The Best of 2010: Society's Image of Perfection

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Welcome to The Best of 2010.
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Original run date: August 30, 2010

As I sat in the folding chair, gazing through the large viewing window, I watched my tiny ballerina point her toes and move gracefully through her first position into tondue. Or was it fondue? Or plie? I have no earthly clue, seeing as my entire history of dance began in the 1980’s, where I and my friends gathered in nightclubs-turned-teen-spots, and be-bopped to Get into the Groove. I’d like to say I’m slightly more cultured than that, but I’d be lying.

Anyhoo, there stood my little Elliana, shoulder-to-shoulder with five other preschoolers, learning proper form and technique under the careful instruction of Miss Nelly, their dance teacher. Between toe taps and leg raises, Elliana turned around, scrunched her face into an exaggerated smile and waved wildly at me, just to make sure I was still watching.  She makes me giggle with that scrunchy nose.

In my complete and utter love for that child, I admired her flawless dark skin—so unlike mine (which is fair and sun-damaged); her shiny straight black hair—the complete opposite of mine (which is blond-turning gray and wavy); and her chubby thighs—exactly like mine.

Sharing neither our genetic make-up nor our country of origin, chances are absolutely zero she will look anything like me, ever in her life. Unless, of course, she hangs on to those thighs.

And neither will she ever look like anyone else…

Every one of those five little dancers had a size and shape unique to themselves. The little girl next to Elliana was a full head taller with pink skin and sun-bleached blond hair. The girl on the other side of her was petite, with curly brown hair and legs so thin they looked like they could crack if she landed too hard from her tiny leap. Different shapes and sizes. Different hair types and physical features.

And the most striking thing to me that day, was that none of them could have cared less.

Here were five little girls in their purest, most undefiled form. No dieting. No implants. No highlights or tanning beds. None of them had been affected by the cover of Glamour or an episode of What Not to Wear. None of them had ever experienced the sting of rejection because of the size of her nose, her feet or her rear end.

None of them looked anything like the girl standing by her side. Yet each one was entirely gorgeous and at the same time entirely oblivious to their distinctions.

It hurts my heart to think in the not-too-distant future, Elliana may come to despise her olive-toned skin or may want to perm and/or highlight that shiny black hair. I wonder if she will encounter racial prejudice because of her ethnicity or unfair wages because of her gender. I wonder if a mean-spirited child will someday call her “short” or “fat” or “ugly.”

Why do we do it to each other? To ourselves? Why do we take our uniquely made bodies and insist they conform to society’s single image of perfection? Why do we straighten our curly hair and curl our straight hair? Why do we tan our light skin? Bleach our dark hair? Blush our pale cheeks? Why do we wear high heels to lengthen our legs and structured jackets to minimize our waistlines? Who decided that Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie were the standard of perfection?

That’s right. Brad Pitt. But who decided that we all had to listen to Brad Pritt?

I remember in a college psychology class seeing an old documentary from 1968, where Jane Elliot, a teacher from an all-white Iowa town, divided her third-grade class into blue-eyed and brown-eyed groups. During part of the week, the blue-eyed children got special treatment: they got to sit in the front of the class, they got treats and rewards, they got extra recess time, while the brown-eyed students did not. Then later in the week, the teacher switched the class, and the brown eyes got all the special treatment while the blue eyes did not. Talk about a lesson in discrimination.

As a young Christian in a secular college watching this program, I was forever changed. I will never forget the image of a little boy sitting alone in the corner of his classroom crying, simply because someone called him “brown eyes.” I vowed that day that I would never, ever judge another person by a physical feature.

Just the other day, my older daughter came home from middle school sullen and sad. Why? Because three people that day called her “short.” Never mind her long wavy blond hair, her stunning blue eyes, her dazzling smile, her kind-hearted mannerisms, her intellect and wit, her spunk and energy, her ability to calm an animal and play the violin, or her tender heart toward the Lord. Never mind all of that. Someone decided she wasn’t tall enough. Someone decided her height was an issue. Someone decided to judge her against Society's Standard of Perfection.

It wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last. I just pray for God to equip me as a parent and follower of Christ to respond with grace and love.

Oh Lord, in a world where we glamorize the most ridiculous things—plump lips and polished toenails, of all things—where the superficial is erected far above the eternal every single day, please teach us to value what You value. To cultivate the fruit of the Spirit more than we cultivate the appearance of our aging complexions.

In a nation where we cannot drive more than a few hundred yards without billboards screaming “YOU DON’T HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO BE HAPPY” teach us to remember that we have YOU, and YOU are all we will ever need to be happy.


Lord, I pray you teach me how to respond properly to this sinful, fallen and sadly mistaken world, so I can show my girls how to find their value in You and only You.

God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. 

(John 4:16-17)
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Coming up on Wednesday, January 5th: I’ll be sharing some of my resolutions for 2011 and want to read about YOURS! I’ll have a linky thing ready to go. Get your New Year’s Resolution posts ready and link up next Wednesday.

Guest Post: Restoring Your Faith During a Financial Crisis

When I stopped working some 16 years ago to stay home with my son, my CPA husband calculated that we would be about $500 short every month on our bills. We really felt like we were being obedient to what the Lord was calling me to do - to be a stay-at-home mom - so we trusted and prayed for Him to provide. And He has.

During the past sixteen years, there have been times of famine and times of feasting. During those times of famine, we stood on the promises of Psalm 91 and God walked us through. When my husband lost his job, we were not fearful and, miraculously, we were able to pay all of our bills. When times got tough again and I needed to supplement our income, God provided a way for me to work from home. God has always provided for all of our needs.

It's wasn't our needs that could have gotten us into financial difficulty through the years, it was our wants. When I wanted that new van because the electrical system was going in the old one, I had to be patient and wait until we could afford it.

Recently I came upon a scripture that I thought I knew but then realized that I had failed to live out the most important part. I knew the first part and stood on it during many difficult times, "And whatever you ask in My name, that will I do..." (John 14:12)

But I failed to read and practice the entire verse. "And whatever you ask in My name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son." (John 14:13)

Wow! I had left out a pretty critical part. Knowing that changed my whole prayer life. I wanted God to meet my financial needs to make my life easier. Period. Sure, there were times I wanted the Lord to meet a need so that my children would see that prayer was powerful and God would provide. But, if I'm honest, most of my prayers focused on ME! Taking the focus off of me and putting it rightfully on God, changed my heart. Taking time each day to ask the Lord to be glorified through my life, changed my life.

My finances matter to God. Just as everything about me matters to God. But whether I have a new van or an old one, a job that provides all my needs and a lot of my wants or am living without the means to pay my bills, God cares. And He promises that whatever I ask in His name, that He will do, so that the Father may be glorified in the son. That's a promise I can take to the bank!

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Kathy Rothaar is a freelance writer who lives in Long Island, New York with her husband and three kids. She is a guest blogger for My Dog Ate My Blog and a writer on accredited online colleges for Guide to Online Schools.

Best of 2010: Use Your Power for Good

Maybe you missed this post the first time around. Maybe you'd like to see it again.
Welcome to The Best of 2010.
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Original run date: June 30, 2010

Five years ago, I sat across the table from an editor at my very first writer’s conference. I thought God gifted me to write, so I spent the previous year crafting my very first manuscript and book proposal. Fifty-three thousand words and 19 chapters later, I kissed my babies and my husband goodbye and boarded a flight to God’s Plan For My Life.

Sporting fresh highlights, a structured jacket and cute shoes, I walked confidently into that 15-minute appointment expecting Mr. Major Publisher Editor Man to, I don’t know, do a back flip or something.

Instead, he asked some questions, listened as I answered, and offered a few suggestions. Then he graciously accepted my proposal and set it on top of the growing pile of proposals sitting on the table.

Next.

I went home trying to decide how to spend my book advance and who should watch my kids when I departed for my upcoming world-wide book tour.

Six months later, I received a generic e-mail saying, “Thanks. But no thanks.”

It is frustrating when we know God has given us a gift, yet the utilization of that gift appears to be in the hands of others—publishers, editors and agents in far away offices somewhere—most of whom don’t know us personally, and really couldn’t care less about our gift or God’s Plan for Our Lives.

So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground.
(Matthew 25:25)

After one rejection—or in my case, multiple rejections—it’s tempting to wonder if maybe we’ve completely missed the boat. “Maybe God didn’t gift me to write after all.” Like a bad American Idol audition. Everyone knows you’re a terrible singer except you and your momma.

Or perhaps we start thinking that God, indeed, gifted us to write, but not so others could actually read it. Maybe all the snot and emotional toil involved in giving birth to a manuscript is more about the journey to purification, and not at all about the journey to publication. Maybe He’s calling us to write for Him and Him alone. In the privacy of our hearts, minds and journals. With nary another human to ever lay eyes on the manifestation of our God-given gift.

“If all I ever do is write for an Audience of One, I will have fulfilled my purpose and glorified God.”

*Sigh*

At first glance, this sounds so humble. So obedient. Tres self-sacrificing, does it not?

But what does the Bible say?

You may be giving thanks well enough, but the other man is not edified.
(I Corinthians 14:17)

I mean, does God ever really give us a gift, a talent, an ability of any sort and then tell us to use it only for Him and no one else?

It was he who gave some to be apostles, some to be prophets, some to be evangelists, and some to be pastors and teachers, to prepare God's people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.
(Ephesians 4:11-12)

I’ve searched the Scriptures concerning this, and I’m thinking the answer is a resounding “no.” He does not.

Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good.
(I Corinthians 12:7)


Certainly, there are seasons where God may ask us to lay something down—to cease utilization of the God-given gift so He can accomplish something greater in us or through us. Shoot, that’s the story of my life, pretty much. “Wait, Sandy. Not yet, Sandy. Hold your doggon horses, Sandy.” Does God say “doggon”? Maybe that part was just me.

Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.
(Matthew 5:15-16)

And certainly, God’s road almost never looks the way we think it should. What looks like rejection is usually more like a “Trust Me on this one. I’m doing something gigantic here involving a whole lot of other people.” We have a hard time seeing that, having only our meager human perspective, and all.

I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God,
(II Timothy 1:6)


But I’m convinced, if God gifted us for anything—to write or to lead or to hit a baseball or to decorate a house—He did not do it so we would go into our prayer closets and hide it there. No, He gifted us for the sole intention of building up His Church.

Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.
(Romans 12:4-8)


Seriously, consider this. What if C.S. Lewis had concluded his analytical mind and gift of communication was for God only? What if Beth Moore had decided her gift of teaching was really only between her and her Savior? What if Chris Tomlin had determined God only wanted Him to sing in the shower? Billy Graham, to only preach at the mirror?

Sandy Cooper to only write in her journal?

YOU to only (fill in the blank)?

Do not neglect your gift, which was given you through a prophetic message when the body of elders laid their hands on you.
(I Timothy 4:14)

I’ve never been more convinced than I am today that God gifts us for a divine purpose, and He accomplishes that purpose through us when we use our gifts to serve other people. He receives all the glory when we discover our place in His Church and use our gifts to draw others close to Him. I think God just beams with Holy delight when we discover who He created us to be and then find ways to blossom in the Church.

Since you are eager to have spiritual gifts, try to excel in gifts that build up the church.
(I Corinthians 14:12)

What is your talent? When other’s see you, what makes them say, “Wow, you’re really good at this!” What activity feels easy and fun to you? What makes you lose track of time?

I challenge you today to embrace that thing and own it—find ways to improve it and grow it. If a door closes, go knock on another one. If someone rejects your gift, ask God to show you others who need it. Think outside the box.

Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. (I Peter 4:10)

Consider that maybe if you think God is asking you to use your talents for Him only, what He really might be asking is for you to go nuts exploring ways you can refine your talents and be the best version of you possible.

Don't hide.  Don't be afraid. Put yourself out there and serve others with the amazing and unique talent he has given you.

It's Still All About Jesus

Dear Friends,

It's Christmas night and my entire house is asleep but me.  The children have been up since 5:30 am and have eaten little more than candy canes and cookies today.  Just as it should be.  I am making last minute preparations for more family Christmas celebrations over the next week.  Jon and I have lots of family.  Lots of family equals lots of Christmas.

I hope you are enjoying the Best of 2010 series and the fantastic guest posts, while I enjoy some much-needed time with my loved ones over the holidays. I am thoroughly enjoying my blog break, but I am so anxious to get back in here and catch up with all of you.

I came across this video today and had to sneak on my computer to post it.  I thought it was highly appropriate for my blog and Facebook friends.  Though most of us only share a digital connection, I so highly esteem our friendship.  And though times have changed, Christmas is still all about Jesus.

Merry Christmas.

The Best of 2010: Freedom to Screw Up

Maybe you missed this post the first time around. Maybe you'd like to see it again.
Welcome to The Best of 2010.
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Original run date: May 5, 2010

In a past life, I worked outside the home. After I graduated from college with a degree in General Communication, I landed a job at State Farm Insurance as a Bodily Injury Claims Representative. A BI Claim Rep handles claims for injured people from the time they are reported to the insurance company until they are completely settled. Fender-benders and total losses, neck pain and death claims, lawsuits and liability—a B.I Claim Rep must become an expert in all of it.

Even though I was friendly and approachable, injured people were not very nice to me. You know those daytime commercials where the trustworthy attorney with slick hair and a cheap suit tells you that if you are injured in an accident, YOU MUST NEVER COOPERATE WITH THE INSURANCE COMPANY?

Yeah….

And you know how when your car is in the shop and your neck hurts and you can’t work and you just want to scream at someone to vent off your frustration about the stupid jerk who ran his car into you?


Yeah…

Turns out, no amount of approachability can counteract a cheesy daytime ambulance-chaser's commercial coupled with neck pain. Nor does a degree in General Communication prepare you for determining who ran the red light or whether the injury sustained in this accident was partially the result of a pre-existing condition.

I was inexperienced. I was a new Christian. I was single. I was a certified People-Pleasing Perfectionist. I wanted so badly to do a well in my first real job, but had no idea what the heck I was doing. So, as a 21 year-old who was just handed a ton of grown-up responsibility, it didn’t take long for me to have my first official freak out moment.

I was working over a holiday weekend, trying to catch up on the hundreds of pending files demanding my attention, when my Divisional Superintendent walked into the office.

*Gulp*

This would be my boss’ boss. The guy in the corner office. Who didn’t much mingle with the mere mortal claim reps. And here he was looming over my cubicle wall.

I was certain he was wondering why I was so far behind in my work that I’d have to come in on Labor Day. Why I was taking so long to catch on? Why I didn’t manage my time better during the week? I braced myself for the correction and firm instruction I was about to receive.

Instead, he set down his brief case, took off his coat, picked up my giant stack of files and said, “C’mon, follow me.”

We went to his corner office, where we sat cross-legged on the floor. He opened up the first file and said, “Okay. Let’s work on these together.” One-by-one, for hours and hours, we sat going through each file, while he patiently explained the best methods for working an insurance claim from beginning to end.

As I was packing up my stuff to go home, he looked at me and said, “Sandy, there is not a mistake you can make here that will be so bad you will lose your job. Except if you bring a fire arm on the premises or try to sell people illegal drugs…that would be bad…but other than that, there isn’t anything.” Then smiling warmly he said, “Relax.”

From that point on, I had a new confidence in my role. Not because I had learned a lot (though I did), but because I knew I had the freedom to screw up. And though it may be counterintuitive, it didn’t make me feel free to goof off and work half-heartedly. Instead, it made me want to work all the harder to do a good job. Not out of fear, but out of respect for my boss and the company that employed me.

Isn’t that such a picture of God’s love and grace? We find ourselves in overwhelming situations. Situations way too difficult for us to handle alone. We strive to do our best. We want to please God. We want to do our jobs well. Afraid of heavenly backlash, we try all the harder. When God draws near, we cower, bracing ourselves for harsh judgment. For chastisement. For discipline.

Instead, God lifts the burden and says, “Come on, follow me.” Then He gently instructs and guides us through the difficult process. He doesn’t condemn. He doesn’t chastise. Instead, He instructs. He guides, He leads, He loves.

Then just when we fear we’ve used our one and only get-out-of-jail-free card, He tells us there is nothing—absolutely nothing—we can do so bad that will ever separate us from His love. There is nothing we can do so bad that He won’t forgive us. Again. And again. And again.

Amazing Grace. Logic says it will cause us to take advantage of God’s love. But reality reveals a new freedom to move confidently into our divine calling.

Best of 2010: The Craziness That is My Brain

Maybe you missed this post the first time around. Maybe you'd like to see it again.
Welcome to The Best of 2010.
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Original run date: April 23, 2010

Remember my rapid weight gain? The 12-ish (now 18-ish!) pounds I gained over a few week’s time in the fall that continues to cling to my butt and thighs like a frightened toddler? And remember how after going to my gynecologist and a nutritionist, I went to yet another doctor last week to see if anything funky was going on with me?

Well, blood tests reveal nothing funky with me whatsoever. It’s official: I’m healthy.

I should be really happy about that. And I am. Health is a gift and I do not take that for granted. I’ve worked really hard to maintain my health and be a good steward of this body God has given me, because, as it turns out, this is the only body I get.

But part of me (the fat part) wants to have a physical reason beyond my control for my stubborn weight. Something to blame so I don’t have to give up ice cream. Or spend even more time on the elliptical. Or lift heavier weights. Or try harder.

Waaaaaa! I want my mommy.

So, now I must decide what, if anything, I should do about my lingering 12-ish (18-ish!) pounds. My thoughts fluctuate hourly. Sometimes minutely (minutely?). My logical and analytical brain sways to and fro, trying to properly balance and place these 12 (18!!!!) little annoying friends of mine.

Here is a peek inside my brain to see what I mean (parents, shield the eyes of your little ones…it’s scary in there!)

Hour One: Slowing metabolism is a normal part of aging. For the love of all that is right and good, why can’t we just give each other permission to age gracefully without putting so much pressure on ourselves and one another to fight it? Aging is beautiful. It’s natural. It’s God’s design.

Hour Two: I need potatoes for dinner…I’ll grab this 5 pound bag right here. Oh my word. The weight I gained is more than double the amount of this bag of potatoes, and every bit as lumpy! That’s it, I’m exercising until every last lump is gone. And I am only buying fruits and veggies while I’m here. Salad for dinner. And breakfast. And lunch. No dressing.

Hour Three: You know, I look cute today. I love the way these clothes look on me. If I just stop trying to squeeze into skinny clothes, and instead wear clothes that actually flatter my figure, it’s not too bad. I actually look great.

Hour Four: Oh crap! I can’t get these shorts buttoned from last summer! And these were my FAT shorts!! Party’s over, people. TO THE GYM WITH YOU, CHUBBY ONE!

Hour Five: Is 12 (18?!?) pounds really that big of a deal? It’s just a number on the scale, right? It’s bondage, I tell you. If I just concentrate on my health and stop worrying how much I weigh, I’ll stay well-balanced and focused on the right things.

Hour Six: Sure, it’s just a number, but 12-ish pounds a year adds up quickly. Let it go, and in just 4 years I will be 50 pounds overweight. That’s exactly how it happens. It’s much easier and healthier to keep weight off than to try to lose it. Besides excess weight is terrible for me—increasing my risk of all kinds of diseases and adverse health conditions.

Hour Seven: Mmmmmm….ice cream.

Hour Eight: I’m such a fool! Why did I waste 500 calories on ice cream? Think of how many times I’ll have to listen to that dumb recording of Hearing God in the Midst of Chaos to burn this off. So NOT worth it.

Hour Nine: Ya know, I look pretty good for a 41-year-old mother of four. Hott. With two “t’s.” Phat. With a “PH.”

Hour Ten: EEEEEEK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Look at how fat my legs are in this picture from vacation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FAT with an “F”!!!! FAT with an "F"!!!!!

Hour Eleven: Getting this weight off will be too hard. I’ve already tried for the last few months and it’s just not budging. I don’t want to try harder. If after all I do to stay in shape, my body remains this weight, then this weight I shall be.

Hour Twelve: I can do anything I set my mind to do. God’s strength in me is more powerful than the temptation to eat too much or move too little. Since when is it OK to let my fleshly desires dictate how I live? Everything in life worth anything is difficult. Raising godly kids is difficult. Having a great marriage is difficult. Loving people is difficult. Who cares if it is difficult? Stop your whining, Sandy, and do the hard work to get this done.

Which is exactly where I am right now. I am going to get off this computer and have a killer work out. I am going to eat healthy whole foods in proper portion sizes. I am going to get up tomorrow and do it all again. And the next day. And the next day. Until one-by-one all 12 of my little friends melt away into oblivion.

I better go before I change my mind.

The Best of 2010: The Language of Love

Maybe you missed this post the first time around. Maybe you'd like to see it again.
Welcome to The Best of 2010.
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Original run date: Septemeber 7, 2010

A few years ago, I read a little book by Gary Chapman called, The Five Love Languages. You may have heard of it. If you are one of the seven people in the world (including my husband) who have yet to read it, I just gotta tell ya, it will open your eyes to yourself and all the people around you. It’s one of those books that’s so basic, yet so profound. It has the potential to completely revolutionize a marriage.

So, imagine my excitement when my pastor’s wife decided to dedicate an entire teaching series to this book and the topic of Love Languages. Finally, Jon and I would have the marriage I always dreamed of. A marriage of mutual understanding. A marriage where we succeed at receiving and expressing love.

She sent us home from the first night of teaching with a simple assignment: Ask your spouse, “What can I do to show you that I love you?” Then write it down. And do it.

I was so stinkin’ excited. For the first time in like, EVER, we would have a real discussion about how to make each other happy. Seriously, what woman does not dream of connecting with her husband on a verbal level? It’s marriage nirvana, I tell you.

Being primarily a “Quality Time” girl, I could think of so many things Jon could do to express love to me, I had a hard time narrowing it down:

~ Call me if you're going to be late—or better yet, don’t be late at all

~hug and kiss me hello BEFORE you start to open mail


~linger with me after dinner and ask about my day, even though you know it pretty much consists of wiping bottoms and folding laundry

~remember that the news paper and Sports Center are not invited to the dinner table


Easy.

He wouldn’t need to write down my list, cuz I took the liberty to write it down for him, probably about 30 things. I’m not even kidding. I was so ready to take our relationship up a notch, and this question, “What can I do to show you that I love you?” was going to open the doors to wedded bliss.

So, armed with my list, a notebook and a pen (to be certain I took copious notes on whatever Jon said), I sat down with Jon to discuss love.

I could hardly contain myself and my list. I wanted to just bust out and say, “HERE’S MY LIST!!!!!” But I knew the loving thing would be to let Jon go first. So, I asked him, “Okay, what can I do to show you that I love you, Jon?”

“I don’t know.”

I knew he’d need a minute to gather his thoughts, so I coaxed a little. “C’mon, honey. Just tell me. What would make you feel more loved and secure in our relationship?”

“Buy me chips,” he said.





*blink. blink. blink.* 




“Buy you chips? As in potato chips?”

“Yeah. You never buy chips and I like chips.”

Excuse me, but what the heck love language is “Buy Chips”? “That’s it. Buy you chips and you will be happy.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

So I wrote on my notebook, “Buy chips.” And I went to Publix the next day and bought chips. That was eight years ago. And I’m happy to say, I’m still a virtual Love Machine, what with all the chip-buying, and all.

Welcome to The Pantry of Love

Guest Post: Lies and Cow Pies

I have no idea whose cows they were, or why I was wandering around with them in their enclosure -- wearing a dress, mind you. I was only five, we were visiting my grandmother, the grownups wanted to go see somebody (probably relatives) and their cows, and I was along for the ride whether I wanted to go or not. I only knew it was chilly and wet, and that I was almost up to my pristine little shoelaces in mud.

As a dedicated tomboy, I didn't mind dirt one bit, as long as I was dressed for it. No sir, put me in old play clothes and I was good with soil, dirt, dust, sand or even grass stains, but mud was another matter. Especially thick, squishy mud that smelled of cows and was getting all over my new red tennies. (If you're too young to remember "tennies" try Dictionary.com.) The grownups kept talking and talking, as I picked my way around in mud that seemed to cover the earth; there was no escape from its squishiness.

Then a cow stepped away from in front of me and I saw it, over near the fence: a rock that stood at least three inches above the mud, and was large and flat enough to stand on. I squished my way toward it. At last, something solid. At last I could get up out of this miry clay I was in. Imagine the relief and confidence I felt as I jumped up with both feet to land right on top of that one bit of solid rock. Imagine my dismay as both feet sank right through the "rock" and I found myself standing, this time up to the top of my pristine little ankle socks, in cow manure.

The thing is, I really believed that cow pie was a rock. It looked like a rock. I wanted it to be a rock. I didn't just intellectually agree that it was a rock; I actually placed my entire weight on it, depending upon it to be a rock. But no matter the depth and sincerity of my belief, the thing I had placed my faith in was still a cow pie. Not a rock.

I was wrong.

About ten years later, something similar happened, only this time I got it right. You see, I knew that Jesus Christ had died for my sins and had risen from the dead, but I had never actually placed my faith in Him. I believed the facts about Him but had not jumped up onto the Rock of Ages with both feet. Then one night as I fretted over eternity and where I would spend it and how I could be sure, I just jumped. All I said was "Yes," but just like that, God forgave my sin. My fear and guilt vanished, replaced by a deep sense of safety. This time, the "rock" turned out to be as solid as I had hoped.

It was not written as humor, but I want to laugh every time I read Psalm 40. The first two verses read,

"I waited patiently for the LORD;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm." (NIV)

Whenever I read these sentences I think of my cow pie and the Rock. Truth goes on being true whether I believe it or not. And lies, no matter how plausible or appealing they may seem from my perspective, will never bear my weight.

Be careful what you believe. Take it from me, putting your hope in the wrong thing can leave you feeling pooped.

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Janice Johnson is a full-time wife, an empty-nest mom, and a part-time freelance writer for a group of local-interest magazines. She loves the Lord Jesus but struggles to balance her "to-do" list with her "to-be" list (be prayerful, loving, joyful, peaceful, kind...) In her spare time she likes gardening, bicycling and reading. Tends to laugh a lot, misplace her glasses, spoil both dogs, and forget things when packing for trips. You can read more of her writing on her blog, Joywriting: Everybody Has a Story

The Best of 2010: Get in Over Your Head

Maybe you missed this the first time around. Maybe you'd like to see it again. Welcome to the Best of 2010

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Original run date:  February 1, 2010

For nearly three years, I was the Preschool and Nursery Director at my church. I accepted the position when Rebekah was 2-years-old and Elijah was just a glimmer in our pile of adoption paperwork. During that time, I overhauled the department, quite literally. We moved into a new building that required an extensive build-out: transforming a doctor’s office complex to a nursery and preschool wing.

For months I pored over classroom supply catalogues and wall-paper samples. I made decisions about where to knock down walls and where to add sinks and cabinets. I spent hours and hours in nearly every craft and home improvement store in the greater Jacksonville, Florida area hunting for just the right accents to transform those cold, plain rooms into the warm and welcoming children’s department I envisioned.

Lest you think I have some background in interior design or construction, let me clarify things for you. I was clueless. I mean completely. Clueless. With a capital C. When I accepted the position to oversee the department, I knew how to transform the teacher training methods. I was all over the curriculum choices. I was ready to sanitize toys, and recruit workers and cast vision for hiding the Word in the hearts of the children. But oversee a build-out? You’re kidding, right? Don’t we have people for that?

Apparently we did. And it was ME.

I kicked and screamed and cried and complained. I did NOT want this responsibility. By this time, I had two babies at home and zero experience. That’s a recipe for one ugly children’s wing. But it was no use. I was it. I reluctantly moved forward with my assignment, knowing I was in way over my head.

One late night, I was in the church alone. I was tired. I was crabby. I was painting grass on the wall. On my hands and knees armed with three shades of green, I cried and complained with every angry brush-stroke.

“I can’t do this, God. I don’t paint. I don’t design things. I’m not creative. I have no idea what walls need to stay or go. What if I tell them to knock down the wrong wall and the whole building collapses? Why would you ask me to do something I clearly am not gifted or equipped to do? I don’t know what the heck I’m doing.”

And then through my tears and exhaustion, I sat back on my heals and looked at everything I had just painted. And I said something really profound,

“Hey! That looks like grass."

And in a micro-second, God clarified my purpose there. Getting me in over my head was all part of His plan. Leading me to a place where I felt ill-equipped and inexperienced forced me to lean on the only One who could help. Who better than the Creator of real grass to help me paint fake grass on a wall?

“My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness. Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.” (II Corinthians 12:9-10 The Message)

Looking back, those three years serving as Nursery and Preschool Director were probably the most spiritually rewarding years of my life, thus far. God stretched me, pulled me and pushed me far beyond my natural abilities. He drew me in closely and showed me some wonderful things He could create through me, once I stopped complaining long enough to trust Him. He purged some nasty attitudes and preconceived ideas I harbored deep within my heart—attitudes about myself and those around me.

He placed me under a pastor and his wife who saw something in me I did not see in myself. They entrusted me with huge responsibility not because I was an expert in building demolition, but because they knew I’d run to God for help.

While at the time my mantra was, “I don’t know what the heck I’m doing,” I look back over that season now and I think, “Wow! Look what God did through me!”

All of that pushing, pulling, stretching, purging and trusting paved the way for crystal clarity. It was during those three years I learned beyond a shadow of a doubt God speaks today, He speaks directly to me and I can hear Him when I listen.

I'm at (in) Courage Today!

It's halfway between Thanksgiving and Christmas!

Are you and your bathroom scale still on speaking terms? 

This post may be just the encouragement you need to help you navigate the holiday buffet tables

and keep the scale in it's rightful place! 

Click here to read The Scale.

The Best of 2010: Return to Center

Maybe you missed this post the first time around. Maybe you'd like to see it again.
Welcome to The Best of 2010.
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Original run date: January 13, 2010

In the fall of 1998, I knelt in front of my blue denim couch in the family room of my Florida home, and I prayed. I don’t remember the time of day or anything else about that day, except I was on my knees begging God for clarity. After months of barely existing following the death of my son, I was on the brink of a new phase of healing. I had no idea how this prayer and the answer I received would shape the rest of my life.

Losing Noah broke me in places I didn’t know could break. My child’s absence left me questioning every single thing I previously knew about faith in God and His goodness toward His own children. The ache of this loss surpassed anything I had ever experienced—before or since—in both intensity and duration.

I’m not sure how true this is, but I had always heard that God will have us repeat certain circumstances until we learn the designated life lesson of that circumstance. For me, that was frightening news.

And so, partly out of desperation and partly out of fear of future pain, I knelt in front of my blue denim couch and asked God—a God I wasn’t entirely sure had my best interest in mind—to answer one simple question:

“What do you want me to ‘get’ from this trial so I won’t need to repeat this life lesson ever again? Please tell me. Say it clearly. I’m listening.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting to hear. But I can tell you, after what seemed like a lot of silence from the mouth of God regarding the death of my baby, I wasn’t expecting a whole lot. If He did say something to me that day, I was expecting maybe something about changing my stubborn will or fixing my rotten attitude. Or perhaps something about shutting my big mouth or keeping control over my bad temper. There was so much in me to fix, I was sure God had a nice long laundry list of things He wanted me go “get.”

Immediately after I cried out this sincere prayer to God, I heard an answer so clear, it may as well have been audible. In the depths of my heart, I heard God say,

“Love God and love other people.”

Now, for most of you, this may be a no-brainer—the whole love God, love other people thing. But for me, I wasn’t even sure it was scriptural.

I’m not sure where I had been the previous 12 years of serving in church, but it wasn’t there. Whereas most believers center their lives on loving God and serving others, I had gotten entangled in a lot of doctrinal debates over proper methods of water baptism and whether believers in different denominations were truly “saved” if they didn’t interpret certain passages exactly like my church did. In fact, I had spent countless hours (years, even) in one chapter of scripture trying to figure out if it was OK for women to cut their hair.

I’m not kidding even a little bit.

And so…needless to say…I sort of missed the whole point of Christianity. And in the aftermath of the worst life storm known to a mother’s heart, God wanted to make sure I understood what really mattered to Him more than anything else. More than baptismal formulas or denominational barriers or lengths of hair. More than my stubborn will or my rotten attitude or my big mouth or my temper. What mattered to God more than anything else was simply that I loved Him and loved others.

I immediately opened my Bible and searched for something that confirmed what I thought God said to me.

I’m still not kidding. I honestly didn’t know if it was scriptural.

Imagine my shock when I found this:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.'This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'[c] All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."

Matthew 22:36-39

Well there it was…right there in black and white. (okay, red) Plain as day. How I missed that, I have no clue. But miss it, I did.

I realize my experience is extreme and unfortunate—on so many levels. Trust me, I get that. But I also realize that while you may not be spending your time debating hair length or grieving the death of your child, you may be walking around in a spiritual fog because you don’t understand what really matters to God. In all your attempts to know Him and serve Him and hear Him, you somehow get sidetracked with religion or with life or personal preferences or busyness and miss the point completely: That everything God requires of you flows from first loving Him with your whole heart, soul and mind, and second, from loving other people.

If we aren’t beginning there, everything else we do matters very little. If we aren’t starting there, everything else we do makes very little sense. If we aren’t LIVING there, we may be begging God to speak to us about one thing when all the while He’s trying to bring us back to center. Back to the thing that matters more to Him than anything else. Back to simply loving Him and loving others in the purest sense.

God Spoke to Me Through Crayons and Disney Princesses

“Mommy, will you color with me?”

Again? (that’s what I’m thinking)

“Um, sure, ok…just let me finish these dishes.” (that’s what I’m saying)

As I sat next to my four-year-old at the table, I carefully selected a shade of orange from her assortment of broken and peeled crayons, so I could properly color Cinderella's skin. Instead of relishing the moment of interaction with my daughter, my mind raced through all the housework and blog-writing I intended to accomplish that day. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pay attention to my daughter. I love my daughter. I know she is more important than mopped floors and current blog posts.

But I also understand that my role as Wife, Mother and Primary Manager of the Home does not always afford me the luxury of playing all day. On this particular day--a day I purposely set aside for specific tasks--“coloring a princess picture” was very low on my list of priorities.

I tried to act interested and engaged. I admired the lovely shade of blue she chose to dominate Snow White.

But, secretly, I was watching the clock until five full minutes passed. If I color for five full minutes, I can step away from the table guilt-free and move on to mopping.

But God had other plans for me. He took the opportunity to initiate a little chat. In an unexpected God-moment, I heard the voice of the Lord whisper to my heart, “Whatever you do for the least of these, you do for Me. (Matthew 25). Me, Sandy. You are doing this for Me. If I asked you to color with Me, would you only give Me five minutes, sit there frustrated, and watch the clock the entire time?”

Goodness. God certainly knows how to get straight to the heart of the matter, doesn’t He. See, every single morning, I sincerely pray for God to help me make the most of every opportunity (my focus for 2010). To help me use every second of the day for His glory. To be as efficient as possible—not so I can get a ton of things accomplished (though, I thoroughly enjoy that), but so God can use me in some way to advance His kingdom. That’s my prayer. Every single day.

Before God whispered, this coloring-moment was not much more than a little intrusion into my well-planned day (and a revelation that it’s time to buy Elliana new, unbroken, unpeeled crayons.) But suddenly, with God’s voice and Spirit to guide me, this moment transformed into something Sacred, Anointed, in His perfect will. Not just a task to distract me from my long list of REAL duties. Not something that insulted my intelligence or wasted my college education (am I the only stay-at-home-mom who sometimes feels this way when she’s coloring princesses?), but a genuine opportunity to serve God in an intimately meaningful way: Loving God by loving my daughter. And not just performing the task so that she would be satisfied and quit asking me to color, but doing so fully engaged, with a willing and joyful attitude.

Funny how we can fool our children, but we can’t fool God. He’s always looking at the heart.

Since that God-moment at the kitchen table, I’ve considered the other “previously intrusive segments of my day” and imagined what God might think of them…

Dirty little boy socks and underwear picked up from a cluttered bedroom floor (You do it for Me)

Miles driven to and hours spent in carpool lines (You do it for Me)

Multiplication flash cards flipped, and flipped, and flipped (You do it for Me)

Gentle and repeated reminders to brush teeth, make beds and turn off lights (You do it for Me)

Healthy lunches purchased and packed, when it would be so much easier to let them buy the gross school lunch (You do it for Me)

Standing in the doorway of the grocery store with a cart full of melting groceries while my daughter rides the horsey “just one more time.” (You do it for Me)

I know every moment I spend doing things for my children is precious and meaningful.  But sometimes I forget that God is just as pleased with me during these ordinary and mundane moments as He is during big, life-altering moments.  I pray this week I will remember, I'm not just doing it for them...I'm doing it for Him.

And whoever receives and accepts and welcomes one little child like this for My sake and in My name receives and accepts and welcomes Me (Matthew 18:5 AMP)


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Congrats to Emily!  You won a copy of
Little Star. 
I'll contact you for your address.
Thanks to all who entered.

A Great Christmas Book for Kids: Little Star (win a copy!)

A king is about to be born!  The stars in the heavens are competing to shine the brightest to celebrate his birth.  But when they see the poor family, the donkey, the shabby stable, the stars all think, "This can't possibly be a king.  We've been fooled."

All except one.  The smallest, loneliest star in the sky, Little Star, is the only one to understand what the king is about to bring to the world.  But what can Little Star do for him?

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I love reading to my kids.  Shoot, I still crawl into bed and read with my 6th-grader!  So when I find a book worthy of kid-reading, I like to recommend it.  That's how I feel about Anthony DeStefano's book, Little Star.

We've already established that I stink at writing book reviews.  So rather than come up with clever wording to describe its content and value, I'll simply say, this is a sweet book and you should get it for the kid on your Christmas list.  All of the Cooper kids have read it and love it.  In fact, every time I sit down to write this post, I have to go searching for the actual book, because inevitably, one of my sweet children has snatched it from my desk to read and left it elsewhere.  And I've set down no less than five times to write this post in the last week.  So, that's sayin' something.

And if my endorsement isn't good enough for you, here is a video of Pat Boone reading the book to some cute little kids. 




Leave me a comment telling me what Christmas song gets you in the Christmas mood more than any other.  If you do, I will enter you in a drawing to win a copy of this book (on my dime...I'm keeping the free copy the author sent me!).  Remember to leave your e-mail address so I can contact you.

By the way, the song that does it for me is the Bruce Springsteen's version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town.  I know, I'm weird. 

I'll announce winners on Monday, December 6th.  Have a great weekend!