"The dog is ruining our marriage."
And so began the first real arguement of my married life. With these few words spoken into existance, the discussion that ensued took on a life of it's own. As the weight of Kyle's words hung in the balance between us, I smiled. He had my full attention. Never had those words been used before. "He's kidding, right?" was all I could think as I searched his expression for the smile I was sure he was hiding. Ruining our marriage? "Isn't that a bit dramatic?" was all I could utter in reply.
Ah, yes. Expectations. With neither of us having never owned a dog before, and being completely ignorant of all that dog ownership entails, there was never any discussion 'pre-Oliver' about the basics of puppy rearing. How hard can it be raising man's best friend? Hard enough, I found out, to potentially ruin a marriage...at least in the eyes of my husband.
So what were the problems? If I really give you the full blown list, Kyle may have sympathizers. :) I'll admit that my husband did have some valid points. Yes, indeed, the dog had presented some challenges and inconveniences. The gravity of his so called offenses, however, all rest in the eyes of the beholder. In my opinion our sweet little pup could do nothing so serious as to render him homeless. Afterall, if the dog was neurotic, wasn't it Kyle and I who were to blame?
The arguement that night did not end peacefully. There were tears. I vowed, out loud, that I would never get rid of our dog.
That was 3 years ago.
Although we've made a lot of progress in the dog department, it hasn't all been roses over the past three years insofar as 'Stinky' is concerned. But, yesterday, the chasm that began between Kyle and I on that fateful night, grew a few feet smaller. Upcoming travel plans are forcing us to find a home for Oliver. Due to his neurotic tendencies, it's not easy to ask people to watch him. And so, out of desperation, we went searching and found Camp Ruff-n-More: a day camp for dogs. (I know, I know.) Oliver had a trial run there today and LOVED it. Kyle is happy: we now have a place to leave the dog on a moment's notice--spontaneity is alive and well again in the Long home. Megan is happy: Oliver will be well cared for and I can rest easy knowing he wont be holed up in some dreary kennel for a week. Oliver is happy. Not that that matters to most people or to Kyle, but it does to me. :)
And, so, tomorrow we're off to Chicago! Can't wait to see some of your faces!
With the end of August fast approaching, we have a couple fun trips to look forward to! This coming weekend we are heading to Cave City, KY to hang out with my dad and Rhonda and her family. Rhonda's family is having a reunion and since they will be within driving distance, we're going to be lucky enough to take part. It looks like spelunking at Mammoth Cave and water sports will be on the agenda-and who doesn't get excited for campfires with pudgy pies and smores? Mmmmmm.
The following weekend we are heading to windy city for the biggest par-tay of the summer. Jaclyn and Joshua are getting married!!! Since we were going that far north we decided to make a vacation out of it. A few days in Chicago playing in the big city and then a few days in WI visiting friends and fam. It's been waaay too long! If you're presently in that neck of the woods-prepare yourself, we might be visiting a couch near you soon! ;)
Updates on this end? It's official: kyle is wrapping things up at the church and will be transitioning into free lancing full time in a couple of weeks! We wont lie, we're a little nervous but we're believing big things in all of this and we're excited about all of the possibilities. It's one thing to dream--it's something else entirely to jump. I love what I see in my husband's eyes these days: they are alive with the joy that comes when one does what s/he believes they were created to do. And that makes this wife incandescently happy. There's no one else I'd rather be jumping with.
Ah, Summer! 
It’s been a good weekend! Kyle had some long time friends/mentors, Dave and Sheree, stay with us Friday night. Dave was Kyle’s youth minister growing up and the two of them share that bond youth ministers always seem to have with 'their kids': lots of laughter-lots of stories. The four of us went to the Outback for a tasty dinner and then we all returned home for banana splits. I don’t think there was a quiet moment between all of us the entire time they were here. If only we had a few minutes more!
Saturday morning rolled around, we saw our friends off, I grabbed my yoga mat, hopped in the car and journeyed to the Yoga Tree while Kyle went to the gym. This has turned in to a Saturday morning ritual in our home. It was a dreary day so while we originally had plans to participate in “Field day”—an afternoon of outdoor games sponsored by Knetic, we decided instead, to hang out indoors. I was fully intentioned to order a movie off of the TV but I got side tracked with the movie idea because The Contender was on. Who knew? This show brings out a side to me that I never, EVER knew existed. Somehow I got hooked during Season One and unbeknownst to me, Season Two is upon us. Kyle came downstairs yesterday expecting me to be lazily watching “Pride and Prejudice” and instead he found me sitting upright, at the edge of my seat, watching The Contender. I get all worked up rooting for my chosen victor and yet, at the end, I always end up a bit teary eyed for the guy who has to go home. “Megan. It’s box-ing”, Kyle will say with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, as if he’s telling me something I don’t already know. He's right but it never makes me any less weepy. :) I'll always root for the under dog--even if it IS boxing. Anyway, the day came to a close as we went to church and enjoyed an evening together.
Today, after Kyle got home from church we went out to Boone Lake which is a mere mile or two from our house. It was such a beautiful day. The lake was alive with the activities of summer. Hammocks; kids fishing with their dads; the echoes of laughter floating all around us.
Presently, Kyle is outside washing the vehicles while I sit upstairs and type. We enjoyed our dinner out on the deck-the smell of the grill lingering on our clothes. We tricked Stinky into giving him a bath and so now he’s tearing through the house trying desperately to dry off. It’s been a weekend full of ordinary life-and someday it will blend into the recesses of my mind where every other ordinary weekend resides. But for today, these are the moments that feel good to my soul. Simple summer pleasures.
…“Why am I afraid to dance, I who love music & rhythm & grace & song & laughter? Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and the beauty of flesh & the living colors of the earth & sky & sea? Why am I afraid to love, I who love, love?”
--Ragamuffin Gospel
There’s a young woman at church whom I have never spoken to. I do not know her name. She comes regularly with her family, and they always take their seats near the front of the congregation. If I had to guess, I would say that she appears to be in her early teens; she is not one who blends in with the crowd. There is nothing average or ordinary about this girl. To judge by appearances, one may recognize that she has some cognitive delays but that’s not what makes her extraordinary. She has a spirit to her that sparkles. She has no idea, as she takes her seat, that 5, 10, or 15 rows back I take notice of her and I find myself grateful, once again, just to be in her presence. Her joy infects me. When the music starts? She jumps up from her seat when they ask us to stand; it’s almost as if it was taking everything in her to stay seated. She rocks and sways as we sing…hands clapping on beat, off beat and every beat in between. She sings to her own melody without care or consideration for what the person beside her is doing. There’s no volume control. If her heart is happy the Lord knows it and so do we. And her family? There’s no sideways glance at their neighbor as if to say, ‘so sorry, we apologize for our daughter’s unrestrained behavior’. They choose to sit in the front of the church without apology. It’s the most amazingly beautiful worship I’ve seen to date. Sometimes, when I’m close enough to hear, I close my eyes and silence myself and listen to this young woman sing. I imagine what it would be like to look down from heaven. One girl rocking and swaying in the middle of hundreds; unafraid to worship and love our Creator with unrestrained joy and abandon. This is not to say that she’s not surrounded by hundreds of people who are equally passionate about loving and praising the Lord. But, she moves me because I see in her what I long to experience for myself.
…"We have been given God in our souls and Christ in our flesh. We have the power to believe where others deny, to hope where others despair, to love where others hurt. This and so much more is sheer gift; it is not reward for our faithfulness, our generous dispositions or our heroic life of prayer. My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.” --Ragamuffin Gospel
I'm praying that I'll grow to experience and know the freedom that has already been won on my behalf. There's a war waging within me; a war between my spirit and my flesh. But God is big--bigger than the battles and His love is always enough. I don't want or need to wait on heaven to worship with abandon-He desires it in the here and now--and honestly, my heart craves it. Every week--or every few weeks--I get a picture of what that freedom looks like. It comes in the package of one young girl; completely unaware of her ministry. Oh, to experience the fullness and richness of life as God intends. To bask in the knowledge that we are deeply loved by God. What, then, shall I fear?
“Tell me about something beautiful.” Her request caught me off guard. I looked up from the note I was pensively writing and looked at her face. I leaned in close and looked intently into her eyes for the first time since I entered her room. She was my last visit of the day—added to me at the last minute so I will confess that my heart was not engaged in what I was doing. I was rushing to wrap up my day. Upon getting to her home, I mechanically completed her assessment. As I inspected her from head to toe I filled the silence between us with chatter. Once I was satisfied with how she was checking out, I silently sat down beside her and became lost in my own thoughts as I feverishly filled out the paper work. I nearly forgot she was living and breathing beside me. Her question came as an intrusion to my disengaged mind and heart. “Something beautiful?” Now that she had jarred me back to the present moment, I was floundering a bit to come up with something that I thought might be satisfying but real. With her vision almost completely gone and confined by the limits of the hospital bed, I knew what she meant. She wanted a taste of the sunshine. She wanted to see with someone else’s eyes; out of the bedroom; free.
I retraced the events of the day. I told her how the sun was shining brightly as I left my home early this morning and that even in the early morning hours, I could already feel the humidity like a cloak around me. I told her about the winding road I traveled as I drove to my first patient’s home; the bends of the road in perfect harmony with the river on it’s east bank. I described how the river road became wooded with it’s canopy of giant trees of old, and how for a few minutes the glory of the sun was muted by the lush green leaves overhead. I told her about a patient who smiled today who’s smile we had not seen for quite some time. As I recounted the day’s events in light of beauty, it made the feel of the whole day different.
And that’s when I saw it. The shine of tears in her eyes; upturned corners of her mouth. She transcended the confines of her withering body and journeyed with me. I didn’t get to tell her about the “something beautiful” presently lying beside me due to the emotion that had crept into my throat. In her quest to see beauty with someone else’s eyes, someone else’s eyes beheld beauty.
After a few minutes, I packed up my things, gave her a kiss on the forehead and said good-bye. She nodded yes with her gaze fixed on the ceiling-her expression unchanged. I hoped she was still driving along the country roads as I walked out to my car and got inside.
I know we all get busy, we all become disengaged-we can’t expect ourselves or anyone else to be “on” every moment of every day. But I didn’t notice the brilliance of the sunshine today in the early morning hours until I recounted it this afternoon. I didn’t appreciate the canopy of trees along the river road until I traveled it once more in my memory. I wouldn’t have seen her, if she hadn’t asked. Sometimes I’m so busy living ahead of myself, getting stressed over my list of things to do/ people to see, that I miss it.
I’m reminded at the end of this day that God delights in our pleasure and that He created a world full of beauty for us to behold.
Today, was a good day. A day of beauty. And to think, I almost missed it.
My neighbor, Rachel, was quite a lady. A woman of wonder. She had this larger than life personality-the kind that welcomes strangers off the street and bakes for all the neighbors; the kind that thinks nothing of prancing around outside in a night gown, all hours of the night and day. With her deep, raspy voice from far too many years of chain smoking, we’d delight in her story telling—even when we already knew, verbatim, how that particular story ended. Rachel had a love for gardening. Flowers bloomed year round in the small plot of land in front of her home. Stiff joints and creaky bones made it increasingly difficult for her to stay stooped over in her garden. Therefore, in the springtime, we had this system down where she would insist on financing all of the mulch for our adjacent gardens and Kyle and I would be the work horses. She’d stand on her porch and shout orders at us as we moved plants to and fro, yanked weeds, and mulched the flower beds. When the skies grew dark and the thunder clouds rolled in, we could always peek out our front window and there she’d be: sitting in her white rocking chair, in the shelter of the porch, appreciating the spectacle of the storm in all of it's glory. Any time a rainbow graced the horizon, she’d come knock on our door and all three of us would stand together, in the middle of the yard staring up at the sky. She always said, “I hate to bother you but something like this is just too beautiful to experience alone”. And she was right. I remember once, after a snow storm, I glanced out the window again just in time to see her pick up a handful of freshly fallen snow and eat it. This is a strange thing to watch a full grown adult do but somehow, it was fitting and not at all surprising. The wonder of it all.
We lost Rachel one warm, sunny spring day when the skies were blue and the garden was blossoming. Copper Hill, as we knew it, would never be the same. And fortunately, neither would we.
Today, her white rocking chairs grace our porch. The single guy who moved into her home doesn’t know a thing about gardening and Kyle and I are doing our best but that doesn’t say much. The wind blew in a storm today and it reminded me of her. Sometimes I think I feel her in the air. I wonder how many rainbows we’ve missed without the knock on our door? But, days like today it all comes back: her larger than life personality and the warmth and wonder of it all.
Dreaming of missions
I can't begin explain what goes on in my heart--Kyle says I'm easily swayed from one day to the next. If I'm being honest, there's no denying it--one day I want a baby, the next I want to travel; one day I want to save every penny and the next I'm ready to put the down payment down on our home. But, one thing I know for sure, I have this gigantic dream to go overseas and to spend time in an orphanage. The older I get the more intense the dream becomes. For as long as I can remember I have dreamed of medical missions-and my heart has been set on Africa. Naturally, most people with whom I share this want to know, "why Africa?" And the thing is, I'm not really sure why. Is that strange? There are orphanages everywhere and children too many to count in need of love and attention, so why a land that is foreign to me in every way? But, then, why nursing...why Tennessee...why does my heart delight in anything? Where does any passion come from? I dream of missions; I don't know all the reasons why but I know what happens to my heart once I'm in those settings. In some ways, I become broken. In other ways, broken parts begin to heal. In all things, I see God and His grace. I see Him in the poor, in the sick, in the widows and the orphans. I see the human condition in some of it's purest forms: inexplicable strength, joy, sorrow, hope. I see life, with all it's worldly distractions sifted away. To live in that place for a day or a month changes everything. To go where nothing is familiar or comfortable is when God is wild and big but always good.
I don't know when but I do hope to get there someday. And maybe only then will I truly begin to grasp why my heart beats for the people of that far away place.
I realize this doesn't fit with the 'African' theme but recently the CMDA went back to Ecuador (where Kyle went last year). Carolina, the girl who stole my husband's heart was still at the orphanage and sent a friend of ours home with letters and drawings to share with us. We thought we'd post her picture below: she's holding the bear we sent to her. 
babies, babies everywhere!! 
All our love and best wishes to Allison and Chris. Natalie Grace was born July 1st: 7 pounds 2 ounces. So beautiful! Everyone is healthy and my girl Allison has her sparkle back after a long, hard labor and delivery. ;) We love you guys! Keep the pictures and stories coming!
Also, one of my favorite pictures ever of Marcia, Greg and Ava. We can't wait to see you guys and love on her! 
"I've learned it's worth it to have the fight. The 'throw your arms up in the air, cry if you must', sort of fight. The hardest times over the past 5 years have come when we've tried to pretend it all away. Sometimes the best way to love each other is to go where it's crazy, painful and chaotic--knowing that when we do, it always gets us to a better place than when we first started."
Last night over dinner we bantered back and forth about what we've learned over the past 5 years of marital bliss. Some of our present realities are: I still can't cook-it's looking like I never will. In the mornings, I look like some wild unkempt version of the woman he thought he was going to see each day. My version of clean and his version of clean are two completely different things. (We'll let you come to your own conclusions about that.) Sometimes, I "lose control" when I find something amusing--occasionally this aggravates my husband which only fuels my outofcontroledness. I love yoga--the last time I tried to talk him into a yoga position he got stuck. He loves hiking the Appalachian Trail and all things outdoors. I prefer a fuzzy blanket and a good movie.
There's freedom in marriage. Freedom to own every bit of who you are and to celebrate every detail of the other. Can't dance? Shut the blinds and crank the music and dance like you've never danced before. Can't sing? Turn up the tunes and sing like a rock star. Can't cook? :) Pull out the cookbooks and try to make the most amazingly delicious meal in there. Body composition not what it used to be? A little wobbly around the edges? Right then. I think you see where this is going. We love each other as much for what we lack, as for what we are. It's safe to do the ridiculous in the presence of each other.
I've never been one to deal with conflict and neither has Kyle. But, we've learned by default along the way, that every now and then, there's nothing more cathartic or healing than a good fight. :) It keeps us honest, it keeps us moving forward and it allows us to love each other's quirks for what they are. So, here's to the next 5: may we love hard, fight hard, trust each other with the ridiculous and always extend grace knowing that there is far too much at risk when we do not.
And then the day came,
when the risk to remain
tight in a bud
was more painful
than the risk it took
to blossom.
--Anais Nin
Community. Real, authentic, accept you 'just as you are' community. Does it really exist? It sounds good in theory but how many people truly live in that place? More specifically, does such community exist within the church? Sure, the church may be crawling with small groups but what really happens as we gather together each week? How are we loving each other? How are we loving those outside the group--especially those who are different from us?
Last year I read "Blue Like Jazz" and for the first time in my life I felt like I was reading a book that completely reflected my heart in terms of my faith and community within the church. I've been told this is a controversial book to some. For me, it was honest. A breath of fresh air. I may not agree with all of the author's thoughts and perceptions but the heart and soul of the book really spoke to me. It served as a tool that encouraged personal introspection and facilitated discussions about topics that actually meant something to me.
A little over a year ago, I was a huge skeptic when it came to community-specifically within the church. I was not at all interested in being a part of another small group where talk is superficially deep and where it's an unspoken prerequisite to be a clone in order to be accepted. However, Kyle and I were also at a place in life where isolating ourselves wasn't working for us either. It was painful. We craved authentic relationship, and we dabbled in it with a select few but we still just wanted it on our terms. If I'm honest, the same could be said of my relationship with God. One day, through unrelated circumstance, the Lord blew us into the home of a couple from our church as they met with their own small group. Each person introduced themselves to us and most of them had been a part of the group for years...5 years, 6 years, 3 years, etc. Years? That got my attention. In the past, it was all I could do to hang in there for 1 year or a summer. When it was my time to introduce myself I was suddenly overcome with emotion. Emotion I didn't even know existed. I could tell I was in a room full of people who loved each other differently. It rendered me speechless and it made me cry. Not only did I desperately want that, I was created for that.
And now it's a year later. The photo above was taken when the women from my group went to a cabin in North Carolina. It was late at night, the sky was black but a handful of us ran outside to see the stars. The laughter was real. And so was the community. It really does exist--even for this skeptic.
It's scary to invest in people at the heart level. I cry a lot more these days--but I laugh more, too. And more importantly, there's life in my walk with God. I didn't even know, before I met them, how much unbelief I harbored. I didn't know that I was missing out on all the joy and beauty in loving God...and in loving people. Authenticity is still a struggle for me personally but I'm thankful that I have people in my life who constantly give me permission to let it all out-the good, the bad and the ugly. If you haven't read Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller, I recommend it. And then talk about it...and don't stop. Maybe the Lord will blow you through someone else's open doors.
Week with the In-Laws!! :)
Here are a few shots with Marcia and Tom while they were with us. We had a really good time together! We spent a day in Jonesborough house hunting, a day on the lake, drinking in the sites at Lake Lure, NC, and a day of window shopping in Boone, NC. There was lots of mountain scenery and plenty of delicious food. We even fired up the grill and ate out on the deck for the first time of the summer season. These pics do not do the mountains justice-it was beautiful!
Summer is upon us sweet friends so please come and visit!! We'd love to have you!
To be or not to be...
Over the past month, we've become a bit more serious about finding ourselves a new home. I'd love to say, we're ready to make the big move into a home that can accomodate a growing family but something tells me Kyle might have a different response. :) Here's a photo of one of the plans we really love. This house is being built in a community/subdivision, New Halifax, where all of the homes are made to look like old homes of the South. It's a really wooded neighborhood which will be within walking distance of downtown Jonesborough--a quaint, cozy neighborhood with good eats and small town culture. Oh, and it's home to a tiny ice cream shop that has a sign on it that advertises dairy products from Fond du Lac, WI!!! CRAZY! We don't necessarily love the exterior colors of this model but the good thing about purchasing a lot to build on, is that we can have our say when and if the time is right.
I wonder what one can tell by watching couples walk through prospective homes?
I'm sure it's a bit amusing. I gush, some may say too loudly, over every wonderful detail. I walk into rooms and immediately have visions of nurseries and children--I picture the street lit up with Christmas lights and family around the table. My face absolutely reflects what's going on in my heart...I may be every realtor's dream. Flaws? Inconsistencies? Areas of improvement? I see none of that--its all about the dream. :) My husband, on the other hand, always with a poker face, examines every constructed detail and looks for possible areas of improvement. He's opening doors and crawling in storage spaces, scanning every crook and corner. His expression is guarded--but every now and then our eyes meet and the corners of his mouth start to smile. Yeah, that's right, he's loving it too but I may be the only one in the room who knows just how much. Together, I suppose we balance each other out and make a pretty good team. And so far, I'm happy to say, this house is getting approval from both of us!
Happy Mother's Day!!
Here are some pictures of Marcia and Greg with Ava. They hope to take her home from the NICU today--she's done really well! We love you guys!
We hope everyone has a happy mother's day! With our moms far away, we don't have big plans for this afternoon. Our love goes out to them as always (that means you, too, Nancy!) We're also grateful for all of the surrogate moms we have here in TN-what would we do without you?! Let people love on you guys today! :)
Happy birthday Marcia and welcome to the world, baby Ava! 
“She dazzled everyone with her grace and charm.
And, yet, she was even more amazing on the inside”.
I'm afraid I’m a little bit homesick today. Not for Wisconsin, but for a certain group of people. For the lovely ladies pictured above. My soul sistas. :) These unbelievable women have, over time, gradually become permanent extensions of myself. I'm homesick for a brave woman in Indy who just gave birth to her first baby, for another woman in Texas who tenderly cares for a family of 5, and for yet another woman, living in the heart of Chicago who is full of passion and life and who will soon be embarking on a new journey of her own. I would do anything to be there to witness all of these incredible life changes. I long for time with each of them but mostly, I ache for what the experience is like when we’re all together. Real. Raw. Unfiltered. Free. All of our journeys have been so different-but our common thread through the years has been our faith. And because of this, for as long as I can remember, they’ve been my heart. My insides. That may sound gross to some of you but there's a small group out there who get that & surprisingly, may even take it as a compliment.
In some strange way, I’m thankful for the ache; for what it represents.
wishing each of you a bit of the same.
Tonight was date night.
It had been waaay too long since we planned a night out to simply enjoy and celebrate each other and I must confess I was most excited to be with my man. As cheesy as this sounds, and I warn you-it IS cheesy-I had one of those moments tonight when I saw him walking across the room from me and I had to remind myself that he was coming to sit beside me...'lucky girl' I thought to myself as I stifled a foolish grin. :) After dinner we decided on a movie. As we walked up to get our tickets, we ran into some friends of Kyle's--also on date nights of their own. They asked what movie we were going to and Kyle bravely said, "Akeelah and the Bee". The angst! It was palpable. :) They, and the rest of Johnson City, were in line for Mission Impossible III. I know they probably thought "poor guy" as he walked away but he held his high. It WAS date night, afterall. Nothing to be ashamed of. And here's the thing, we both ended up loving the movie--which hasn't happened in a long time! No huge special effects-but a story line that moved us both. Oprah was right (yeah, I know, time to go back to work). Everyone should see this movie.
And so, at the end of the night, sleep is beckoning. I'm afraid it's true, all good things must come to an end. But, I can rest easy knowing the best thing in my world is right beside me.
Here's to date night and Akeelah and the Bee!
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."
--Marianne Williamson (from the movie...)
Andrew Peterson-one of my favorite musicians of all times! The lyrics to his songs are brimming with truth. I'm enclosing a link to his site (at the very end of this blog) where he keeps his journal entries. The entry I've copied below, incase you'd rather not go to his site, is his most recent and it's worth reading if you have a minute.
Freedom
May 2, 2006
Andrew Peterson
There’s a short list of things I’m sure I’ll never forget.
Things that burned themselves into my mind’s iris, so that even when my mind’s eye is closed, I’ll see them still. I’ll never forget seeing my wife for the first time, lit up with a hot Florida sun in front of my college. I’ll never forget the births of any of my children. I’ll never forget the smell of the hayloft at Grandma Click’s house in South Florida, or the vivid cloud spray over a field of corn near my house in Lake Butler one night when I was riding my little Yamaha scooter at sundown. I had pulled into the field to watch the colors fade, and the farmer who owned it saw me and barreled down a dirt road to where I was straddling the scooter. He asked me what I was doing, and I remember embarrassingly saying that I liked to paint and I was there to watch the sun set. He snorted and told me to look for inspiration elsewhere. Then I realized that the little black key had jarred out of the scooter somewhere along the road and I had no way to crank it up again. As if it weren’t already awkward enough being shooed out of a cornfield on a scooter, I had to push the scooter the few miles home through the country. I remember how sheepish I felt, but I also remember that stark gold and red sunset, and it’s the same one I think of every time I hear the Rich Mullins song The Howling, where it says “In the West I see an evening, a scarlet thread stretched beneath the gathering dark / Red as the blood on the hands of the savior, rich as the mercy that flowed from his broken heart.” That’s the sunset that I see in my mind, and the lyric changed it from being a thing of beauty to being a thing of Truth.
I could write about each of those things that I’ll never forget, and maybe I will, but right now I want to tell you about a woman sitting on the front row of the Maine Correctional Institution’s church service Sunday morning. Andy Gullahorn, Ben and I were invited to play there by a sweet woman named Joy. She’s a seminary student who runs the church services (among other things) at both the men’s and women’s prisons there outside of Portland. We didn’t really know what we were getting into, but it was impossible not to think about Jesus saying, “I was in prison and you visited me.” How could we say no? We loaded up our instruments into Joy’s car, exhausted from the late night/early morning schedule of that weekend, glad that we didn’t have to worry about a sound system. I tell you that when I get the honor of sitting with Ben and Andy to make music without bothersome cables and direct boxes and microphones, it’s something special. I love being able to hear all the nuances those guys put into the songs, and we all play better, because we can really hear each other. Anyway, we walked through several series of iron-barred doors, and every time they clanged shut behind me I was more thankful that I would be allowed to leave that place that afternoon. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to be stuck there for years upon years. The men filed in with their handlebar moustaches and their tattoos—and their bibles—and listened to us play for forty five minutes or so. It was exactly like you’d imagine. A sparse room. An unemotional but grateful audience. That common feeling of gratitude in the face of gratitude when you’ve actually managed to do something selfless for once. What I mean is, the men at the prison kept thanking us for coming, but all we could do was thank them for having us. The kingdom nurtures itself on the Spirit of God in the saints who serve. Joy asked us to close with After the Last Tear Falls and we could hear several gruff voices singing along.
We packed up again and did the same thing for the women’s prison. It was very different in the women’s wing. It still felt like prison, but a little more like a high security hospital. Still sterile and cold, but shinier. A prison with a woman’s touch. Joy busied herself with bouncing around the area with my charango, flaunting its strangeness in an effort to get women who wouldn’t ordinarily come to church to listen to us play.
Because the intimidation was less, I looked more directly at the women prisoners than I did the men, though most of them could’ve beat me, Ben and Andy to a pulp if they’d wanted. There was a sweet little round black lady named Peaches who wouldn’t look me in the eye. There was a kind woman named Stacy who was missing most of her teeth. But the woman whose face I’ll never forget sat on the front row very quietly, even delicately. She held her bible in her lap, wearing the same blue prison issue jumpsuit as the rest of these women, but her face bore a kind of innocent sadness that struck me. I realize now that she looked to me like a personification of hope. I can’t explain why. That’s just how it seemed.
One thing Joy warned us about was not asking any of the prisoners what they’d done to get there. That was information that we’d only find out if the inmates volunteered it, and I can’t imagine them wanting to talk about it. It was so hard for me to imagine what these women had done to be sentenced to prison—not just jail, but prison. It’s true that it wasn’t a roomful of June Cleavers, but they weren’t a room full of Cruella De Vils either. It was easier to imagine the men breaking the law than the women.
I couldn’t imagine what this small woman could’ve possibly done to be arrested and sentenced to prison. I sang the Queen of Iowa and told the story of the woman I wrote it for, how she’d gotten AIDS from a rape, and I heard sniffles. I realized then that some of these women probably know what it’s like to be raped. I pray the hope in that song seeped into them. At one point, the woman on the front row who looked like hope said in a soft voice, “After the Last Tear Falls?” It occurs to me now that it’s the same song that spoke the most to the Queen of Iowa. We played the song at the end, and every line to that song hit me in a new way. I risked a glance up at the woman who’d requested it, and I saw a sublime picture.
She sat still as a statue, hugging her bible to her chest. Her head was slightly bowed and she stared at nothing in particular. I saw two perfect teardrops gliding down her wet cheeks and she had the faintest smile on her face. My chest convulsed and I was unable to sing for a few words, so pure was that image. A criminal holding on for dear life to her bible, brimming with regret for whatever she’d done to end up there, comforted down to her very marrow by the hope that Christ really is as powerful and loving and forgiving as He promises to be. And like I said, she was hope, and I found hope in her. It was easy to believe that the human I was singing for was an immortal, bound up in Christ and made for eternity, though her skin and bones were locked behind the bars of that cold, cold place. In Christ, she was light in the darkness. In Christ, she gave hope even as she was desperate for it. She poured it out even as she drank it up. Just like the men in the prison who thanked us while we were thanking them, and the other women who sat and cried and learned to not look away from their suffering but through it and into the eyes of God.
I'll never forget that picture. I'm writing this from the freedom of my living room in Nashville, and she's asleep in her prison cell right now, just as free.
"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."
I can’t remember her name.
AP
http://www.andrew-peterson.com/journals.php
Thanks to a digital world, and plenty of harassment from friends and family who love them, Lara sent us some gorgeous pictures of her beautiful babes! Keaton is just a few months old-it's amazing how quickly the time goes. I thought I would share a couple photos since a handful of you out there know them, too! Also, my cousin Andrea just had her first baby, Aiden. Once again, so SO beautiful! Congratulations to both families! Please love on those kids for me until we can see them in person!
Parker and Hayden at Easter
Baby Keaton--the newest addition to Lara and Jeremy's family--Congratulations!
My cousin Andrea with Aiden-Welcome to our family Aiden! Brace yourself for karaoke at Christmas-or even more frightening-aunt kitty's rendition of barnyard christmas! It probably wont be long before she's sending you leopard print and leather so here's to hoping the genes are in your favor! ;) 
My aunt Mary Lou with her first grandbaby! 
Celebration of Life 4.20.06
Tonight was a first for me. Every year our hospice organization has an annual celebration of life—an evening where Hospice staff members are reunited with the family and friends of our hospice patients who have passed away over the previous year. I have listened to my co-workers talk about the significance of this event and after a night full of remembrance, I understand.
Tonight, I watched survivors gather together. For some, laughter now comes easily and the stories of their loved ones are ever present on their lips. For others, the ache is still so raw and fierce but they brave the night anyway because they crave the presence of silent understanding. I wish I could tell you the stories of the heroes that were seated all around me—and of those that they represented. They would be the true, albeit imperfect stories of love and forgiveness and strength.
Love far beyond description.
And for those whom we remembered: our courageous patients--our greatest teachers. What a privilege to have known them. With gratitude, always, for the eyes they’ve given us to see.
Easter at the McNeills!
We hope you all had a wonderful Easter! Typically, I am one homesick girl on holidays of any sort but thankfully, we spent our day with so many wonderful people that I didn't have time to feel sad. Bobby and Debbie were kind enough to open up their home to a whole group of us...lots of strays in need of family. It was wonderful! So, I'm attaching some photos--good times!
Luke, Kathy, and Malorie
Bobby and Debbie
Pepper
Debbie and JoAnne
Luke, Kyle and I
Beauty from the Ashes
Imagine Tamar: grief-stricken, sobbing, ashes on her head. Her body in a heap on the cold floor. Soot covers her beautiful face and smears the rich colors of her torn robe. Her outward appearance echoes the cavernous darkness in her soul. Hopelessness and death well up in her. She is nothing but a tomb.
The door of her room slowly creaks open. A stream of cloudy sunlight pours through the door. A figure of a man takes form within it. Not Absalom. No, she would recognize Absalom anywhere.
She glances down at the hands that seem paralyzed on her lap, her palms covered with ash. She suddenly becomes shamefully aware of her appearance. Wretchedness sears her heart. She is certain her violated estate is obvious. She despises herself...
...He approaches and takes her face in his hands. No one has ever done that before. The overwhelming intimacy turns her face crimson, not with shame but with vulnerability. His thumbs sweep over her cheeks and wipe the tears from her face. As He takes His hands from her face and places them on her head, her throat aches with fresh cries as she sees the filth on His hands. Her filth. He draws back His hands and she senses something on her head. Perhaps in His mercy He has hooded her disgrace.
The man offers her His hands, still covered with soot, and she takes them. Suddenly she is standing. Trembling. He leads her to the brass mirror hung on the wall. She turns her face away. He lifts her chin. She gives the mirror only a glance. Her heart is startled. She begins to stare. Her face is no longer streaked with dirt. Her cheeks are blushed with beauty; her eyes are clear and bright. A crown sits on her head, and a veil flows from its jewels to her shoulders. Her torn coat is gone. A garment of fine white linen graces her neck and adorns her frame. The Kings daughter, pure and undefiled. Beauty from the Ashes. --Beth Moore
The fragmented story above is taken from a Bible study I am currently doing, entitled Breaking Free. It's in reference to 2 Samuel 13:1-22 where Tamar is betrayed/violated by her brother. I take the time to write it out because it speaks to my heart...and maybe it does to your's as well. Life is a gift-to be cherished and enjoyed but life is also hard. Our stories may or may not be like Tamar's but if we're honest, I think we've all felt a portion of that shame, defeat, and brokeness.
But the beauty of Good Friday and of Easter/Resurrection Sunday is that it's personal. He loves us that much. He restores beauty and life to our souls. He did not come and die on our behalf so that we would continue to live lives of defeat. He wants us to be free. May we have hearts that are receptive to His unfailing love. May it be personal this Easter weekend for you and for yours.
Beauty from the ashes. Daughter of the King.