Bad Ground by W. Dale Cramer, Bethany House.

I didn’t think a book about blasting holes in the earth would appeal to me, but Cramer’s eloquent and haunting prose drew me in. As I read, I remembered the feeling I got when I first read Christy by Katherine Marshall, that although both wrote about people I don’t normally encounter (miners, folks from Appalacia), their taut characterizations made me want to befriend the characters, giving me a desire to spend my life peeling away the layers of all types of folks, elevating the dignity of every human being.

Though I was sometimes bogged down by the technicalities of the mining operation, I found myself cheering for the protagonist, an orphaned boy becoming a man. Cramer has a lovely way with language, so beautiful I wanted to savor his words—words like “Burrowed into his sleeping bag, he slept as one who has no else to be, and the stars kissed his sleep like a mother” (p. 16). If you are looking for a literary work with a redemptive message, Cramer’s Bad Ground will satisfy.

Thus launches a thirty-day book recommendation spree for those of you who ramp up your reading in the summer months. Enjoy these books!

The Grace of Catastrophe by Jan Winebrenner, Moody Publishers

I opened Jan Winebrenner's The Grace of Catastrophe while flying over Europe, far above my own catastrophes. Her words of authenticity and raw spirituality gave me hope that someone else had walked the journey I was now stumbling through. Quoting classic authors like A.W. Tozer, Julian of Norwich, John Bunyan and C. S. Lewis, Winebrenner shows that we are all dusty, needy pilgrims who serve an immutable, sovereign God--a God who allows our craziness, welcomes our questions, sees our frailty, and communes with us in the most personal way possible.

Stripping away Christianese and the all-is-well façade Christians sometimes hide behind, Winebrenner offers readers a genuine picture of God-not the easily manipulated deity we've become comfortable with, but the wild, holy, loving God of the Bible. Woven throughout are the author's personal catastrophes as well as those of other pilgrims, backdropped against the grace of God. If you are struggling to understand God in the midst of catastrophe, benefit your soul by buying this book. Grace awaits you.

I wonder if I am an artist at heart. I love beauty. Love, love, love the sunset, the sunrise. Flowers. Mountains. The smell of Spring air. The ocean. A Picasso. A baby's smile. A beautiful piece of hand-thrown pottery. My children. Here's a conglomerate of my photos over the past few years.

A little disclosure: With my very first book advance, I bought a digital SLR and have been smitten ever since.

The Hole in our Gospel by Richard Stearns.

I love the availability and accessibility of this book, love how it helps me see Jesus, His world, and the plight of most of the people populating it. Richard Stearns, the president of World Vision, pens an almost memoiresque book, sharing his journey from upper echelon corporate executive to lamenting over those ravaged by poverty and disease.

A stunning reminder. A wake up call. A solid exegesis of Scripture.

What I particularly found compelling was Stearns' journey from a comfortable life. In every way, he smacked of a successful Christian person in America. A big, fat job. A stone house in the country. Kids in Christian schools. A country club membership. A faithful supporter of church and missions. A good citizen. A worshipper.

And then a recruiter asked him if he'd be willing to be considered for the president of World Vision job. He balked. Yet the recruiter persisted with this question: "Are you willing to be open to God's will for your life?"

Hearing the story of his subsequent praying, wrestling, and eventually moving across the nation to take the position really ministered to me personally. Why? We were missionaries to France for a few years and are now on safe ground in the USA, but I feel very comfortable in suburbia. When I read his words, something stirred in me. A flicker of desire ignited. It had been deadened in the aftermath of following Jesus wholeheartedly only to crash and burn.

Perhaps, perhaps God will call us again.

But beyond Stearns' own wrestling and moving out of his comfort zone is the idea of the gospel, the whole gospel, not the prosperity gospel full of holes (but full of material blessings). It's a gospel that cares for the poor. That seeks to be last. That loves the little ones.

If you call yourself a Christ follower, you need to read this book, need to saturate yourself in the gospel that is whole, need to let Him shine his light on your life, exposing your own holes.

I don't know what it is about girls. Or women. But we're a catty lot. Something icky starts happening around third grade when girls say such nice things as, "You're not my best friend anymore." Or "You can't come to my party." Then we grow in more sophistication with our words, but the malice beneath the surface says the same thing.

So far, on my sojourn on earth, I haven't encountered many personal male enemies or nemesis. Maybe it's because I don't interact deeply with men who aren't my hubby, or maybe it has something to do with the male psyche. Hard to say.

But as I read these verses today, several flashbacks assaulted me:

"My enemies say of me in malice, 'When will he die, and his name perish?' And when one comes to see me, he utters empty words, while his heart gathers iniquity; when he goes out, he tells it abroad. All who hate me whisper together about me; they imagine the worst for me" (Psalm 41:5,6, ESV).

It's that last part that gets me. They imagine the worst for me.

I remember some of my deepest girl wounds over the years, and every one of them involves this assumption of negative intent. The first memory I have of this is when I was in the first grade. I'd been kept in for recess to finish something. I can't remember what. I finished quickly, then thought, "Well, I'm here, I may as well help." So I erased the chalkboards really carefully, using those special erasers that make it really shine. I pulled one vertically then horizontally.

I smiled in my seat when the teacher came back in, awaiting her smile. I loved my teacher. Instead, she recoiled, aimed angry eyes my way and yelled at me. "How dare you erase my chalkboards without permission. How could you do such a bad thing?"

I shrunk, as you can imagine. I tried to tell her I thought I was helping, that I did it with pure motive, but she would hear nothing of it.

It's that kind of thing I'm talking about. When someone assigns a bad motive to me when, in actuality, a good motive is there. There's nothing worse than that. In those moments, when scolded, I become that little girl, cowering.

It's happened several times in adulthood. Angry women saying things about me that aren't true. (This does not mean I don't do or say or think naughty things. Of course that happens. And my dear, close friends are bold and loving enough to confront me. It's not that kind of thing I'm talking about here.) It's when girl enemies decide something about me, then forever assign whichever motives they want to me. And there's simply nothing I can do to change that.

Our pastor gave a great illustration at church that really helped me. The four quadrants of conflict. Here it is:

I almost always fell into the capitulation category, where I'm nearly always trying to satisfy the other. So many times I've taken in someone's petty words like a delicacy, feeding on them, digesting them. And then I'll say something like, "Oh, you're right. I was that way."

But that certainly doesn't help. It doesn't help the person who assumed ill intent (because I'm validating unreality), and it numbs me.

I suppose the inevitability of girl enemies is something I should expect, but in that expectation, I need to grow up a bit. Let go of words that aren't true, take to heart the ones that are, and let Jesus sift it all through. And build into the dear women in my life who speak the truth in love, who listen to me when I'm weak and needy, who don't assume the worst about me, who pray for me and give me the privilege of the same.

I doubt we'll solve the girl enemy issue. It's wrapped up in envy and insecurity and the like. But we can change the way we respond. To hear, then give it to Jesus, the One who bore the worst assumptions of others in every way.

It's been one of those busy times where I can't seem to catch my breath. Where I'm more irritated than engaged. When I'm seeing the blue sky outside, but not reveling in it. What is life? A series of irrational to-do lists that seem to multiply like dust bunnies? Or real bunnies? Is it accomplishment? Prestige? Service? Saying stuff that makes people happy? Flattery? Smiling through trials?

I don't know sometimes, but I do know Jesus said He would:

• take our burdens, make 'em lighter.
• give us abundant life
• hear our prayers, then intercede for us
• take care of the condemnation that haunts
• bear our sins (oh they are many)
• breathe the Spirit into our souls
• shed His blood so we could be justified completely
  
• give us a heavenly perspective (to live for His kingdom, not ours)

These are things that make up true life.

And somehow in the crazy-busy that is my life, I've neglected asking for His help.

Lord, forgive me. I'm small. Needy. Tired. World-worn. Would You bear my burdens? Would you replace my to-do-list treadmill with abundance in my heart? With the ability to truly engage with the people You've placed near? Lord, intercede for me. I don't even have the words, the poetry, the lilt of language that You have, oh Author of All Words, the Word made flesh. When my condemning voices haunt and taunt, silence them with Your holy hush. Thank You for bearing me. For shouldering my darkness. Breathe the Spirit into me afresh. Help me not to quench, but welcome, to drink deeply and long. Thank You for justifying me. That there's nothing I can do right now that will accomplish such a feat. Only You. Only Your willingly poured blood can perform such a miracle. Renew my perspective to a kingdom-minded one. Where the first are last, the master is servant, where the poor is rich. I love You Jesus. And oh, how I need You right now. Touch me. Nestle me into your heart. Sing over me. Quiet my anxiety. Oh how I love you.

Amen.

I flipped through channels the other day, landing on this inane show about who looked good in swimsuits and who did not.

They profiled an older lady who wore a bikini. When they showed a shot of her backside, the trendy hosts went OFF on her. Words like, "She better hide all that flubber." or "She has no right to be in public like that."

While I understand the importance of covering ourselves modestly (of course), it was the banter of these airbrushed people that horrified me. The woman's worth had everything to do with how she looked. And since she had cellulite, she was not worthy.

I flipped away.

But then all those words flooded through me.

I have flab. I have cellulite where there didn't use to be any. I'm not the same Mary I was at 20. I went down the woe-is-me, how-ugly-I-am trail for a few minutes before I told myself to stop. Then the question came to me: What if all we had was skin deep?

I knew a woman once who lived only for how she looked (and she was in ministry). As she aged and changed, I noticed fear and worry melt into her. She would not always be beautiful on the outside. As her "beauty" slipped away, panic set in.

I've had moments like those.

Sometimes I worry that I'll be disfigured in an awful accident as penance for worrying about how I look. I'm crazy that way. But when I settle myself and pray, I realize this central truth: My beauty is what's inside.

And my goal is not to race to prevent aging. Or wallow in pity as my body shifts. Or worry about how long I can wear certain swimsuits. My goal is to allow Jesus to beautify my soul, my heart, my inner life. No one, not even age, can rob me of that. And it's a beauty that can only grow, by God's grace.

I thank God this is not all there is. Because of the laws of entropy, everyone will get old and die. Things will sag. But our souls will live forever. Why not work on the beauty of the soul, hoping to live for that which is deeper than the skin?

Lord, help me to stay in the moment today, to find a grateful heart, to rejoice in everything. I need Your heart, Your perspective, Your voice every day I walk this earth. Teach me to be compassionate, open, free. Live through me. Love through me.

I'm weary, worn out, and needy. But Your word says that in my weakness You are strong. So please be my strength today. Be my everything.

Lord, I did a silly thing biking in the heat, pushing myself, not drinking water, and now my body and brain are rebelling against me. Please help me rest today, to heal, to find comfort in not doing anything. For a doer like me, that's hard. But I know You are the God of the Sabbath, so I submit myself to rest. Amen.

Lord, as I go on my bike ride today, I thank You that I have legs to bike, arms to hold the handlebars, and breath in my lungs. Protect me and my riding companions from crazy drivers. As I see the beauty of Your creation, help me pause in my spirit to praise You.

And I lift up my daughter Julia to you, with her cough and my husband with his cough. Would You heal them? Help them to feel better soon.

I pray for the hours of my day, that I'd stop and remember You throughout. You are the Great I Am, and often I'm the great hurry-up-and-go. I need to pause, reflect.

You are big and I am small. Breathe life, Your life into me. Teach me what it actually means to walk in Texas as if I were walking the dusty streets of Galilee with You.

Amen.

O dear relational God, the Three-in-One, who embodies relationship in every way. Help me to not pass by the people you place in my path today. Help me to open my heart to new folks, to not become embittered against those I know, to give freely of my time, realizing You hold every drop of time in Your hands. Enable me to love, forgive, overlook, pardon, let go.

Help me to bless when someone ceases to bless me. Give me joy when I'm persecuted. Rejuvenate me with Your Spirit so that I will minister in the opposite spirit of those who act as enemies. I want to bless, not curse. Shower grace, not judgment. But I can't do that at all, not without Your presence. So please walk with me today; teach me the power and joy of relationships.

And most of all, thank You for befriending me. I'm forever changed and grateful.

Amen.

I've never watched the show in its entirety. Never interacted much about what's going on. But anyone who's alive in America these days know they've filed for divorce. This makes me sad--for them, for their children, for the message it sends to the world about the fragility of marriage. So today, I'm praying for Jon and Kate...

Lord,

You know.

You see.

You give.

You join together.

Lord, I lift up not only Jon and Kate and their children, but every marriage represented by the readers reading this post. Lord, help us all to take seriously Your call to cleave. Your call to lay our lives down for one another. Your call to die to self and give sacrificially. Lord, would You play the TV show of our marriages on the screen of our minds, showing us where we all fall short? And the places You long to mend?

Lord, You don't join people together lightly. You don't place us in covenental relationships so we can casually destroy them. What happened with Jon and Kate happens with us. We bicker. We grow apart. We nourish ideas that our lives are better separate. And truth be told, we all have that little desire for fame, but are blind to its wretched fangs.

Lord, please heal. Please bring us to that place of deep, needy reliance on You, the Author of all love, the Beginning and the End of everything. Forgive us for straying. Forgive us for loving our reputations more than loving Your holiness.

We humbly come before You, asking for Your miraculous restoration. For Your beautiful, powerful, paradoxical redemption. For all the Jon and Kates of the world, including us. Would You reach down and rebuild? Would You help us to lay our dreams down at Your feet? To trust You to sift through the pain and misunderstandings and betrayals?

Because You sifted through all that on Your cross. You bore betrayal. You bore sin. You bore terrible, mocking words. You bore humanity turning its back. Surely if You bore all that, You can bear our marriages.

Amen.

I wrote a post today about marketing that pretty much highlights my heart in the matter. I'm curious what you think. Read it here.

Dear Jesus,

You are it.

You're the One I wake for.

Help me today to see You throughout the day. To hear Your voice. To understand Your nuance. To experience You as I serve You.

Speak through me. Listen through me. Minister through and to me. Help me to rest in Your forgiveness, to freely admit it when I've sinned against You or a friend or a family member. Help me be a woman who walks in truth, but isn't so in love with truth that I forget to be tender. Help me be kind and compassionate to everyone I see today. Undergird me with Your strength when I get weary. Help me to engage with people when tasks overwhelm.

Work through me. Write through me. Laugh through me.

Amen.

This week I want to focus on prayer by, er, praying. I guess that makes sense! Here is my Sunday prayer:

Father God,

For me to say that to You is a huge thing. As a fatherless girl who had a gaping wound only a daddy could fill, You swept me into Your arms when I was fifteen. Thank You Lord for fathering me. For loving me. For disciplining me. For cherishing me. For challenging me. For pushing me. For holding me. For healing me. For listening to me. For seeing me. For choosing me. For beautifying me.

You are the Daddy I run to. The Father I embrace when life gets lonely or painful or bewildering. You are my hope, my joy, my all.

Thank You that You are big when I feel small. That Your hand is enough. Your life in me is enough. Your hope is enough.

I love you. I need you. I worship you.

Amen.