was clean) for an appointment that wasn’t even going to happen.

In my mind I kept reminding myself these are all good problems compared to those being impacted by the violent storm, but that did not keep me from being frustrated.

I ask my mother-in-law if she wanted to accompany me on a few errands. She was brave enough to say yes.

I felt guilty, and often do, that my life is so fast-paced that I rush in and out, here and there with her, without really being present with her. I recalled a poem I memorized in school, called “Somebody’s Mother,” and pondered what Mary Dow Brine witnessed to pen these words.

The woman was old and ragged and gray

And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.

The street was wet with a recent snow

And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,

Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by

Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,

Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,

Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray

Hastened the children on their way.

Nor offered a helping hand to her—

So meek, so timid, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet

Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,

The gayest lad of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,

“I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go.”

Her aged hand on his strong young arm

She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,

Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,

His young heart happy and well content.

“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,

For all she’s aged and poor and slow,

And I hope some fellow will lend a hand

To help my mother, you understand,

If ever she’s poor and old and grey,

And her own dear boy is far away.”

“Somebody’s mother” bowed low her head

In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was, “God be kind to the noble boy,

Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!”

Somewhere in the morning I sneaked my first glance at the Facebook world for the day and saw the response from my Haitian friend.

“We are all safe,” he replied, “but our family has run out of food and everyone is underfed and hungry.”

My breath caught in my throat. I thought about how often I eat because I am with friends or bored or stressed, without my body actually needing the food to survive. Suddenly a meal with all foods that started with an S seemed silly, shallow, and smug. Not that it was anything more than just a passing thought anyway, but the blessing of choices and abundance overwhelmed me once again.

I have had time to pause, to breathe, to be mindful of all that is good in my life since the crazy chaos of the morning, and even in those moments of frustration I was keenly aware of my blessings, but I’m also so human, so imperfect.

Someone told me recently that my life is to be envied; a loving faithful marriage, beautiful children, etc. There is no doubt I am blessed far beyond what I ever dreamed, but I would never want to appear perfect or make it seem like our family is without life’s normal frustrations and challenges. That’s why I am sharing this post with you today.

What techniques or practices do you find helpful in stressful situations?

Foster Parenting Interview

What I said (and didn’t say but wanted to) that you should know!

Our local social services agency called me this week and asked if I would consider being interviewed on TV as a foster parent. These interviews are the bane of my existence, but when I really believe in a cause, I feel it is my responsibility to help raise awareness.

The TV station had contacted them because our state was ranked number one nationally for having the lowest number of children in foster care. This came as a surprise to our specific locality since we are a relatively small community and currently have 172 children in care!

Anyone who has ever been interviewed for a media interview knows the anxiety of entrusting your story to a reporter. As a former staff-writer for a community newspaper, I also relate to the responsibility of the reporter to capture the true angle and emotion of the story. This is no small task.

I truly appreciate the TV station’s effort to help raise awareness and the kindness of the reporter, but understandably they only have a limited thirty seconds or so to devote to what I believe deserves much more time and attention.

What I said was that “We had the same concerns many people have. Would we be able to love a child as we love our biological children? What if we got too attached and they returned home? What if our house is too small? What about our busy schedules? What if we try and it doesn’t work out?”

These are all valid logical concerns so I’d like to address them individually. Before I do, I want to state that I’m no expert on foster care. We were approved as a foster family exactly one year ago and have had (still have) one placement since last fall. These are just observations and thoughts from our very limited experience.

The concern of loving someone else’s child as your own was huge for us since we do have biological children and we would never want to be unfair to another child. We had family and friends who have done foster care/adoption and they modeled for us that no matter how the children come to you, you love them as your own.

I knew I loved our foster child when I got the phone call to pick her up at the social services office.

In my mother’s heart, it was like seeing the positive pregnancy test and being beside myself with love and joy and anticipation.

My husband confirmed his own feelings weeks later when I overheard him telling someone he felt no different about our foster daughter than our own children we brought home from the hospital.

For us, loving her has been easy, natural, and without reserve.

Which leads me to the next concern. What if we get too attached and they return home?

This one will keep you up at night! We’ve had family and friends to whom this has happened. We saw their hearts shatter and their world crumble. We see how they continue to carry this love for a child now far removed from them and how the child (and concern for the child) lives on in their hearts.

But more often, we’ve seen those who hope to adopt through foster care be able to do so. (Just this week my brother and his wife officially adopted two brothers through foster care!) For this concern though, it should be broken into two parts.

First, if someone goes into this process open to foster care without the intention of adoption, the attachment part is different. You can love and nurture the child knowing it is just for a season. That helps prepare for the outcome. From what I’ve been told by foster families who provide care in this way, the releasing back to biological family or into an adoptive home is difficult, but easier, because it was expected and planned for. There is a great need for foster families to provide care in this way.

For us, as with many, our hope is to adopt. To love a child as your own and want to be their forever family, adds a different component to the process. We were honest up front that this was our goal, knowing that the ultimate goal of social services would be to strengthen and support the biological family so that the child returns home or with a relative.

Holding these two goals in tension as a foster/hopeful adoptive family has been one of the most stretching parts of this journey.

There have been moments where the thought of this precious child being anywhere but with us literally takes my breath away, brings me to my knees, leaves my heart vulnerable, exposed, bleeding on the floor, and feeling completely helpless about every single part of it and you realize the biological families must feel the same way.

In our specific situation, we have already had to release a child back to heaven. Our precious first-born daughter, Sadie Rose, whom we loved with our very breath and being, died as a newborn from hypochondrogenesis. Now we have WILLINGLY risked love again with two more biological children and a foster child.

We have told ourselves often, we never thought we could live through the death of a child, and yet the amazing love and grace of God carried (and continues to carry) us through that dark night of the soul. We cannot imagine or lives without our foster baby being a forever part of our family, but should that be the case we are fully confident that we will be met with that same unchanging unwavering love and grace.

But that’s easier said than lived. And in those moments when fear of loss overwhelms, friends have sent beautiful messages of reassurance.

One day I received the most timely text that read, “You don’t know what tomorrow holds, but you have her now. Love her now. Cherish her now. Pour your heart into her now, and believe that whatever her future holds, what you give her now will have an eternal impact.”

Isn’t that the risk we all take to love anyway? We are never promised tomorrow, not even our next breath, LOVE NOW!

But back to the interview, what I wanted to say but didn’t.

Fostering is an emotional roller coaster ride. You will feel love, fulfillment, joy, but you will also feel anger. You will be expected to support people who, for whatever horrible life circumstances, traps, or addictions, (and sometimes completely helpless situations) they find themselves in, cannot seem to find their grounding in life. While you rejoice when it looks like a child you desperately love and want may stay with you, you will be sad for the brokenness that brings them to you, sad for the person(s) whose lives seem to continue spiraling out of control. Your heart breaks for all the people involved and you find yourself hoping the best for everyone. There is no way to prepare for these emotions in advance except to expect them.

I wanted to say, “Be prepared to say no.” We received a placement call within weeks of our approval, but it was for a situation beyond what we believed we were prepared to take on. Saying no to children in need made me feel like a horrible human, but if it wasn’t right for us it would not have been right for them either and we wanted them to be where they needed to be. We’ve said no to additional placement calls since, but may eventually say yes again when we believe it is the right fit. Just know it is okay to say no and be prepared to do so when necessary.

I wanted to say, “People can say ridiculous and hurtful things about foster children.” Sometimes you are left speechless by their thoughtlessness and other times you defend your foster child with the tenacity of mama and papa bear. Just be prepared, because as with many situations, people share their unsolicited thoughts and opinions freely.

I wanted to say, “Be prepared to love more deeply and profoundly than you ever dreamed possible!” This is a redemptive life-changing love. We needed our foster child as much as she needed us. We are eternally grateful for this opportunity to have our hearts opened and transformed in this way whatever the outcome of this experience may be.

If you have been one of those families considering foster care, or if something in this post stirs your heart to the possibilities, I urge you, please contact your local agency to start the process. You may find during the process that it isn’t a fit and that’s okay too! Fostering/adoption may not be right for everyone, but for us it has been one of the most rewarding experiences we’ve ever shared as a family.

Because she is not officially adopted at this point and we do not know if or when that will ever happen, we cannot share photos. Instead, here is a picture of the beautiful sunrise from my walk this morning and a field of sunflowers from yesterday.

If you take nothing more from this post, whoever the important people are in your life, LOVE NOW!

Song leader says ‘Singing gets into people’s souls’

While searching for another church-related piece, I came across this article I wrote that originally appeared in the The Shenandoah Journal, (Dayton, VA) – Tuesday, February 24, 2009. Although my personal taste in music varies from opera, classical, folk, blues, classic rock, southern rock, roots, old country, bluegrass, world music, etc., the four-part harmony acapella singing is still what gets into my soul. It was in the first setting described in this article of the Old Order Mennonite Church where I first felt the connection to Someone/Something way bigger than myself. It was where I first found God.

I’ve included a poor-quality cell phone video of the described four-part harmony singing during our Hickory Hollow School reunion in 2011.

Song leader says ‘singing gets into people’s souls’

Author: Regina Cyzick Harlow ; STAFF WRITER

ROCKINGHAM COUNTY – Enter one church where stoical parishioners sit on slatted wooden benches and quiet children rest on their parents’ laps. The minister calls a hymn number from behind the pulpit and reads the first verse from a small hymnal. Then a man from the congregation begins singing the first line and slowly others join in. By the end of the first verse, the church echoes with four-part harmony.

Down the street in another church, several people gather on a carpeted stage. The worship music begins with keyboards, electric and acoustic guitars, drums and bass. The congregation joins in with the singers, sometimes clapping to the beat and reading the words from a projector.

Two churches – two styles of worship – praising one God.

While different congregations follow different musical doctrines, they all agree that music is an expression of worship and plays an important role in their services.

Even among conservative Mennonite congregations, the style of music varies. According to an Old Order Mennonite minister, instruments are not allowed in the service “for fear of honoring man the creature more than God the Creator.”

However, acapella singing is an important part of their worship. Joining in song is one of the only times during an Old Order service in which the congregation participates; the rest of the service is conducted solely by the ministers.

Singing “gives you a measure of unity you would not have otherwise,” said one song leader, who spoke on the condition of anonymity. “It allows you to become a participant.”

The congregation uses several tunes for many sets of lyrics. The first meters of the tunes are depicted in shape notes in the back of the small black hymnbooks.

The importance of singing together is emphasized among the youth who gather nearly every Sunday evening for singings in a church member’s home.

Calvary Mennonite Church, in Mount Clinton, shares some doctrinal beliefs with its more conservative Old Order roots. Instruments are used only on special occasions.

Pastor Paul Emerson said music is important as a preparation to teach the scriptures. His congregation generally sings hymns and gospel songs, with the aid of hymnbooks familiar to most Sunday church-goers.

Music is not viewed as an evangelistic tool and Emerson thinks an emphasis on its selection and presentation to draw congregants is “unfortunate.”

Emerson isn’t opposed to contemporary music, but he “can’t see leaving two thousand years of history behind for a passing fancy.”

“It’s not a question of old versus new. It’s a question of musical structure and harmony,” he said. “We’re talking about a good and best comparison, not a right and wrong.”

He thinks there are distinct disadvantages to its performance-oriented structure. Most praise and worship music is “not well-structured” and appeals only to one generation, he said. In addition, congregants do not participate as much. While listening, they tend to focus on the people on stage.

Mainstream traditional Protestant churches often add piano or organ accompaniment to their songs and hymns are led by the choir or song leader, but do not use church music for entertainment purposes.

“It is to praise God and to communicate and proclaim the gospel,” said Jeffery Sonafelt, pastor of Reformation Evangelical Lutheran Church in New Market, adding that many of the Lutheran hymns are “Biblically-based.”

The Rev. Kathleen Miko, with St. Paul’s Lutheran and Rader Lutheran in Timberville, said while the congregation generally sings hymns during worship, they occasionally add a guitar, violin or flute.

People are drawn to certain styles of music, Miko said.

“I’ve seen people move from church to church because of music.”

Praise and worship music is a major part of the services in some inter-denominational and non-denominational churches such as New Beginnings in Bridgewater and The Potter’s House Worship Center in Harrisonburg. Both churches open the service with several worship songs, accompanied by a full band.

The Potter’s House music information on their Web site references II Chronicles 5:13-14 where the “choir and the trumpet made one voice of praise and thanks to God…”

Although the majority of songs at New Beginnings are modern praise songs, they try to incorporate a hymn into their service weekly.

“The culture we live in now does not really appreciate hymns from the early church,” New Beginnings Pastor Ed Heatwole said. “With a band, we can jazz up the music without changing the lyrics.”

A multimedia projector displays images that correlate with the theme of the words being sung. For example, if the congregation is singing a song about God the Creator, scenic images are played, and if the congregation is receiving communion, images of a cross might be used.

“The background themes are important,” Heatwole said. “We give a lot of attention to that. It draws worshipers into the presence of God.”

According to Heatwole, their worship band is also a tool of evangelism. Nonbelievers in the band have developed a relationship with the Lord because of the music.

“We sing songs that really speak about the person and character of Christ and how he relates in our everyday life,” he said.

Heatwole believes that music touches people’s emotions, regardless of its form of delivery. “God inhabits the praises of his people,” he said, “and that can be all forms of singing.”

The praise and worship band at Potter’s House Worship Center uses contemporary music, and seldom sings a hymn.

“I think that because there are so many different churches and so many different tastes, people gravitate to a church that plays the music they like best,” said Renee Garber, co-pastor and worship leader.

Although there are different preferences in the style of music, most churches share the philosophy that sacred music is an expression of worship and a preparation for the message to follow.

“It’s a form of worship and connecting with the Lord,” Garber said. “It’s also an act of prayer. Songs are musical prayers.”

“Music is one of the most important things we do in church,” Heatwole said. “It draws you into the presence of God.”

“Music is one’s expression to God in worship,” Emerson said.

Singing allows the congregation to participate in the service in whatever style the church uses.

“Singing gets into people’s souls,” said a song leader for an Old Order Mennonite congregation. “It adds a charismatic spirit, some involvement. I guess it brightens the soul.”

Confessing my insufficiency and resting in Him

How do you do it all, people often ask. How do you balance everything?

I like to be busy, I usually respond, and I have a helpful husband.

But now, I am forced to sit on the sidelines as I wait for my voice to heal. This affects home-life, our non-profit, and my church work. Phone calls are left unmade, conversations are limited, quiet, and careful, contributions to group meetings and church studies are weighed thoughtfully and shared only occasionally.

I’m becoming impatient. It has been seven months since this situation first presented itself, nearly two since the doctor ordered silence. The root of the underlying drive to do is emerging from the quiet.

I self-diagnosed an “insufficient identity.”

Insufficient means, not enough; inadequate.

I have wrestled with an insufficient identity various times throughout my life.

As a child, I was certain if I had only done more, been more, tried harder, my family would not have been broken. No one ever spoke those words to me, it was a self-imposed notion that made me feel I had some responsibility in the matter and didn’t measure up. I struggled to handle some of the physical work expected of me and loathed when my siblings made it look easy. I was disinterested, and frankly quite terrible, at most of the recreational games we played, and math was an other-worldly language I was incapable of grasping.

Never mind that I was a great cook, an engaging writer, and had a gift for memorization at an early age. I was focused on what I wasn’t and how I didn’t measure up to my siblings and peers. I had an insufficient identity.

The older I got, the more I overcompensated for the insufficient syndrome that plagued me. My façade became the girl who could do anything. I thrived on doing. I hated the thought of letting people down, of revealing my insufficiency. I cooked here, baked there, volunteered many places, and often as a young single adult I held two or three jobs at one time, because I didn’t want my insufficiency to show.

And still. I was. Insufficient. By human standards I was unbearably so and I knew it more than anyone.

But then I began to grasp my identity as a child of God. I wasn’t loved based on what I could or couldn’t do, how well I did or didn’t follow the rules. I was loved because I was created in God’s image. Loved because the God of the universe created me for a unique and specific purpose. Loved because of amazing grace.

It didn’t matter if I was insufficient to myself or others, HE became my sufficiency. There were no games and no façade in this new-found relationship. Just broken messed-up me finding unconditional love and acceptance in a merciful and gracious God. A God who knew my insufficiency full-well and was crazy about me in spite of it.

I spent years building my new identity in Christ. I reveled in his goodness and rested in his sufficiency. When my old identity tried to reemerge, I told that voice where to go and how to get there.

In the meantime, I continued doing. I continued my much-ness and busy-ness. Only this time, not because it was my identity, but because I can’t help but care for others from whatever platforms I am given. I absolutely love and believe in the ways I have been called to serve.

It is not that (I) think (I am) qualified to do anything on (my) own. (My) qualification (my sufficiency) comes from God. 2 Corinthians 2:5 (Parenthesis mine)

Now here I am, forced to be “not doing,” and the insufficient identity is trying to tell me I’m letting people down; letting my family down, letting my non-profit down, letting my church down.

Resting doesn’t mean not serving.

I believe this quiet time is supposed to be a respite for my soul, a realignment of my faith, meant for good and not evil. But once again this insufficient identity is weighing on me and once again I am acknowledging my insufficiency so I can rest completely and confidently in His.

If you have ever struggled with an insufficient identity, if you are struggling with it now, I invite you to rest with me in the sufficiency of God, knowing that HE is more than enough. Let’s find our identity and completeness in HIM.

2 Corinthians 12:9 “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.

Amen and Amen.

Character Test

It was the most basic character test and I blew it. Right there in front of God, my husband, and our children. I was looking for an important folder I need for an appointment today, and thought I knew exactly where it was. (Never mind I should have secured said folder several days ago, knowing this was coming up.)

I huffed around, shuffling papers and sighing, being snarky with my husband, and then of all things, blaming it on the children who hadn’t put their toys away. Really?!

For the sake of peace and sanity, I gave the folder search a break and went to get myself ready for the day. As I separated myself from the frenzy and frustration of the missing folder, I was convicted to ask for forgiveness.

The test of character is not in leadership training and board meetings, not in the face we wear and the facade we present in public, but in the ways we treat those closest to us. I was ashamed at what this most basic test revealed. And I repented.

Thankfully God and my family both have an overwhelming fountain of grace and patience, and I seemed to be the one most upset about my reaction. I still haven’t found the folder, but life will go on with no one the worse for wear. I, however, pray that this incident will continue to serve as a reminder for me to pray and breathe before I respond.

Character quotes I found on the Internet.

“Our character is defined by what we do when no one is looking.”

“Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think of you.”

What has helped you refocus when you are stressing about something like this?

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