The Lord can change our plans in an instant.

Sara has been sick, very sick, for a long while, and while we knew that this day would eventually come, I think we had all hoped and prayed that it wouldn’t. At least not for a long time. I received the news that her condition had taken a serious turn about a week ago. It’s been a long week full of lots of tears and heartache for me. But I know that my weepiness and selfish longing for her is not what Sara would want. I hear her in my ear reminding me of God’s goodness, of our hope in heaven, of her peace, and the joy that she experiences every day. That’s our Sara, our consummate encourager.

My best effort to honor Sara in her last days is to try and do exactly what I know she would want me to do: Not focus on the loss of her passing, but rather sing praise and rejoice in the life that she has lived.

Through Sara’s friendship I have had the blessing of learning first hand what “a life lived well” is supposed to look like. I have seen pureness of spirit up close in person. I have been given the priceless gift of experiencing what we were created to be on earth displayed for me through the love of my dear friend.

I have seen humility.

I have seen grace.

I have seen kindness.

I have seen selflessness.

I have seen mercy.

I have seen patience.

I have seen trust.

I have seen forgiveness.

I have seen love. True love. 1 Corinthians 13 style love given freely to me and countless others.

Sara has taught me that living my life well isn’t about me. It’s not about what I do, or what I have, or who I know. Living life well is all about what we choose. Joy. Peace. Love.

Sara, thank you for all of the times you have held my heart, kept my secrets, and prayed over the hopes and dreams of me, my marriage, and my family. I love you more than you will ever know.

If you have a favorite Sara story or blog post of hers please leave it in the comments below so we can all reflect on her well lived life.

Well, well, well… here we are again.

It’s been a long time since my last blog post. And while I realize that I have broken every written (and unwritten) blogging rule by abruptly abandoning my second love, it was just one of those things I had to to.

In September I traveled to Las Vegas to facilitate a few sessions at Idea Camp: Sex. While I was there I was challenged to consider some new things, and to reconsider some old things. I went to Vegas to facilitate a session and share a little bit of what I know. I came home with an overwhelming sense that I needed to stop talking. Immediately. I was being called into a season of listening.

Now, if you knew me well, you would understand that walking away from blog posts and Google Analytics graphs and running my mouth about my myriad of opinions is almost as monumental as the parting of the Red Sea. Almost. Er, well, not really… but I do like to talk.

Anyway, I walked away and committed to listen (to God and a few other people) for 40 days. Two words: Game Changer.

So I’m returing to my blog with a fresh perspective, having refocused, recommitted a few areas of my life and my ministry, sought Godly counsel from a few women that I adore (thank you, girls), rested under the Godly leadership of my amazing husband, met face-to-face with some people to confess a few things that I learned I was holding onto, called myself into account, was called into account by others, and submitted to what the Bible refers to as a refining fire for the first time in my life without kicking, screaming, or calling God a bad name.

And it felt really, really good.

So before I jump back into sharing my opinions on everything from Beth Moore to same-sex marriage to solving the world’s orphan crisis by becoming the Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe, let me leave you with these ever so inspiring words that were impressed upon me during my break:

Listening is good. Shutting your mouth is hard. Abandoning your selfish desires is freeing. And resisting the urge to eat an entire tray of sour cream doughnuts is the definition of self-control.

And, yes, that was worth losing 40 days of blog traffic for.

What have you been up to during the past few weeks? Catch me up on your life!

This morning we had to make the decision to put our dog down. Awful.

The difficult, ultra sucky part was telling the kids. Jacob is 9 now and Jessica is 7. Today was the first time in their little lives that they have had to experience grief and loss of any kind. We told them about the dog when they got home from school and it was as bad as you would expect.

I think Jessica said it best when she said, “I think I might be sad forever.”

Obviously she won’t be sad forever but a small (or maybe not so small) part of their innocence has been stripped away. That’s the saddest thing that this mommy’s heart can imagine.

A few months ago my husband guest posted on my blog. He wrote a sweet post about this cute little dog that I pretended to be indifferent about but secretly loved. I thought it would be nice to repost it today.

This photo was taken this morning before his trip to the vet. What a sweet boy… xoxo

What I Learned about God from my Dog

By Jesse Wick (@jessewick)

Nicole loves animals. We have three of them: the cat she had when we met, a narcoleptic shih tzu named Pong, and a pesky maltese/shih tzu mix (malte-shitz?) named Mitzy. The maltese is incredibly dumb, though she does a great job protecting our home from squirrels, toddlers on tricycles, and the miniature pinscher down the block. The cat has a gentlemanly distaste for the dogs and tends to stay in the basement. (The dogs are afraid of the stairs.) But Pong… ah, Pong. The dog I always wanted. The only thing worse than his body odor is his breath. He is morbidly obese. He sleeps 23 hours out of every 24 (this is a rough estimate, not an exaggeration), snoring loudly. His idea of a “walk” is a quick trip halfway up the block to a nearby tree, upon which he dutifully pees, followed by a somewhat slower, panting waddle back home. He has the personality of a loaf of bread. He may be the most useless dog that ever lived.

And I love him.

And that’s the first thing he taught me about God. My love for him is not based on anything he does. It couldn’t be, because he doesn’t do anything except lie around and reek. I just love him. And he knows it. And he depends on it.

Now, lucky for us all, I’m not God. I’m sure God knows why he loves us. All I’m saying is that Pong doesn’t ask for reasons why I love him or worry that I don’t; he just trusts in it. Unlike the malte-shitz, who tries to earn my affection in all sorts of obnoxious and off-putting ways. (“Look! I love you! I’m jumping up and down frantically while snapping at your hand! Look! I’ve killed your daughter’s stuffed animal! Look! Here are the mangled remains of a dead bird I found! Aren’t I great?”) Pong doesn’t need to do all that. He just accepts my love without a blink or a second thought.

Being at home a fair amount during the day, I spend a lot of time around this dog. And I sometimes get that weird feeling that someone is watching me. I’m not paranoid; someone is watching me. Pong. When he is awake and doesn’t have his face in a food dish (which, again, is rare), he is mostly looking at me. Not wanting anything, just gazing at me. You’ve heard the old hymn, “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus”? If I were Jesus, Pong would be the holiest living thing within fifty miles. It’s a constant reminder to me of where my own eyes need to be directed.

As a corollary to both of these points, Pong is content simply to be where I am. And by extension, he gets a bit agitated if he isn’t. If I go into a different room for any length of time (including, unfortunately, the bathroom), he will poke his head in there and just stand there gazing at me until I am done. He has a little bed next to ours and can’t go to bed without me. When bedtime is close, he’ll often stand at the bedroom door, huffing and puffing, until I come in with him. He doesn’t need me to stroke him, give him treats, tell him what to do, or anything else. He just needs me to be nearby. Then he can go back to his default state of contented lethargy. I should be so content simply to be near Jesus – without always wanting something from Him into the bargain.

Finally (because this is getting long), Pong counts on me. If he were a psalmist, he would have many names for me: Lord of the Vacuum Cleaner, The One Who Lifts me Onto the Couch (Because I’m Too Fat to Jump Up There), Filler of the Kibble Bowl, My Refuge in the Time of the Veterinarian. He’s not shy about admitting to me when he’s scared; at the vet, he puts his paws in my lap and pants furiously, gazing at me extra hard. He’s not afraid to tell me what he needs, standing in front of the couch or at the back door, doing a little shuffling dance while huffing and puffing pathetically.

You see, Pong doesn’t have an image to maintain.

He just has faith.

Now, I’ll also say that I’m a bit biased. I’m coming off an amazing night (and an even better lunch) with Nathan, Kevin (also on staff at the foundation), and my friend Andrew. So I got to take a peek into Nathan’s heart – his heart for people and his heart for the Lord – and decided that this post is infinitely more important that I had originally imagined.

Nathan shared that the guy in the photo, a gay atheist, commented on his post and has been in an email exchange with the Marin Foundation ever since Sunday’s event. For as much as we (the straight, middle class, conservative church) like to say that we love everyone and are living in mission, I have to wonder if we are. This is relational; this is engaging.

But more on that tomorrow (Correction: In a few days… forgot about the fort building). I’ll post about my experience at the Living in the Tension event then. Until then….

I Hugged a Man in His Underwear. And I Am Proud.

By, Nathan Albert ( @nathanalbert )

Photo Credit: Michelle at maladjustedmedia.com

I hugged a man in his underwear. I think Jesus would have too.

I spent the day at Chicago’s Pride Parade. Some friends and I, with The Marin Foundation, wore shirts with “I’m Sorry” written on it. We had signs that said, “I’m sorry that Christians judge you,” “I’m sorry the way churches have treated you,” “I used to be a bible-banging homophobe, sorry.” We wanted to be an alternative Christian voice from the protestors that were there speaking hate into megaphones.

What I loved most about the day is when people “got it.” I loved watching people’s faces as they saw our shirts, read the signs, and looked back at us. Responses were incredible. Some people blew us kisses, some hugged us, some screamed thank you. A couple ladies walked up and said we were the best thing they had seen all day. I wish I had counted how many people hugged me. One guy in particular softly said, “Well, I forgive you.”

Watching people recognize our apology brought me to tears many times. It was reconciliation personified.

My favorite though was a gentleman who was dancing on a float. He was dressed solely in white underwear and had a pack of abs like no one else. As he was dancing on the float, he noticed us and jokingly yelled, “What are you sorry for? It’s pride!” I pointed to our signs and watched him read them.

Then it clicked.

Then he got it.

He stopped dancing. He looked at all of us standing there. A look of utter seriousness came across his face. And as the float passed us he jumped off of it and ran towards us. In all his sweaty beautiful abs of steal, he hugged me and whispered, “thank you.”

Before I had even let go, another guy ran up to me, kissed me on the cheek, and gave me the biggest bear hug ever. I almost had the wind knocked out of me; it was one of those hugs.

This is why I do what I do. This is why I will continue to do what I do. Reconciliation was personified.

I think a lot of people would stop at the whole “man in his underwear dancing” part. That seems to be the most controversial. It’s what makes the evening news. It’s the stereotype most people have in their minds about Pride.

Sadly, most Christians want to run from such a sight rather than engage it. Most Christian won’t even learn if that person dancing in his underwear has a name. Well, he does. His name is Tristan.

However, I think Jesus would have hugged him too. It’s exactly what I read throughout scripture: Jesus hanging out with people that religious people would flee from. Correlation between then and now? I think so.

Acceptance is one thing. Reconciliation is another. Sure at Pride, everyone is accepted (except perhaps the protestors). There are churches that say they accept all. There are business that say the accept everyone. But acceptance isn’t enough. Reconciliation is.

But there isn’t always reconciliation. And when there isn’t reconciliation, there isn’t full acceptance. Reconciliation is more painful; it’s more difficult. Reconciliation forces one to remember the wrongs committed and relive constant pain. Yet it’s more powerful and transformational because two parties that should not be together and have every right to hate one another come together for the good of one another, for forgiveness, reconciliation, unity.

What I saw and experienced at Pride 2010 was the beginning of reconciliation. It was in the shocked faces of gay men and women who did not ever think Christians would apologize to them.

What I saw and experienced at Pride 2010 was the personification of reconciliation. It was in the hugs and kisses I received, in the “thank you’s” and waves, in the smiles and kisses blown.

I hugged a man in his underwear. I hugged him tightly. And I am proud.

****

If you have opinions about The Marin Foundation do me a favor and save them for tomorrow’s post. But I would LOVE your opinion on this one…

Do you think the church owes the LGBTQ community an apology? Why or why not?

I saw this video on the CNN Belief blog and thought I would share it because not only does it fit with the LGBT Pride Month/Church conversation I’ve been having on my blog, but it also raises an interesting question about faith, obedience, and tithing.

Here’s the gist: The woman featured in the video was a member of a Baptist church that released a vision statement in support of same-sex marriage and declared their intent to begin preforming same-sex marriage ceremonies. The woman had two responses:

First she decided to sue the church for a refund of her tithe since she believed they were acting outside of her biblical understanding of scripture on homosexuality. Then she dropped her lawsuit and left the church.

Now I have two questions for you…

Do you believe that you should have any say over how your tithe is spent, or is it an act of faith as much as it is obedience?

If you attend a conservative church, would you leave if they adopted a gay-affirming doctrine?

Nikki and her husband Matt are using this diagnosis to bring hope to other families though an organization they are starting called Santino’s Voice, which, among other things, makes churches aware of those with special needs in their community and creates ministries to support them. (Did you know that 95% of special needs families don’t attend church?)

One more thing… this Mother’s Day week was about great mothers and the unmothered. If you haven’t read the post about trafficking, orphans, and Moldova, I hope you do. And I hope you give.

Santino’s Story

For months our son had been poked and prodded at. A neurologist told us he could have autism or he could be ADD. Santino had some autistic features such as lack of speech, occasional meltdowns, and a tendency to sway and rock instead of standing still. But he had other characteristics that were very contradictory to autism. He was affectionate, he did not have severe mood swings, and he was a good sleeper and eater. At that point the neurologist ordered an EEG and MRI, and then suggested that we could possibly medicate him.

We left with our heads spinning.

A pediatric physiologist said there was “no way” he was autistic. Hearing tests. Speech tests. “Tino point to the dog.” “Show me your nose.” On and on the evaluations went. Nobody would tell us what was wrong with our little boy.

Then, on a cold January day in 2006 we visited Dr. Richard Solomon’s office in Ann Arbor – me, my husband Matt, and our beautiful 2½-year-old son, Santino. We sat expectantly as we awaited the news. Dr. Solomon looked at me and my husband and said, “Your son is autistic. He is mild to moderate on the spectrum.” That was the very moment that God stepped in and took over.

FINALLY an answer…now we could help our son.

The journey since that January day has been paved with miraculous breakthroughs and littered with soul-crushing heartbreaks. But one thing has never changed: we aren’t walking this path…God is carrying us every step of the way.

Every day when I look at Tino, I don’t see autism; I see one of God’s most precious gifts. God has uniquely and beautifully formed our family through the blessing of this precious boy he has given us.

I have seen God through the beauty of what the world would consider imperfect, defective.

I don’t see imperfection when I see Santino. I see a boy who doesn’t know how to hurt people. He doesn’t understand the concept of being mean, he loves unconditionally, he will give anyone who asks a hug, he loves to flash the most vibrant smile and squeal with joy when he’s excited, he’s only concerned with the basics, not the excesses. When I see Santino, I see a boy who, through autism, is more tender to the heart of God than any of us could ever hope to be.

When I see my son, I see my God, and it is an awe-inspiring sight to behold.

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well” Psalm 139:13-14

What parts of your story do you see God in clearly?

Anyway, Jessica’s blog is called The Mom Creative and it is a favorite (seriously… check it out). I love it because it’s a place that allows me the freedom to celebrate motherhood sans the guilt trip for working full time. Excellent.

Crying from the Crib

My 19-month-old son is at that age where he doesn’t want to rest. He is too excited to discover the uncharted world around him.

But sometimes, he needs a nap.

In those moments, I scoop him up – one arm under his bottom and one arm around his middle, my hand gently rubbing his back. As I put him in his crib, I  kiss his cheeks, and say, “I love you Elias. It’s night-night time. Go to sleep little one.”

Sometimes he will lay right down, but more often he will fuss.

I repeat, firmly, but still lovingly, “It is night-night time, sweet boy. You need to rest.” I then walk away from the crib and him, as he cries with big crocodile tears streaming down his face.

I hate to see him so upset. But as his mother, I know that sleep is what is best for him, even if if it hard for him to understand in that moment.

So I let him cry.

As he cries, I stand outside his bedroom door with one hand on the door handle, listening and thinking, “should I go in?”

I know if I go in, he will beg me with outstretched arms to take him out of his crib. And I won’t be able to resist.

But he needs the rest.

I don’t go in. Instead, I wait.

His cries turn to whimpers.

He gets quieter.

He yells “Mammmaa!” one more time, but it doesn’t some sound desperate.

I stand outside the door, saying quietly, I’m here honey. Right here. Go to sleep. You need that sleep. I haven’t left you.

He sleeps.

Isn’t that kind of like God when we are in a hard situation?

We cry out, God, please rescue me! And it feels like he has abandoned us.

But in actuality, He is on the other side of the door, right there with us, wanting what is best for us.

Moses told Joshua in Deuteronomy 31:8 “The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

The same is true for each of us. God goes before us and is always with us – even in the times when we feel stuck like a baby in a crib.

Do you sometimes feel like God is not with you? How do you draw yourself closer to Him?

I spent the first half of Mother’s Day week talking about needing mother’s… or being Un-Mothered. Now I want to close out Mother’s Day week celebrating three friends that I think are AMAZING moms. Today’s post is from Jenni Clayville, a wonderful mom, wife, and worship pastor. You can follow her on Twitter (although I’m assuming you already do) or on her blog.

Oh, and did I mention that I love her? Ok, now that that’s out of the way here’s her post…

Invite Me

I’m sitting here watching my 4-year-old.

He grabs a little cup from one of the bottom cabinets (we put all the kids dishes where they can reach them so they can help themselves), scurries over to the fridge, fills his cup with water and drinks from it. Then he grabs a couple apple slices I’ve cut for them and runs over to his 1-year-old little brother.

“Here Paxton… want an apple?”

As they both snack, they sit side-by-side and Chance “reads” to Paxton. Then… out of nowhere… Chance says:

“Hey Mom… you wanna come and read with us?”

ABSOLUTELY!!!

I could have easily done all that water-fetching and snack-handling for Chance and Paxton… but there was so much more pride when I saw he was self-sufficiently taking care of his own needs, sharing with his brother, playing quietly… and then he invited ME to come and play with him.

I love walking alongside my kids.

I love listening to the silliest rambling and chatter their little minds offer.

I love to watch them grow.

I love holding them close and cuddling in.

I love experiencing every milestone with them.

I even love their temper tantrums because it reveals passion.

I love being WITH them.

That’s when it hit me: This is what God wants from ME!

God loves to see me taking care of myself… taking care of others… living out my purpose. He’s always present, just like I’m present with my kids… but to be invited into the simplest, daily activities of our lives?

God loves walking alongside me.

God loves listening to the silliest rambling and chatter of my mind.

God loves to watch me grow… especially if I take a lesson in with it.

God loves holding me close… in joy or in my tears.

God loves when I experience my milestones THROUGH Him.

God even loves my passionate outbursts because I’m using the feelings He gave me.

God loves being with me.

Now, only if I’d invite Him along…

What do you need to invite God into?

Then I complained to myself again (with curse words added) when I had to wait in the looooonnnnngggggg check-out line for this $207 bill. Blah.

And today I repented (or at the very least felt some very intense guilt) when I saw this picture on my friend Matthew’s (@jesusneedsnewpr) blog post. This week he is traveling on a World Vision blog trip to the Dominican Republic.

The caption read:

Wanna believe God? Witness four young Haitian refugees laugh, jump up and down, and dance for joy three-and-a-half months after losing everything in an earthquake.

This changed my perspective.

I can no longer complain that I am wealthy (by global standards) enough to shop in a supermarket.

I can no longer complain about the privilege and honor of providing for my children.

I can no longer complain about unsacrificially spending $200 on enough food to feed a small village for a month knowing that I’m only planning to feed 5 people for 2 weeks.

I can no longer complain about the chore of putting away my 82 items (did you catch that!?) in my home that has heat. And air conditioning. And bedrooms.

And I can no longer complain about not having what I want when I have the luxury to buy things like this:

$5.00 on water – as if we (unlike a large portion of the world) don’t have clean, running water from the tap.

$5.90 on Diet Coke.

$14.86 on frozen, processed foods (because we’re lazy).

$10.36 on cigarettes (talk to my husband).

Total: $$36.12 Enough to sponsor one of those beautiful girls through World Vision for one month.

I can no longer complain.

When was the last time you had something totally rock your perspective?

You can follow Matthew’s blog trip in the DR this week on his blog and find out more information on sponsoring a World Vision child for $35 per month on their website.

]]> http://www.nicolewick.com/2010/05/a-change-in-perspective/feed/ 16 http://www.nicolewick.com/2010/05/a-great-adventure/ http://www.nicolewick.com/2010/05/a-great-adventure/#comments Wed, 05 May 2010 01:45:41 +0000 Nicole http://www.nicolewick.com/?p=2110

It’s a very, very sad day here in Detroit. Mr. Ernie Harwell, the voice of Tiger baseball for 42 seasons, died of cancer at age 92. Ernie was an icon in this city, and I’m sure he always will be. He was an amazing Detroiter, husband, and Christian.

Last month my friend Tammy (@inprogress) posted a confession on her blog about her fear of death. I agreed with her. I had to go back and read that post after I saw a tribute to Ernie in the Detroit Free Press this afternoon. Here’s what it said:

“In an emotional farewell ceremony at Comerica Park, in his columns for the Free Press and in interviews with national media, Harwell referred to death as his next great adventure, a gift handed down by God.”

I pray that my faith will grow until I see death as an adventure with God, a gift to be welcomed rather than feared. The video tribute below will give you a glimpse into this man’s faith. Heads up: If you are from Detroit or love baseball you may want to grab a tissue. Wow.

Thank you for sharing your adventure with us, Mr. Harwell. You’ll be missed.

How about you? Is death something you fear? Is it your next adventure?