Do You Know Why I Like You?

Because you are just like me.

Because you are nothing like me.

Because you cheese for the camera.

Because you turn away.

Because you are responsible.

Because you are the one who needs held.

Because you are confident.

Because you are never sure which smile to put on.

Because you are brave.

Because you are scared.

Because I asked you to pose for this picture and, whether because of or in spite of all these things, you did.

A STORY Moment (1)

So much to say about our two days at STORY in Chicago this past week, but I thought I’d start with the description of a simple moment.

Second day of a two-day conference. Afternoon. I’m standing just inside the double doors that serve as the primary entryway into the third floor auditorium. My job is to direct the flow of traffic in and out of this door depending on the activity on the stage. Since the lights have just come up and the crowd is ready for the final afternoon break, I can concentrate on the music and not worry so much about how softly the door lands against the frame.

The worship band Sons and Daughters begins an encore of their original song “All the Poor and Powerless.” It went well the first time we heard it; I’m ready to really engage in it this time.

Video of the song:

All the Poor and Powerless from Journey Franklin on Vimeo.

As we sing it now, the tech guys (special shout out to my friend Jason) have a surprise. The conference has been full of astounding technology. The opening segment (written, produced, and performed by the amazing Blaine Hogan), powerful enough had it only been spoken as a monologue, also included holographic rain and an intense musical soundtrack. The wall behind the stage, as far as any of us know, is covered by a thick black drapery that serves as a perfect neutral backdrop.

Just as the song escalates into the chorus (minute 5:00), those drapes dramatically separate revealing an entire wall of windows. As we sing, we look out at the Chicago skyline on a clear Fall afternoon. Gorgeous. Inspirational. We are visually reminded that everything we’ve talked about in here is only useful if it makes a sense out there. The church planter in front of me breaks into tears of love for his city. My own heart is fueled with passion for the glory of God and the restoration of our cities under His guidance.

I wanted to share this as one of the many moments that added up to a great STORY. More to come.


I love this feeling. Tomorrow I’ll get up super early and drive to the Amtrak station in my area. I’ve been to the station to pick people up, but never to be a passenger myself. A train to Chicago! Just me and hours of reading time. Wow.

Then the fun begins. City sights. Foods. Old friends. New friends. STORY. Inspiration. Challenge.


See you back her with enthusiastic reports, I’m sure!

Perspective (Part 1)

This word – perspective – always helps me. I prefer to be an analytical thinker, but I am a woman, so sometimes that is simply not possible. I think you know what I mean. But the first man in my life, my dad, taught me how to employ perspective to fight the negative power of emotions and I still use his tactic.

As a teenager, I remember sitting on the Berber carpeted staircase in our huge living room and crying about . . . well, anything, everything, whatever was on the top of my injustices list at the time. I’m pretty sure it was boy related often. Homework related at times. Work or church related the rest of the occasions. The feelings are utter and complete despair, a certainty that I had no choice but to give up or die.

Sometimes Dad would casually remark that my emotionally out-of-proportion response might signal a negative hormonal interaction. I was always sure that was NOT the case, only to find out a couple of days later that it definitely was. Still, even when I argued that hormones were not the problem, my situation was genuinely DIRE, Dad always offered the same simple response:

“Just don’t take yourself too seriously today.”

And it always worked. It still works. My husband has learned how to employ this one. (Note to husbands and fathers: The phrase should, as often as possible, be used independently of the hormonal connection. Throw the hormone excuse at us when we are hormonal and things will not go well for you. We are trying to overcome this weakness associated with our gender, but I cannot promise our victory here. Play it safe and avoid.)

What does it mean to not take yourself too seriously? A list, shall we?

– Don’t make any life altering decisions. Don’t quit your job, cut your hair, or buy a puppy under these circumstances. Almost always it will be a mistake. And even when it isn’t a mistake, your timing is usually off.

– Don’t cave to the melancholy. Fight it by staying in your routine. Fight it by going above and beyond to be nice to people.

– Don’t ignore the melancholy. Find ways to comfort yourself that don’t harm others. Eat something bad for you. Watch a movie instead of cleaning the bathroom. Take a nap.

– Don’t forget that this will pass. Even if your emotional dip isn’t hormonal, it is almost always temporary. If you can remember that, you will find it easier to climb out of the pit.

What would you add to my “Not Taking Myself Too Seriously Today” List?

Theology for the Rest of Us

I used to think I’d like a book with a title like this. Theology seemed over my head, something for the big-name authors to fight about as they churned out books with titles addressed to one another. Seriously mind boggling, no? And don’t even try to sum up the debate for me . . . I saw the graphic in Christianity Today and still don’t get it. And despite the fact that it might make my father stroke out at its mention, I don’t really care.

I care about God. I care about salvation. I care about knowing Him more. I care about his unseen Kingdom and what that means, but I’m tired of trying to figure Him out so I can put Him in a carefully constructed theological box. Boxes are for the things we want to protect, move, or keep out of sight. None of that makes sense for God. I’m not as afraid as I once was of admitting that my theology over time has changed. It is, after all, the study of a so-big-we’ll-never-understand-it-all God.Why are we so afraid to let some of our ideas go and embrace new ones?

If you’ve read about Job, you know theology failed him. This was Job’s theology du jour: Good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. So when bad things happened to him, a good person, his theology didn’t work anymore.

In the end, God Himself had to show up and basically tell Job that he needed to get over it. Trust. Be faithful. I’m going to work it all out. It’s ok if you don’t have a bullet point list for this one.

And I’ve said all of that to set up the video to a song that I’ve posted on my blog before! But here’s the thing, this song is one of the simple truths of theology that I think would change EVERYTHING if we really believed it. Everything. When I hear this one, I feel like God is showing up, telling all the theologians to move aside and showing me what He really means.

Kari, could you take over?

Now, don’t you feel better? And, rest assured, I’m quite certain that a future post from me will be all about how important it is to have good theology. I’m a communicator, after all; I can’t pretend that the structure of our liturgical language is not important. Don’t worry, Dad.

More on Hope

Too often we use the word hope in the same way we use the word wish.

I hope it doesn’t rain. I hope those jeans are still on sale.

This is an unfortunate misuse of a word. Hope is something more hard-won and meaningful than a mere wish.

Romans 5:2-5 (The Voice)

Jesus leads us into a place of radical grace where we are able to celebrate the hope of experiencing God’s glory. And that’s not all. We also celebrate in seasons of suffering because we know that when we suffer we develop endurance, which shapes our characters. When our characters are refined, we learn what it means to hope and anticipate God’s goodness. And hope will never fail to satisfy our deepest need because the Holy Spirit that was given to us has flooded our hearts with God’s love.

One of our church families has just experienced the death of their infant son. Although I know it is useless to compare the intensity or the degrees of our suffering, the burial of a child seems to be one of the most difficult to overcome. And, yet, we know that parents do it every day. Or, I should say, parents work through it every day. In my experience, grief is a constant companion that only makes a public scene once in a while; the rest of the time she sits quietly nearby waiting for me to indulge her with a few private moments of undivided attention. She never really goes away, even though I wish she would.

The power of hope is not hope itself but the source of that hope. In this passage, Paul is reminding the Roman Christians of their source: “true and lasting peace with God through our Lord Jesus, the Liberating King” (5:1).

This is the only sure hope in our lives. Consider the things we are tempted to hope in: people, money, dreams, etc. All of them could be stripped from us in a single tragic accident, a failing economy, or any number of real-life complications. As I mentioned in the radio interviews for Children’s Miracle Network last week, “We wish we lived in a world that doesn’t require a children’s hospital, but we don’t.” These are the conditions of our reality. We will suffer. (Notice my use of the word wish.)

But this is the hope that will never disappoint: through it all, God is with us and we are with Him. We have the hope of that relationship now through His Spirit and a hope of eternity as well. When I was a kid I had a much better idea of what that looked like. Now I’m not so sure. I like Randy Alcorn’s approach in his book called Heaven: Why wouldn’t this God who loves us so lavishly here in time also fill our eternal life with those things we cherish? (I turned to this source for a much more trivial grief last year when our dog got run over by a car in front of our house.) I think of eternity as a new state of being, a new reality. I think Jesus might have been telling us how near it really was when He said, “The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” It is near.

When Claire talks about her sister who died in infancy almost 8 years ago, she doesn’t see her as a baby anymore. She basically sees her doing all the things Claire does, except Ellery does them in Heaven. She graduates from Kindergarten and takes dance classes and plays with her friends on the playground. But Ellery never struggles with math, she never needs surgery on her leg, and she never gets her feelings hurt by thoughtless neighbors. Claire’s idea of Heaven is one I really like right now.

But regardless of what exactly this eternal life is composed of, we know that it means a state of perfection in all things. And when I’m in the middle of my mourning – protesting the reality of this world that I know is all wrong – I need the hope of that time.

I need a hope that cannot disappoint.


This morning, Macy (my three year-old) sat on my lap as I finished up blow-drying my hair. I do this particular activity from the “seat” of the toilet – lid down! – and the toilet faces the bathroom mirror. I said something to her and she responded with a particular expression that I recognized immediately as my own.

Dan was in the bedroom so I called to him, “Just now I saw exactly what people mean when they say she looks like me!”

This morning it was a pleasant experience when I saw myself in my beautiful daughter. Sometimes it isn’t so pretty. I’ve heard my oldest, Jesse, scold his sisters harshly and knew it was my tone and language he had adopted. I’ve watched my daughter Ada boss her playmates and was struck by my own need for control.

And this afternoon I’m just wondering what God hears and sees coming from me . . . if I am His mirror.