My Very First Slideshow!

So, Christina, I got this brilliant idea from . . . somebody . . . to put a slide show on my blog. So, I did! And here is the result of staring at a computer screen for five hours, trying various different options, none of which worked until the very last one. Isn't that always how it goes? However, I still LOVE my horse - and Kristi loves her horse too. I guess you could call this a commercial for Arabian geldings. They're pretty amazing. Hope you all enjoy!

A few more pictures from good old Nebraska . . .

First, for those of you who didn't know, my younger sister, Kristi got a horse recently. So, now we've two lovely Arabs to ride through the cornfields. Here's us all bundled up and bareback just before a ride:


God ice-sculpting:



Our little outdoor Christmas tree:

Top Ten Things I'll Never Do That I've Done

Number One: Be a secretary (I hate paperwork!). For 1 ½ years, no less!

Number Two: Compete in a Country - yes, that’s C-o-u-n-t-r-y - Music Festival. This is true.

Number Three: Change diapers REGULARLY. Welcome to day care!

Number Four: Teach any sort of classroom in a school setting. Kindergarten, for example. Or first - fifth grade. All of which I have done, minus fourth grade.

I think I’ll call it the “TT TINTID” club. “Top Ten Things I’ll Never do That I’ve Done.” So far I’m the only member, but you’re welcome to join. The day I graduated highschool, I never would have dreamed I’d have crossed FOUR whole things off my top ten list in just six years. Makes me kinda nervous to find out what other horrible things might be on my list that I don’t know about yet!

But today I’m only going to focus on one of my top ten. Number Two. Competing in a Country Music Festival. The Nebraska Country Music Festival, to be exact. Which was just last week in Hastings. And I went. Cause God inspired me with a song. That wasn’t supposed to be country. Only it was.

I got second in the “Most Promising Female” category, and they handed me a big, shiny, bright red (second place is always red, but I have no idea why) trophy that I’m trying to sell on Ebay for $5.00. Okay, not really. The part about Ebay, I mean. But the thought has crossed my mind. But the trophy isn’t really the point. Not at all.

The point is the people that were there at the Festival. And that most of them don’t have a personal relationship with Jesus. And that a lot of them, even the ones who go to church, are caught up in this “If I can just win a prize . . .” mentality. And that the song God inspired me with just happens to be all about the best thing on earth: walking with Him.

Here are the words:
VERSE 1
So many miles we’ve walked along
You’ve always held my hand
Coming back to carry me
When I didn’t have the strength to stand
Through the flood and through the fire
You’ve always been my sky
Sunshine lighting up my day
The stars that shine at night
CHORUS
So hold my hand one more time
Turn to me and let me see You smile
Sing to me a love song
As the sunlight fades
One last dance, take it slow
If there’s one thing I oughta know
It’s that loving You
Is the best of every day
We’re walking Home together
Just like always
VERSE 2
Who would’ve thought through all these years
Your love could be so grand
Sweeping me right off my feet
Every time You held my hand
I never found an end to You
I guess I never will
But one fine day I fell in love
And I’m in love still
BRIDGE
Oh, so many goodbyes
Only with You
I thank God that I
Don’t ever have to

Maybe the TT TINTID club isn't such a bad thing after all.

The Worst Nebraska Football Game in Half a Century

So there I was, one seat from the very top row, eyes glued to the field, waiting for something amazing to happen, my one and only flaming red Nebraska Huskers T-shirt worn proudly, just like the other 80,000 Husker fans in the stadium. The sight was pretty impressive. For three hours, we were the third largest city in Nebraska. A ball game has to be one of the only places where they can pack that many people in that small of a space and not have the masses revolting for lack of leg room.

The players came jogging out, the crowd cheered, the whistle blew; they even set off a couple firecrackers. Let the game begin! I was on the edge of my seat, staring down at those hundred green yards, explaining to my sister what was going on . . . as if I knew myself!

And then we lost. Not just lost - but badly lost. Embarrassingly lost. 45-14 - and that sounds closer than it actually was. At least I can say that I personally witnessed from beginning to end the worst Nebraska football game in half a century. That’s something, I guess. “The wave” went four entire times around the stadium. That was the most interesting part of the game. Possibly the most impressive too. But I’m not trying to bash Nebraska. I’m trying to talk about victory.

Cause I’ve been thinking a bit - about my life’s purpose. Well, not just mine. But the purpose of every spectator in those stands. What we aim towards and fight for. And what would possess us to give up half our Saturday, pay money, drive for hours, fight downtown Lincoln traffic . . . all to see Nebraska lose. Badly. And then I thought, “If people will go that far to witness defeat, what might they do if the victory was already assured? If a bunch of college students will train that hard and study that long and put that much effort into a game they can’t win, what would they be like if they knew they couldn’t lose?”

Cause the victory is sure. Not in Nebraska football obviously. But in something much more important. Because Jesus lived His entire life sinless, because He died the only perfect man, because He conquered death by coming back to life - because He’s already won the war that we could never win . . . victory is now ours. All we have to do is accept it. In our lives, in our seeking to draw deeper into the Father’s heart, we must never forget this.

I expect these sorts of lessons when I’m working with horses or watching a sunset. But the worst Nebraska football game in half a century? I guess if God can teach me something there, He can teach anywhere. The world is His classroom, and He takes every chance He gets to show us something new and incredible about who He is.

Shaking Hands with Larry Boy

Okay, so he wasn’t really Larry Boy from Veggie Tales. But I don’t think I would have been any happier to see him if he really was. Some people make your day just by standing there. This is the story of how God used a rather random misunderstanding and Larry Boy (who wasn’t really Larry Boy) to make my day.

On Saturday, I was invited to sing at a “Celebrate Recovery” meeting at the E-Free church. So, I packed up my music binder, made sure all the rubber duckies on my dashboard had their seatbelts on, and drove to the booming metropolis of Grand Island. Arrived at the church two minutes before schedule, which is pretty impressive, being as I’m a Johnson and all. Went to the front door and confidently pulled. Uh-oh. The door was locked. Never one to give up in the face of a challenge, I immediately investigated the strength of my fist. Turns out I am not capable of breaking down a door. “Open sesame” didn’t work either. Tried all nine doors into that church, and they were all nine locked. Well, huh. Oh, and did I mention I’d forgotten my cell phone at home?

Waited around for ten minutes or so, but no one showed up. Discovered around that time that I could use a restroom, so I drove to a nearby park. Walked into the rather eerie-looking facilities, took a glance up at the cobweb-covered ceiling, and began scribbling a mental list of the top ten reasons churches should never lock their doors. Went back to the church to wait around a while longer, and, wouldn’t you know it, somebody finally showed up! Only they didn’t have a key. Neither did the next people. But finally someone came who wasn’t going to have to pick the lock to get us in. I was ready to go.

Only when I started asking, the small group of perfectly nice perfect strangers didn’t seem to know what I was doing there. “So, you’re singing tonight? Oh. Huh.” “We’re just setting up for an ice cream party and a movie afterwards.” “You need a keyboard. Um, I don’t think we have one of those.” Stuff like that. Finally, in desperation, I brought up the name of my contact guy, the man I’d talked to in setting all this up. “Uh, do you know a Larry?”

Enter, Larry Boy from Veggie Tales.

“Larry? Hm. Sounds familiar . . .” Well, five minutes later, we established that, not only did we know the same Larry (who, incidentally, wasn’t a regular attendant at this particular “Celebrate Recovery” meeting), but he was also waiting a bit worriedly for me at the E-Free Church in Hastings. Not the booming metropolis of Grand Island.

Right church name. Wrong town. Don’t ever do that on your wedding day.

Half an hour later (and 1 ½ hours after I was supposed to show up), I pulled into the E-Free church in Hastings, shook hands with Larry and a few others, sat down at the keyboard, and played away. Turned out to be a great meeting. I was able to share several different songs - including the one I had recorded. Signed a few of the CDs afterwards (trying to explain that I really wasn’t that famous), and the first lady whose CD I signed let me keep her pen. That made me smile. Met an old friend of my parents who dropped a $100 bill in my hand. That blew me away. Got home to find another $100 check from the church. I could be a millionaire, and I wouldn’t be any happier.

Not that money is the point. Even shaking hands with Larry (who wasn’t really Larry Boy from Veggie Tales) isn’t what made my day. No, but seeing how God works - how He can take some completely random, potentially frustrating misunderstanding and turn it into something beautiful and hilarious - now that made my day.

We Are Watching You

I am no longer in the category of jobless bum scrounging off the generosity of my parents, wondering what sort of paperwork I’d need to apply at the local homeless shelter. Not that it was ever really that bad at all. But I am now the proud wearer of the title “Day Care Worker: Substitute.” Seems like I should add “Second Class.” If there’s blue collar work, then this is white collar work - white that turns into a sort of greenish brown as the day progresses.

But I enjoy this new job of mine. Let’s just say it’s . . . interesting. Although I have to admit it would be even more glorious if they’d add a few horses like the ranch out in Oregon. I’m pretty sure they could fit at least two, maybe three, on the grass around the playground. There’s even a fence already up. But, as it now stands, I’m still far from bored. Who could be when you’re surrounded by kids madly waving a rather sea-sick crab spider two inches from your nose, or standing tip-toe on a chair to let a balloon loose in the ceiling fan? Yep, every single one of these snack-loving, shirt-chewing, sand-throwing, bare-footed, loose-toothed children is a grand adventure just waiting to be set down in Indiana Jones’ jungle. Otherwise known as day care. And they look like such angels during nap time.

But I think what has surprised me most is a far more serious thing: the eyes of those children following my every move, wordlessly telling me, “We are watching you.” Like the conversation I had with a little boy named Eli several days ago. Eli and his friend had just finished their snack and were having a sort of contest to see who could proclaim “Dang it!” with more strong, manly vigor. Now I am well aware that there are much worse things children could be saying, but at the same time there was no need for them to be carrying on so. Quietly, I took Eli aside, and, upon my questioning, he proudly announced that he had learned the expression from his dad at home. Talk about being in danger of undermining parents. So, I took a different route. I explained to Eli that some of the kids in day care didn’t have fathers who said “Dang it!” at home, and if they heard him, they might start saying it too, and they didn’t really need to. In other words, “Eli, you are being watched by the other children. If you lead, they will follow, so you better make sure you are leading well.” Eli pondered this for a moment, and a very grave look came over his face, like I had just entrusted him with an important but dangerous mission. Then he turned to go. I watched silently as Eli scampered over to his friend, the one who had been yelling with him, took him aside, and began to explain, “Cooper, we’re not supposed to say ‘Dang it’ anymore, cause the other kids are watching, and . . .”

They’re listening better than we think.

A Zucchini Love Song

Yes, that really is a pineapple. Turns out fruit with semi-hard shells make fairly good flower vases. Who knew?

No, I’m not bored. I don’t believe in getting bored. I believe in getting creative.

Like the time me and my sister went to surprise a friend. She didn’t know we were coming, and it was her birthday, so Kristi and I wanted to do something extra special. All the normal ideas like silly string and decorating rooms (or cars) in the middle of the night seemed too . . . well, boring. This had to be something different - something original.

That’s when we spotted the zucchinis. Actually, my mom had just picked them out of the garden and, having a surplus, suggested that we take a couple to our friend. Ha! It was the perfect birthday gift. Almost. But first for a few bits of string, a button or two, crepe paper, and a little fringe. Several intensely-creative minutes later, the zucchinis were transformed into this:



Proudly toting our Indian princess and Arab sheik out to the car, Kristi and I started on our way. It was a long drive, and I suppose our creativity hadn’t quite exhausted itself yet. So happened we had a guitar in the car with us. Which was good, cause we needed a song. A zucchini love song, so the Arab sheik could sing of his undying love for the Indian princess. It was way better than VeggieTales. We wrote it on the drive over, belting it out in true Opera style with the windows rolled down.

Now all that was left was the actual execution of the plan. We pulled into our friend’s house at 11:00 at night. Well, and “pulled in” is a bit too general a word. What we actually did was turn off the lights, park the car in the ditch down the road, and sneak up to the house, Indian princess, Arab sheik, and guitar in hand. And a note reading, “We just wanted to say . . .” Then we called the house. Told our friend there was a Fedex package waiting for her on the doorstep, and could she please come collect it at once?

When our friend was finally convinced to open the door, there was the Indian princess and the Arab sheik with their happy little note between them. And just then Kristi and I (who were cleverly hiding behind a tree) broke out the guitar and started belting out our zucchini love song at the top of our lungs.

So, there you have it. I’m not bored. I like to think of it as having one too many hyper-active creativity brain cells. Just be glad that most of you don’t live within driving range.

A Rainbow in the Desert

You know, it doesn’t really seem to matter how much rain we get in the spring. Mid-July still thrusts us right up under the glare of the sun, leaving us sticky, short of breath, and in desperate need of yet another cold shower. It was one of those days just recently, and I was walking down the gravel road by our house during the late afternoon. I was actually pretty excited, cause I looked west, and the sky was this thick gravy-blue color, the wind was blowing decently, and I thought - who knows? - maybe the rain will come. And it was about time it rained. I felt like I had been walking in the desert for way too long.

So, I watched the clouds in eager anticipation as I strolled down the road. Made it a quarter mile before it struck me. Sure, there was a sea of gray in the west, and another one in the northeast. I could even see shimmering curtains of rain cascading from the sky. But right straight overhead, all was unreachable and annoyingly dry. A cactus would have seemed right at home at that moment.

I gave God a glance that might have been termed a glare and headed for home in a less-than-contented mood. When things are thirsty, why withhold water? I mean, yeah, the corn was growing up strong and green. I walked past a weed in the ditch that was even taller than I was (I know, cause I stood face-to-face with it to compare). Things are looking brilliant here this summer. But I wanted rain. So, why did God paint empty skies overhead instead?

I made it back to the house without any sort of solution and turned the TV channel to a remarkable documentation on the characteristics of Antarctica’s Emperor penguins. I was willing enough to be distracted and found the little things fascinating besides. I am convinced that whoever thought up the three-piece black-and-white suit used penguins for models. As the show was coming to an end, I happened to glance out the window. This is what I saw:



It was like the sky was on fire. I dashed outside, not even bothering to turn the TV off, then dashed back in to grab my camera, and dashed out once more. Sprinted straight east to stare absolutely open-mouthed at this enormous masterpiece of a rainbow, then sprinted west to witness the dying fire of a gorgeous sunset. Even if I was doubled over and wheezing from all that sprinting.

And then it hit me . . . If I had had my way, if God had sent the rain I had wanted Him to send - the rain that would have drenched my little corner of the world and blanketed the sky in clouds - well, then all I would have seen of the sky that evening would have been gray and blue. With the clouds so thick, I’d never have seen the world on fire. I’d never have seen the sun pierce out through the clouds exactly where and when it did to paint that magnificent rainbow. Oh, so He knows what He's doing after all. So, whether you’re walking through a desert or up along some mountain’s side or in a shadowed valley, God knows best how to paint the sky. Because of this, always we can praise Him.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Those of you in Nebraska know that we’ve gotten quite a bit of rain this year. Which is good in terms of things like corn and flowers, and very bad in terms of things like flies and mosquitoes. I met some of the flies while I was weeding today. But first I coated myself – and I do mean coated – with a greasy layer of good old-fashioned bug spray. It didn’t keep the flies away, but it kept them off. So, instead of landing and biting me, they just buzzed around and around. I am absolutely convinced that if I could have zoomed in on one of their faces, I would have seen blind rage. I’ve never heard flies sound so frustrated in all my life. Ha, ha.

But that wasn’t the end of my run-in with God’s nature. The sun had set a good hour ago, and the western horizon was just smudging the rest of the light and color off the page so the ink could take over. I stepped out the door with a careless glance to the west and paused for a moment, stunned. A crescent moon was hanging low in the sky, and it was in a perfect line with three other stars. Like a magical picture a child might draw: Star, star, moon, star. All in a row, just like that. I shook my head, amazed, and got in my car. But I’d gotten less than a quarter mile down the road before I was stopped by wonder again. I wish you could have been there. An adolescent field of corn stretched away to my right, which is a common enough site in Nebraska. But it was what was in the corn that arrested my attention. Staring out my rolled-down driver’s side window, I saw literally hundreds of blinking on-and-off fireflies. Like they’d all gotten together earlier that day and decided to give a concert at 10:00 pm sharp. They were singing, I am sure, a song to echo the wonder of the stars, which were bright and silent above them. The show was incredible. But I tore myself away and drove on. In the next two miles I met a rabbit, a skunk, and an opossum. Wow. I guess nature came out in full-force this year.

I finally got to the house and entered, slightly dazed, I think. Went to give the dog a scratch, and he rolled over. I felt a bump. Uh-oh. Tic. Ew. So, I pulled it off. Then I found another one . . . and another . . . and another. All told, I pulled nineteen tics off that dog. Yeah, nineteen. I promptly drowned them in a glass of water and poured them down the garbage disposal. I’m still cringing and saying “Ugh.”

So, there you have it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Between awe and disgust, I’m not quite sure how I feel about God’s generosity in nature this year. But it’s been a good – if slightly comical – reminder of the simple things: Never forget to say thank you. Take time out to be in awe (Do you remember catching fireflies as a kid?). Blood-sucking insects are gross, but your dog can’t help it, so pull ‘em off. Personally, I’d rather have a world without tics and flies. But annoyance over them should never keep me from enjoying a firefly show. There’s beauty enough, if only we’ll care to look for it.

Perspective

So, I had a bit of a scare the other day. All this week and next, I am house-sitting for a family from church with two dogs, a cat, and a four-wheeler. Dangerous, I know. They live in an almost mansion of a house out in the country with a winding driveway, a pond, and lots of trees. They also have one of those walk-in refrigerator/freezer units that you see in restaurant kitchens. Well, since I’ve got the house all to myself, I also have the unique joy – experience, rather – of cooking for myself. If you’ve never tried it, you’re welcome over anytime.

Two nights ago, I wanted stir-fry. It had to be stir-fry. So, I happily slipped on a pair of lime green flip-flops and went out to the garage. That’s where the refrigerator/freezer is. I stepped into the refrigerator, hearing the door suction-cup shut behind me and then opened the door into the freezer, noting as I entered that the thermometer read 1.5 degrees. Cool. The frozen pack of stir-fry vegetables was against the far wall, and as I reached for it, the door closed behind me. Without a care in the world, I grabbed my precious cargo of iced-over food and went to the door. For a handle, it had a round button about the size of my palm, and you were supposed to push on this, and the door would open. Well, I pushed. And nothing happened. Hm. That’s weird. I pushed again, a little harder this time. Still nothing.

Several pushs and a rather useless shoulder-ramming-steel-object later, I was beginning to get a little worried. Random, really not at all comforting thoughts began to fly with all the cheer of kamikaze pilots through my mind. When was my next appointment with someone else of the human race? Twenty-four hours? Longer? How long can a tank-top, shorted, flip-flop wearing human survive in 1.5 degree weather? Can a dog outside hear you scream from inside a walk-in freezer? Not that that would really do any good. Does a cell phone get reception through two steel doors? And if so, why, oh, why hadn’t I brought my phone in here with me?

But during this time, I had by no means been idle. While my brain was preoccupied with the kamikazes, my hands were busy with that stubborn little doorknob. Twisting and turning and pulling and doing all sorts of things that far exceeded the instruction of that one simple push. Well, since I’m writing this now, you know I got out okay. And actually, I wasn’t even in there for all that long. Under a minute, for sure, though it seemed more like hours. I still don’t know quite what happened. Maybe the door was just jammed. Maybe it really was accidentally locked, and God did a miracle. Maybe I just didn’t push quite right the first few times. But suddenly, the freezer door was open, and I was free from my cold little cell.

Talking to my friend later about the incident, I heard something profound. Simple, but definitely profound. “Well, God obviously has a purpose for you on earth still.” Hm. Isn’t that true? Staring into the face of death has this funny way of putting life into perspective. Uncomplicated, uncluttered, true perspective. I have a purpose. God has me alive right here, right now, because I have a purpose.

I have never in all my life been more grateful for cooked vegetables.

Lab Rats on Drugs

Lately, it seems everywhere I turn - SMACK! (did that make you jump?) - some new story slams me head-on about a terrible tragedy or horrible wrong. Killer tornadoes, school shootings, vicious murders, dying parents. And I’m left here, reeling like one of those lab rats on drugs, trying to figure out how the puffy cloud that looked like a rhinoceros got stuck in the tree that’s walking towards me with evil intentions. And you can just hear the chess players in heaven going, “Um, oops! Better not try that one anymore!” Ever been there?

I remember from our trip to DC walking through the Holocaust museum with that same stunned/drunk sensation. At one point, my mom summed it all up by commenting, “After all this, it’s amazing that the sun still rises.” Isn’t it, though? What could have convinced the sun that it was worth it to sink down into the west every single night, only to come up again on the far horizon with the morning? And without ever sleeping in too! And why does a rainbow always arch through the sky when light hits minute droplets of water just a certain way? Why do daisies insist on popping out of the ground to flaunt their happy little faces to the world year after year?

You know, I have absolutely no idea why. Turns out there’s a lot I don’t know about life and reason and the way things are. But there is one lesson I have learned from the sunrise and the rainbows and the daisies . . . There is hope. Why? Because no matter how things turn out in this world, this world isn’t our home. I have a different home. Everyone who knows Jesus as Savior does. Here. I got inspired and wrote a song about it. You can’t hear the tune, but the words are the point anyhow.

“Home” - verse 1: What is this peace inside/ I can’t describe/ Could it be finally I belong/ Wondering, desperately/ Then You came and You found me/ Now I find every time I’m with You/ You light up my room/ chorus: And I’ve come home today/ Wrapped up in Your arms/ So very safe/ And You are home to me/ With anyone else I could never be/ Home/ verse 2: Loving Your poetry/ Dance in breathless harmony/ Open up the world beyond the skies/ Held by Your eagle’s wings/ You inspire my heart to sing/ Life is so beautiful with You/ You light up my room/ bridge: My heart is Your home/ Your heart is my home/ You light up my room

I would do well to remember that.

The Best Family Vacation Ever!

I have just gotten back home from the best family vacation ever. It was my dad’s 60th birthday, and, thanks to some rather intensive, diligent planning on the part of my sisters, all twelve of us (my parents, six kids, and four spouses) found ourselves spending a week under the happy green trees near Washington, DC.

It was an eye-opening experience into two great things: the founding of this nation and the preciousness of my family. We spent four days gaping with our from-the-back-roads-of-Nebraska mouths hanging open, and thoroughly enjoying our tourist labels. In a blur that I don’t think I’ve quite sorted out yet, we saw Mount Vernon; Arlington Cemetery; the Lincoln, Washington, and Jefferson Memorials; the Capital Building and House of Representatives; the Holocaust Museum; the Vietnam and Korean Memorials; and the Smithsonian. I think that’s pretty much in order. We spent our down-time in the best ways possible: playing cards, fishing, sitting around the campfire, and eating chocolate. Of course.

But if I tried to tell you the whole story, you’d be stuck in front of your computer reading it for the next half hour. So, instead, I’ve just posted some pictures. Do enjoy!

Sorry to all of you to whom I shouted, "Stay there!" while I ran and got my camera. I couldn't resist. :-)


My parents standing in the backyard of Washington's home at Mount Vernon.


Our one and only, quickly released fish. Carp.


My personal favorite: during an interview with yours truly, Kermit the Frog.


The whole lot of us, basking in the sun "down by the Bay."

I Will Remember You

I got to see the mountains the other day. Beautiful, kissing-the-sky mountains, with snow still on top. Not that Nebraska suddenly had a make-over. No, I took a trip out west. To Yellowstone, to be exact. This last weekend, I met my sister and some friends there, and we had a blast. Saw two grizzlies that forded the river and came right up to the road to say hi. I’m just thankful that’s all they decided to say. Then we got to look through some telescopes and see one of God’s most fascinating creatures: wolves. Yeah, we saw wolves. They actually look just like dogs, only it’s amazing to think that they’re wild and free and ferocious and loyal and standing right there. And the best part is we got to see their pups too. At the risk of sounding frivolous, they were SO CUTE!

So, that was our adventure. At least, I thought that was all the adventure.

Then Kristi got in her car, and I got in my car, and we started our 15-hour trek back to good, old Nebraska. Got to the southeast corner of Wyoming and ducked under this enormous pile-up of storm clouds. Then it poured, and we witnessed a dazzling rainbow that decided at the last moment to arc across the entire sky and remind me of God’s beautiful promise: “I will remember you.”

I smiled and drove on, wondering what God had in mind. I was about to find out. The clock was creeping slowly past midnight when Kristi’s car died. Just died. One second it was running; the next it wasn’t. So, we pulled over, stuck our heads under the hood, and said, “Oh, so that’s what a car engine looks like!...Hm. Wonder if there’s anything wrong with it.” After that rather unprofessional analysis, Kristi mentioned that the gas gauge was low. Maybe it was actually empty, not just low. So, we drove to the nearest gas station and picked us up a couple gallons of gasoline. And what’d ya know? It was out of gas. We filled her up and were back on our way.

Or so we thought.

Half an hour later, we spotted flashing emergency lights from two vehicles stopped on the side of the road. As Kristi pulled into the left lane to pass them, she hit a semi’s bumper that had disconnected itself in an attempt to live on the wild side of life. In the fast lane, you might say. Well, all I saw were the sparks flying out the back of her car - and, as soon as we both pulled over, the gasoline spewing out of a badly ruptured gas line. Sparks and gasoline don’t mix well; their personalities are too explosive. We probably should have died that night. Except that God said, “I will remember you.”

We had just passed a towing company not a mile down the road. Because we had an extra car, we were able to drive over and ask for help. It was now past 1:00 in the morning. The mechanic on duty, a guy named David, didn’t have anything else going on and said he’d give it a look. So, he hitched up Kristi’s car to his truck, drove us back to the shop, and started tinkering around with a ripped-up gas line. And he fixed it. MacGyver style. (I looked up how to spell that, by the way.) Should have cost us a few hundred dollars, but when we asked what we owed him, he only said, “However much you think you should pay me.”

Wow.

We were back on the road by 3:30. Both grateful to be alive and again utterly astounded by the God who says, “I will remember you.”

And that was my adventure.

Laugh

We call this one "Missing the Point."

The Day I Stood on Top of the World

Have I ever told you how much I absolutely adore riding my horse? I mean, books are nice, and photography is cool and all, and chocolate . . . well, okay, chocolate is just indescribable. But when it comes to horses, nothing in all this world can beat them. And I’ve got the best horse on earth. That is, if your definition of “best” is: cute, terribly funny, perhaps a bit naughty at times, stubborn and dear beyond reason. His name is Sullivan, after the big blue monster on Monsters Inc., cause they’re both adorable and absolutely dedicated to a certain girl.

Sully and I went for a ride the other day. Now I may have rather implied in the past that Nebraska is as flat as a lake frozen over. But miracles still exist. I know, because not three miles from our house - in Nebraska - I found hills. Softly rolling hills, like the ocean when it’s calm and sleepy, hills that would sing a lullaby if they could choose just one melody. A dirt track bobs along these grassy waves, picketed by yet-bare trees and thick, stout bushes. We must’ve seen at least seven rabbits, and as many squirrels. But then we came to this wide open field, and the golden grass was waving at us and the clouds in the sky were cheering us on, and the whole scene just shouted, “Run!”

So, we did. Up to the hilltops and then down into the valleys again, not really going anywhere and having a marvelous time of it. The theme song from Man From Snowy River was cascading through my head the entire time. And then we found the absolute highest peak, and I sent Sully bounding to the top. We circled, and I swept my eyes over a rippling sea of earthy fields that ended only where the blue expanse of sky began. And that’s when I realized I was standing on top of the world.

Who would’ve thought the top of the world would be found in plain old Nebraska? And as it’s hard to have such an experience and not gain at least some small life lesson from it, I did. It suddenly struck me that I was sitting atop this still-prancing, sweat-covered horse. His nose was blowing in and out, and I could feel his every breath. Then there was me. I was hardly even tired. Certainly not looking like I’d just run several miles. Come to think of it, I hadn’t run several miles. And that was my point. All the glorious majesty of standing on top of the world with Man From Snowy River music pounding like a waterfall into my heart, and I had hardly done a thing. All I’d done was held on and trusted my horse.

And I think that’s like what God wants of us as we’re walking life’s road with Him. Just hold on and trust Him to take us there. To the top of the world.

I Found It In My Easter Basket

Yes, this really is what it looks like. Not quite a full five pounds, but absolutely close enough to make my taste buds wholly content for weeks (um, maybe just days) to come. And, yes, that really is a rubber ducky - a PINK rubber ducky - and for my slightly strange friends who adore that color . . . yes, this pink rubber ducky has proudly found its way onto the dashboard of my car. The count’s now at 22. I walked into my house this evening to find this happy basket of one duck and exactly 1,249 particles of chocolate. Okay, so I didn’t actually count each one; that’s an estimate, though who really knows how many m&m’s are in a 52 ounce bag. The gift from my mother was waiting for me on the dining room table. I’m telling you, it smiled at me. And winked too. Then screamed, “Eat me!” No wonder kids play with their food. Wouldn’t you if it talked?

So, it’s Easter. And I got an Easter basket. Which is fun. Hilariously fun. Well, it got me thinking. Not very serious thinking, mind you, but still thinking. About biting the ears off chocolate bunnies as a child and then wondering why I never ate their face first. I don’t think they would have cared one way or the other. About Easter egg hunts and how we were always looking for hollow, plastic eggs and never the real thing. You know, good old-fashioned raw eggs. It could have been just like dodge ball.

About gifts and celebrations and songs and laughter. Especially laughter. Ever wonder what it sounds like to hear God laugh? I think that’s going to be one of my favorite things in Heaven. I bet He can tell some of the funniest jokes you’ve ever heard. We hear a lot about how He loves us, and not quite so often how He delights in us and sings over us and rejoices over us. And I think, if God does all that, then surely He laughs too. A lot. Big, happy peals of laughter that make you want to laugh with Him. And when I get to Heaven, I am looking forward to hearing God laugh.

Of course, right now I’m still here on earth. Stuck with a back that hurts at times and a throat that gets soar and eyes that refuse to define blobs unless they’ve got contacts in. But I’ve got a whole perfect world to look forward too, and that’s a happy thought. “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

And that’s my lesson for this Easter.

If I Were Famous . . .

Okay, for all of you who are sitting on the edge of your seats, waiting for my autograph...Well, this isn't my autograph, but it's pretty close. Here are a few pictures from the studio. Enjoy!

Me and My Band...Hey, that sounds like a song...


Hey, if you're gonna sing into a microphone that costs more than all your worldly posessions combined, you might as well do it with a little...um, flare.



"Famous" me driving away in the car after my very first recording session. It wasn't quite a limo, but I got TWO chauffeurs!


Thanks again for all of your prayers and encouragement as we finished this project. I've never enjoyed music more. The label for the CD is being designed at this moment; should be finished soon. I look forward to sharing this with all of you.

To God be the glory.

The Love of a Child

Children amaze me. In a world of frightful doubts and grim unknowns, we see them looking up to Heaven with wide, trusting eyes that whisper, “I believe.” How much we would change if we could but learn to mirror their untainted giggles and simple, adoring smiles. And when it comes to love, children are unmatched. They give generously, fearlessly, boundlessly, with a richness purer than gold and a power that armies could never take away.

Not so long ago, I was at a point in my life where I had to uproot myself from one much-loved location to move to another. In this process, I found myself positively drenched with gifts beyond all my expectations. I would like to share the story of one of those gifts.

There is a little boy, not yet a teenager, who went to a jewelry store and began meticulously studying every hand-crafted piece therein. But when at last he had seen the last of the wares, he had to shake his head sadly and tell the waiting jewelry-maker, “No, it is not here.” Understanding this, the craftsman took the boy to the back of the store to show him one last piece. It was a special piece, newly made, delicately molded; a silver bracelet with a charming double twist to its smile. Immediately, the boy nodded. Yes! This was the one.

The ornament was happily purchased, paid for out of the boy’s own savings. Not long after, I found myself the speechless recipient of this priceless treasure. It was bundled up with a card adorned by a stunning painting of a horse, which is my favorite animal in all the world; the faithfully-written note inside showed evidence of tears. But the dear child did not stop even there.

As many of you know, I have been given the opportunity to record a song I have written. When this child learned of the upcoming recording, he instantly wrote me an email, the last part of which ran thus: “When is your birthday? I want to send you a gift on that day. I also need to know your address. You are very special to me. Do you still like your bracelet? I would like you to wear it on Saturday as you record your song so you know I am with you.”

Wow . . . With such a love, mountains indeed can be moved. Stone will turn to water, darkness will become daylight . . . and broken eagles will learn to fly again. This is the kind of love Jesus pours out so freely on us. Love that is perfectly sincere, faithfully selfless, and ready at a moment’s notice to again declare itself in honest-to-goodness truth. Love like the ocean: a stunning tapestry of living blues and greens on its surface - but, oh glorious more! - with unsounded depths waiting to be discovered underneath.

I lost no time in writing back to this child, this one who has displayed to me the same kind of love I see so clearly in my Savior, to tell him . . . yes, of course, I will wear the bracelet he gave me on Saturday . . . because I never take it off.

So, I Was Driving Home When . . .

I have to warn you. What you are about to read has absolutely no educational value. It may not exactly kill brain cells, but it’s definitely not going to enlighten any of them either. What follows is complete, rather silly, hopefully . . . um, interesting randomness.

So, I was in my car the other day. Driving home from work. Four-lane highway. Speed limit 65 mph. Which is what I was doing. But then this car passes me on the left, slows down, drives along right next to me. I give them a .2-second glance, and, hey! - it’s my friends, and they’re saying hi!

Sure.

So, I smile big and wave right back. Hm. That was nice. My friends’ car pulls forward, and I’m stuck for a second wondering where they got such a funny-looking car. Oh, well. They switch over to my lane and speed along their way, not knowing that they totally made my day by waving at me. But then their brake lights go on, and they pull over to the side of the road. Oh, how sweet, now my friends want to say hi. So, I pull over too, still waving happily and grinning from ear to ear.

Then the driver’s side door opens, and this spiky-haired dude pokes his head out, and - oh, goodness! - I’ve never seen him before in my life. Every cliche in the book about eyes being big as saucers, mouth hanging open, being knocked over speechless, and all the rest were true of me at that moment. You have no idea how disconcerting it is to see the face of a complete stranger when you're expecting a good friend. But the story’s about to get even better.

So, Spike looks back at me and shouts, “Hey! My buddy wants to know if you’ll go out with him.”

Huh?

Between a sudden unmanageable torrent of incredulous giggles, I manage to shout back a not very stern, “No!”

Spike then proceeds to ask me if I’d like to go out with him instead.

Negative. Finding it rather hard to breathe at this point.

So, this guy, shooting me a baffled look that reads something like “Shoot, why not?” mixed with “What in the world is wrong with you?”, disappointedly gets back in his car and drives away. Fast.

I was still laughing half an hour later. Got inspired that afternoon though. Had this amazingly pointless song with a bit of a country twang pop into my head. Starts off like this: “Driving down the highway, doing ‘bout 65.” Maybe it’ll be a hit someday. :-)

The Greatest Gift

So, I was sitting there in a dark living room sometime a little too close to midnight, listening to a song that was only made because there is a God. Most of you know the story, and if you don’t, I’d love to share it with you. The verses of the song talk about the lavishness of the Almighty to give up Heaven’s Prince for us, and the last chorus goes like this: “In awe of His glory, we shout alleluia/ In the Holy of holies, we fall on our knees/ In the arms of our Father, we will sing/ This is the greatest gift of all.” Strange how you can hear truth a hundred times, and yet on that hundred-and-first time, you’ll suddenly be struck breathless all over again. It was the last line that did it this time. “This is the greatest gift of all.” I’ve received a few gifts in my lifetime. A five-pound bar of pure, happy (healthy) chocolate. A little chestnut Arab who is stubborn and rude beyond reason and just happens to be the dearest horse in all the world. Deep red roses from my dad on Valentine’s Day. A drooping dandelion held proudly up in the hands of a child. Nine emails read all on the same day from friends saying they were praying for me and my band as we recorded our song. Even chocolate-covered pickles. Gifts that blow my mind and leave me grinning from ear to ear. Gifts both wonderfully extravagant and astonishingly simple. Gifts of love.

But this song wasn’t talking about any of those gifts. This song said the greatest gift . . . the deepest, the sweetest, the dearest, the loveliest, the very best. The gift of a Man dying when I should have died . . . the gift of a face spit on when I should have been humiliated . . . the gift of a body broken when I should have been destroyed . . . the gift of a heart that was big enough and willing to swallow the horrible ending meant for me and so gain the right of rewriting the way the story ends. I John 3:16 is a simple verse with a great truth. It reads, “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down His life for us.”

That is the greatest gift of all. For those of you who haven’t yet heard the song, I look forward to sharing it with you. Prepare to be blown away - not by any talent or musical abilities, but by the passion of the truth. The love of Jesus is a wind that sings forever . . . wings that conquer every storm . . . raw sunlight to erase any darkness. It is altogether indescribable . . . and - this is the best part - it was poured out in a downright flood just for me! Just for you. Let Him sweep you off your feet.

Okay, That Was Weird

Ever had one of those experiences where you just stop, raise your eyebrows in a sorta funny way, and think, "Okay, that was weird!" Had myself one of those just the other day. So, I was sitting there in the living room watching a very old black and white movie . . . and suddenly this Thing comes from absolutely nowhere, zips straight through the living room, and starts turning our dining room into a carosel-after-one-too-many-spoonfuls-of-sugar ride. This Thing tries a few rather wobbly circles right next to the ceiling, swoops down for another quick peek into the living room, then goes back to its carosel. It was a bat! In our house! Our nice, sort of modern, 20th century at least American house! How he got in, I'll never know. But he sure did have fun on that carosel ride. First, I screamed, which I think is what any self-respecting American girl would do. Then I ran for my camera and adroitly snapped several pictures (easier said than done when you're also diving for cover every time the Thing threatens to jump off his carosel and tackle you), which is what any self-respecting photographer would do. Finally stashing my prized picture taker in a relatively safe location, I turned to thoughts like, "Save the whales!" and talked my dad, who was trying to swat the Thing down with a broom, into shooing him out the door instead. Again, easier said than done. But in the end, the Thing, for better or worse, was saved...I got my rare and thrilling photographs...and now you get to read the story of it too! Not a bad way to spend an evening if you ask me.


The Thing



The Thing As Seen From the Eyes of My Rather Overactive Imagination (Dark, Vague, Sinister, and All That)

An Unexpected Lesson

Just two weeks ago, I got myself a job. Working at a place with horses, which I love. Cleaning out stalls, which I love . . . a little less, you might say. Eleven hours a day. Three days a week. But let me tell you, those three days have given me a whole new perspective on the meaning of words like “tired,” “slave,” and, “Ew!”

In the evenings, when my groaning muscles are finally allowed to rest, I’ve taken to reading Jack London’s book, The Sea Wolf. If you’ve read it, you’re probably laughing right now. If you haven’t, well, let’s say it’s not the most light-hearted of stories. The general gist of the tale begins with a rather wimpy American gentlemen finding himself adrift in fog after a shipwreck and getting rescued by none other than the most heartlessly captained seal hunting ship in all the seven seas. Our rather unfortunate gentlemen does not even know how to swim and finds himself without much of a choice other than working for several months on this boat. I’ve found it a bit ironic, reading the descriptions in the book of physical exhaustion, hard labor, and the like, then comparing them with my own experiences at my job. One night I found myself literally unable to lift even a finger without my entire body screaming in protest.

But God taught me something quite unexpected in the midst of all this. He taught me about sensitivity. One notable conversation in The Sea Wolf between our sad American and the fiercely powerful captain runs as follows:

“And you are also,” I (the American) continued, “a man one could not trust in the least thing where it was possible for a selfish interest to intervene?”
“Now you’re beginning to understand,” he (the captain) said, brightening.
“You are a man utterly without what the world calls morals?”
“That’s it.”
“A man of whom to be always afraid-”
“That’s the way to put it.”
“As one is afraid of a snake, or a tiger, or a shark?”
“Now you know me,” he said. “And you know me as I am generally known. Other men call me Wolf.”

Two things struck me in this. One, that this Wolf character held such indisputable power over all those on the ship. In both physical strength and mental intellect, no one could stand up against him. He regarded them with the same detached curiosity with which scientists regard mice in a lab. In this way, the captain’s power reminded me of the power of God.

The second point was what shocked me. For in comparing the character Wolf with the God I know, I was also obliged to contrast them. And while I found the untouchable nature of their strength to be alike, I found their characters wholly different. While Wolf used his power as a rod with which to distance himself from weaker humanity, the God I know uses His strength for just the opposite purpose. In the power of His glory and the potency of His might, God does not draw away. Instead, He chooses to draw near and woo us closer to Him. He uses the strength of His arms to shield us. He uses the mightiness of His name to build a protecting hedge around us. He uses the almighty nature of His character to encircle us with His presence. I’d never thought of the word “sensitive” in terms of God before. But what word could better fit to describe this God Who, in all His raw, irrefutable power, yet delights in singing over us . . . in carrying us in His arms . . . in leading us Home.

All this from shoveling horse manure and reading a book.

The Simple Things in Life

Sometimes the deepest things in life can't be said in words. Or you write a really long poem, or maybe even a whole book, but when you get to the end, you still haven't said all it is exactly that you're meaning. That's why I decided not to say much in this blog. Instead, I've posted a few pictures that I've taken recently. Perhaps they'll speak where words fail. Enjoy!

Yeah, But God Doesn't Know That

Lately, God has been teaching me the flimsiness of mere circumstances to stand in the way of His purposes. Often, I am tempted to look at a situation and declare, “That’s impossible!” But the voice of truth would respond with, “Yeah, but God doesn’t know that.”

On Christmas Eve at church I had the opportunity to share one of the songs I had recently written. The song is titled “The Greatest Gift” and is a simple attempt to share my response to the gift of Jesus Christ and His purpose on earth. I actually had a different song picked out for that morning but was unexpectedly inspired, you might say, to write and sing this other song instead. Most people don’t know this, but I get really nervous before I sing. Oh, I’m fine once I actually start the song. But the moments leading up to that are somewhere between mind-freezing terror and immobilizing panic. I end up praying a lot right before I sing. Simple things like, “Dear God, please don’t let me trip on the stairs or any cords.” (Did that once; am okay with never doing it again) And more profound things like, “Dear God, use the words of this song to reach into peoples’ hearts and teach them something new and fascinating about You.” That morning was no exception.

Although I never anticipated the results.

I have something of an over-active imagination. Things like a stranger on the street seeing the ducks in my car dashboard and being so filled with joy that he hands me a hundred dollars. Or a bar of chocolate. Or a famous trainer driving down the road in his pickup truck and seeing me riding my horse and pulling over to offer me a spot in the Olympic Games. I admit, my imagination goes a bit over the top sometimes. But even my creativity was not prepared for what God did.

Later that day at the evening service, a man I had never met before walked up to me, introduced himself, and said he had enjoyed the song I sang that morning. He then went on to explain that his son had been killed in a skiing accident while on a trip with the youth group earlier that year. At his son’s funeral and ever since then, music became a tool the Father used to reach into this man’s heart and touch him with God’s love. The man then asked if he could please have a copy of the song I had sung that morning. I replied that I’d love to give him a copy, only it wasn’t anywhere but on paper. He then asked how much it would cost to have it recorded...and said he was willing to pay for the entire project.

I don’t remember a word he said the rest of the conversation. My mind was very frantically trying to come up with a solution to the impossible words I had just heard. Surely he couldn’t have meant, couldn’t have said...well, what I thought he had just said.

Today, after several more conversations and a bit of research and a few other bits and pieces that were not at all stressful or time-consuming, I am planning a trip to a recording studio in Omaha, Nebraska. To record a song called “The Greatest Gift.” It is fitting, I think, that this is possible because of a gift someone else has given me. Fitting also that the man who is giving this gift has a very near place to the heart of the Father who gave up His only Son. “There is no greater love God could have shown, to send His Son that we might be free” - from a song written by the grace of God even before I knew any of this was possible. Yes, I think it’s very fitting indeed.