Housework

Over the last few weeks, we've been spending most of our limited free time getting our house ready before move-in.

We got light fixtures installed. We painted the living room, the bedroom, the office, the guest bathroom and we did the kitchen counters.

And I mowed the grass. And got a huge blister. And had a neighbor ask me if I knew how to work a lawn mower. Talk about a victory.

Too bad grass doesn't stay cut.

Special thanks to my family (including my sister) who came out to help us paint and move in and unpack and set up furniture.

Everything already looks so much different.

Wait until you see it.

Colbert, Kentucky and the Bible

the guy at the end of this video is the reason I study what I study.

Teenagers, two-pieces and me.

I don't know if anyone else on the internet noticed this, but there was a lot written concerning modesty, purity and swim suits this summer. Or maybe its like this every summer and I just never paid attention before.

But this summer, I read them all. Every blog post. I read this one which argues the phrase Modest is Hottest is harmful. I read this one which compares women's bodies to chocolate cake. I watched Jessica Rey talk about the evolution of the swim suit in this video and there were many many more.

And in the abstract, they all made sense. But none of them told me what to do when your youth ask you if they can wear two pieces on the youth mission trip (which included a trip to a beach). It's one thing for me to be okay with rocking my two piece and for all my Christ-loving friends to do the same. It's another thing for me to tell my teenage girls at the beach they can do it too, right?

What if I say they can and that makes me the worst youth pastor in the world? What if they all wear string bikinis and spend the whole time making out with the boys? What if I affirm the world's teachings that they need to dress scantily in order to be accepted?

What if I say they can't and then I'm a big ol' hypocrite? What if I add to a shame culture found within the Church that tells them their bodies are something to be hidden?

I was seriously stressing. And I was praying. And I was reading (because apparently reading is how I try to solve all my problems) .

But God must have taken pity on me, because then I stumbled upon this from Rachel Held Evans:

"So my advice for women looking for bathing suits this season is this: Don’t dress  for men; dress for yourself. It's not your responsibility to please men with either your sex appeal or your modesty; each man is different, so it would be a fool's errand anyway. Instead, prioritize strength, dignity and good deeds, and then dress accordingly. 

Find something that makes you comfortable. Find something that is ethically made. Find something that gives you the freedom to run with abandon into those incoming waves—hot sand tickling your feet, warm sun tingling your skin—and revel in this body and this world God gave you to enjoy." 

And that was it. That was what I wanted for my youth.

I want them to be comfortable in their skin and in their swim suits. I wanted them to not worry about what they were wearing. I wanted them to be able to run and jump and laugh and do wheelbarrow races down the beach. I wanted them to not feel self-conscious about how they look. I wanted them to love the body God gave them and the world God created.

So we talked about it and I said they could wear two pieces and I told them I wanted them to be comfortable and I wanted them to be able to move around freely.

And that was that.

We went on the trip. We went to the beach. And there were a whole host of different bathing suits represented (one pieces, tankinis, those two pieces with short bottoms, bikinis, etc).

And you know what, it wasn't a big deal.

And I'll have you know that as I watched my girls practice their handstands on the beach, nap under the tent, splash each other in the ocean and even (at one strange moment) race horse shoe crabs down the beach, it really did seem like I was witnessing a little tiny piece of the Kingdom of God.

Amen.

That day we bought a house

It's official. We're homeowners.

Our new home is a charming bungalow located in a neighborhood a little south of downtown Decatur. We've already met both sets of neighbors and it backs up to the best park you've ever seen.

We've haven't moved in yet, though we do have a couch here now. So we're making progress. There will certainly be more pictures to come.

Come visit soon.

(if you're lucky, we might even have some furniture in there by the time you get here)

My Great Gram

My great grandmother, Mary Thompson, turned 90 the day I got married. She raised four boys in a tiny adorable house in New Jersey and she lived here until she died.

She loved her family, her four boys, her grandchildren, her great grandchildren and her great great grandchildren, and we were blessed to know her.

She sent me birthday cards with five dollars tucked inside every year for my entire life. She would make me and my cousins matching presents, that differed only in color.

She loved to read and whenever we visited she would send me home with a bag full of books, which to my book-loving soul always felt like Christmas.

She was Catholic and could quote the Old Latin Mass and she laughed at my mom when my mom called to ask her what she thought of the recent changes to the liturgy, saying "I can still say them Latin so they can change them however they want."

Once we sent her a Bible cover for her birthday, but she sent it back saying she didn't need it because her priest told her everything she needed to know about the Bible, so when I went to Israel, I got smart and sent her a wooden rosary I found in Bethlehem instead.

When I finally remembered to mail it out, she sent me the sweetest thank you note written in the most beautiful sweeping cursive. It was the kind of note people don't write anymore, the kind of note that gets lost in a sea of text messages and shorthand.

I remember when I was young I saw a picture of her on her wedding day in her back room and I remember looking at and thinking she looked just like my mom, which maybe meant I looked like a little bit like her too.

I hope that's true, because even at 92 she was beautiful, inside and out.