Happy 16th Anniversary!

Sixteen years ago today Patrick and I were married in Washington state, amid a storm front called the Arctic Express. Since then, we've lived in these places:

• Federal Way, WA
• Silverdale, WA
• Bremerton, WA
• Edmonds, WA
• another home in Edmonds, WA
• Palestine, TX
• Rowlett, TX
• Le Rouret, France
• Royce City, TX
• soon to be Rockwall, TX

We've had these children:

• Sophie, 1992
• Aidan, 1996
• Julia, 1998

We've owned these cats:

• Mackenzie, the demon kitty who we sent to a farm
• Chutney, our fluffy white kitty we gave to some hellish boys (why oh why?)
• Oscar (aka Oat Bar) who had a terrible bout of epilepsy. We had to put him to sleep.
• The Blue One and its sister (two kittens, one Aidan called The Blue One, who were sick and we had to take them back to the pound.)
• Pepito (who ran away) and his sister Madeline (who has been to France and back with us)

We've held these jobs:

• Junior high school English teacher (eek!), Mary
• Secondary substitute, Mary
• Giving Home Journal author, Mary
• Vascular Ultrasound Technologist, Patrick
• Director of Vascular Lab, Patrick
• Newspaper columnist, Mary
• Stay at home mom, Mary
• Owner of vascular company, Patrick
• Nonfiction book writer, Mary
• Novelist, Mary
• Church planters, Mary and Patrick
• Director of Vascular Lab (now), Patrick
• Full time writer, Mary (now)

We've owned these cars:

• Chevy Nova (the old kind...very brown)
• Chevy Nova (the new kind, like a corolla)
• Honda station wagon
• White Toyota pickup
• Blue money-van
• Another white Toyota pickup
• a beat up old brown Mercedes wagon (which we still own in France. Please pray it sells!)
• ??? (We have to buy cars now)

We've been to these countries:

• USA
• Canada
• Mexico
• France
• Austria
• England
• The Netherlands
• Germany
• Switzerland
• Italy
• Portugal
• Monaco
• Belgium
• Egypt

What an enjoyable and exhilarating ride it's been. I am more in love with Patrick than I was the day I met him, the day we were engaged, the day we were married. God has been faithful to us through the ups and downs of life. Today is definitely a day to celebrate!

Fame

Fame is one of my biggest fears, not because I see fame and fortune knocking on my door (I don’t), but because I know how needy I can be and how quickly I could run to adoration. Is it any wonder that most actresses and actors come from broken homes? Or authors? Or singers? Those of us (and there are many) who grew up in difficult environments screamed for attention when we were younger. And if we’re not properly healed of that need for recognition, we’ll scream for it as adults.

My biggest struggle as an adult has been this bit of faulty thinking: I need to justify the spot of earth I take up. So, to justify me being here, I do all sorts of gymnastics to prove I’m okay, to prove I can live on this earth and be worthy of it.

Of course, I know this is wrong. Of course I know Jesus loves me. He made me. He delights in me. So often, though, those oft-repeated platitudes soar right over my heart, never really hitting me. It’s an issue I tackled in my second novel—God’s seeming capriciousness. Thankfully, I have sensed His whispers enough to know He is real and He does love me.

But still, fame seduces, doesn’t it? It shows us that we’re not insignificant after all, that we’re worth something. That there is a spark of the divine inside us.

So I pray. I don’t know if I’ll ever be “famous” or rich. Sometimes I long for both. Sometimes I shudder at both. But the true, deep part of my heart longs for this: that Jesus would be glorified not only in my outward actions, but more importantly, in my inward heart. Oh that I, if faced with fame, would gladly toss its glories to the feet of Jesus, thankful for Him and not the adulation afforded me. Maybe that’s why fame hasn’t been granted me. Maybe I’d clutch the praise to myself, sucking life from it as a mosquito preys on a child’s forearm. Oh that I would rest in His sacrifice, knowing my worth way down deep, so that the sparkly shiny glory offered by this fleeting world would look more like trinkets than eternal treasures.

Pray for Max and Valerie

Today we went to Target to redeem a mountain of gift cards. Thanks so much Nebraska DeMuths, Mom and Mark, Nana and Bopo, and the VanTassells! I was wandering the aisles when I found this very large painting (3 feet by 3 feet). I stopped, examining it. I had to buy it.

Why?

Because it reminds me of dear friends we left behind in France, Max and Valerie Bertrand, whose dream it is to open a cafe in Vence. How amazing to find a provencal cafe with the name Bertrand on it! (Bertrand is a common name, like the US's Smith, but still!)

We bought the painting. Not because it was a fine piece of breathtaking art, but because Max and Valerie are. We miss them. This painting will connect us again, helping us to remember to pray for them as they navigate the French paper-loving system. Would you take a moment to pray for Max and Valerie right now? That their cafe would live and breathe and succeed?

And while you're at it, would you pray for us as we try to qualify for a home loan, so we can have a place to hang our new painting?

Staples

Our dear Julia likes to twirl.

At our friend's home Christmas evening, she twirled, got dizzy, and dashed her head against the corner of a wall. She screamed when she saw the blood.

The doctor stapled the wound and she sleeps quietly now. It made me think about her need for me, how she called for me over and over again, though I stood right next to her, holding her, whispering comfort to her. This time with my children is fleeting. They won't always call out my name. They won't always need me to hold them. But I think I'll always need them.

I wrote this tonight with a needy heart. Oh how I long to love my children well, to appreciate the stage they're in right now, to relish the moments that fly away like startled crows. Jesus, sweet Jesus, who came as a baby and grew up to die, help me to love my children with such a love as You have. Amen.

Fragile, so fragile
Our children on earth
Fleeting, yes fleeting
In sadness and mirth

Agony, such agony
In bearing young cries
Holding and holding
Progeny’s deep sighs

Growing, more growing
They reach to the sun
Babies, grown babies
From us they must run

Needing, not needing
Protective embrace
Away, far away
A pain we must face

Cowboy Church

We went to our first-ever Cowboy Church!

Cross Creek Cowboy Church! It meets here where we're living. When the pastor prayed, the cowboys took off their cowboy hats, but everyone kept their boots on. If you ever have a chance to attend a cowboy church, I'd highly recommend it.

Merry Christmas, y'all!

Fear Does Weird Things

I'd always thought him a giant. Kind of an untouchable for God who never feared, never wavered, always hoped.

But a little story changed all that. I heard he'd been burned by a member of his church he pastored, and from that point on, he spent his pastoring years trying to prevent getting burned again. Afraid, he resorted to control.

I wonder how much I'm like him. How, when I get hurt by a friend, I cocoon myself until I'm hidden from everyone. Safe. Painfree. Alone. I wonder just how big the walls I've created have become. Do they reach past my heart? My head? How thick? And is the cement binding? Will anyone dare to scale the wall? Or will I spend my life like my pastor friend, sealed away, relying on control to keep people far away?

I don't want to live by fear. My heart is longing again for deep, abiding friendships. Though there are times I'd rather hide away and lick my wounds, I know that to have the depth of relationship I long for, I have to risk. And the risk is worth it.

So may it be that 2007 is my year for risk, even when I'm scared. Oh Jesus, help me to risk, to trust, to encourage, to hope. Instead of relying on my own paltry control, may I relinquish it to the One who created me, who loves my heart though I falter.

Frenzied by the Festive Fray

That line came from the musical-version of It's a Wonderful Life. Patrick played Harry Bailey then, the brother-of-George pilot who saved the shipful of troups.

Now Harry, er, Patrick, has flown our family to a new venture. I find it quite ironic that my name is Mary and we'll be living in a barn (yes, literally) on Christmas, and that fourteen years ago, I was Mary giving birth to a baby on Christmas Eve.

Yesterday the kids and I finished our shopping endeavors in the hallowed, scary halls of WalMart. Actually, the better word is to say "survived." We survived. And it wasn't too bad. Normally I'm the anal-retentive type who has Christmas figured out in June, but with all this transition, we've ended up being last minute shoppers. So, yeah, we're a bit frenzied by the festive fray.

Even so, I'm learning new things about "homelessness." We are not homeless in the purest sense of the word. We have a nice cozy home with terrific heat (oh how I missed HEAT when we lived in our home in France. Central heat is a gift!!!). But we don't have a permanent place yet. Jesus didn't either when He stooped low to earth to be born of Mary. He left his home, Paradise, to dwell among the earth dwellers. The Bible says He had no place to lay His head.

In that way, I feel small. I sit in awe. I can barely endure transition, longing-longing-longing for a permanent home, but Jesus endured that for thirty-three years, all for our sakes. I love Him all the more because of it. I need His assurance all the more as well. Because He walked where I walk today--in that netherworld of transition and vagabond ways.

Yeah, we're a bit frenzied by the festive fray, but even more we're grateful. God has blessed our family beyond measure. We love each other. We have each other. We enjoy each other's company, even in cramped quarters. We love Jesus. We have terrific friends who tangibly show us the love of Jesus and extended family who are happy to have us in the states. The sun is rising over the ranch, pinking the horses and beautifying the pastures.

Thank You Jesus.

A Needed Gift

"I'd like another hug," she said to me. I obliged. Gladly.

I embraced my friend American style, surrounded by the members of our church. Earlier I'd hugged my friend Leslie to near death, tears pocking my eyes.

I didn't cry this time, though I felt I might.

"I want to tell you something," she said.

I nodded, noting the kindness of Jesus in her eyes.

"I see Jesus in you."

All the tears I thought I'd shed burgeoned out of me like an overswolen river in spring. "You have no idea how much that means to me," I said. After two difficult years, I'd wondered what was left of me. But that's when Jesus shines the more, isn't it? When we're weakened and needy?

I shared some stories of my struggles, the kind that don't make it into prayer request emails or support letters. In her eyes, I saw empathy, the type of empathy I needed to see, to experience.

Thank you, Pam, for your words, for listening to Jesus and encouraging me. I love you.

Home, Home on the Range

I thought you might like some pics of us at Sabine Creek Ranch! This is our temporary home: an apartment in the corner of their barn. In the background is our cat, Madeline, who made the long, long trip from France to Texas, y'all. (She meows with a Texas accent now.)
Over 300 acres of grasslands . . . lots of horses, cows, a few goats, and even chickens!
Aidan at sunset.
Patrick and Julia on top of the boxcar near our apartment, watching the sunset.
The Boxcar Children.
Good night, y'all!

A Capitalistic Christmas?

My friend Justin, the Urban Idealist, posted this interesting video on his blog today. Thought it might intrigue you.

Six Minutes

Yesterday it teased 80 degrees here. Yep, y'all, we're in Texas.

The day before we left, the movers accidentally left Madeline the internationally-traveling cat OUT of the house. She ran away for the entire day. We cried. We looked. We lamented. But no cat. One hour before we were to leave for an airport hotel, she showed up. I think she had a sly smile on her face. I feel sure she knew all the sad theatrics in our home and prolonged our agony as long as she could.

Wednesday the 13th we got up at 4:00 AM and started our 22 hours of traveling. Everything in Nice went well, cat meowing notwithstanding. She sounded more like muh-woooowww, really low and growly.

In Amsterdam, our flight got delayed, which caused us to miss our connection in Minneapolils. I called one set of friends who were going to meet us at the airport, but I spaced out on calling Sophie's friend, so she and her family and a bunch of other kids arrived at the airport, only to see us NOT get off a plane. I feel horrible about it. My jetlagged brain still hasn't cleared.

We arrived about 7:00 PM to several sweet friends with signs and good ol' American hugs. I found myself telling myself not to lean in and kiss folks. I'm so used to the kiss-kiss French greeting! I didn't cry until John, a wonderful man who has pray-pray-prayed for us these past two years said something like, "We're so glad you're home." Something in his fatherly, tender voice made me crack. Another family brought us gift cards. Several others braved the one-hour drive to hug us. Our dear friends Dave and Rae drove us to their home where we had some chili. Some other friends brought over a car to borrow.

The airline didn't have our luggage, but they did have my guitar. A day later we received the remaining 9 bags.

We arrived in our little home at 9 PM and went to bed. Our temporary home is an apartment in the corner of a big barn (yes, barn) on a 300 acre ranch/camp. It's peaceful and wonderful and amazing. Horses live right outside our windows! My dear friend Leslie and her family spent a lot of time adding furniture, food, decor, and even a little Christmas tree for us. We were overwhelmed by their generosity. Yesterday, Sarah (of Eddie and Sarah who own the place) gave us a tour.

I woke up at 4:00 AM (something about that time!) and wrote an article that I had due. That day we went grocery shopping. I nearly broke down crying in the store, hearing tons of American songs, walking wide, uncrowded aisles, finding cheddar cheese in abundance, and not having to stress out at the checkout line (free bags, a boy who bagged and BROUGHT our groceries to our car). Everyone was so friendly and kind. Wow.

I made dinner (meatloaf, baked potatoes, salad) and fell asleep delirious at 8 pm.

Yesterday we ran one hundred errands, something we could never do in France, which prompts the title of this post. Many of you remember our 8 hour wait at the prefecture in France to renew our visas. So we went to the DMV to get our licenses. A sense of quiet panic rose inside me. How long would it take? Would our children grumble? Would the people be mean and angry?

Patrick and I got our Texas licenses in six minutes. Six minutes!!! Wow! We're not in France anymore.

And during lunch (we had Mexican food), I saw my dear friend D'Ann!!!!!!! How cool is that! Our friends Rod and Mary met us for a movie with the kids, then we went home, fed the kids, and went to a Christmas party at Dave and Rae's. So much fun.

This morning Patrick is making bacon (I heard there is such a thing as chicken fried bacon here. Sheesh! We ARE in America!) and eggs, and we have nothing planned today but to organize our little home and unpack ten suitcases.

We are home, well prayed for, well cared for, well loved. I am amazed at the generosity of God's people, and nearly cry every time someone shows us an act of kindness. It's overwhelming.

But in a corner of my heart lives my affection for my friends in France. I'll be grieving for a long time, thankful for God's faithfulness to us in France.

And He is yet faithful.

Au Revoir

This will be my last post from France. It's hard to even write that. So much is roiling inside me, my emotions glaring from frustration to grief to elation to sadness.

But I'd like to commemorate our two-plus years by thanking Jesus for all the lessons He's taught me:

• Dependence. Leaving everything familiar either makes you paranoid that the world is going to fall apart or dependent on the One who holds the world together.
• Trust. When your income comes from the generosity of others and not from some corporate entity, you realize how little your trust was. Mine grew in leaps these past two years.
• Stability. I've learned how much of a drama-queen I can be. Without many friends nearby, I've had to learn to talk myself down and give my rantings to Jesus. It's one of the most refreshing gifts God has given me: the knowledge that I can and should always run to Him first.
• Spiritual warfare. Oh man. I could go on and on. It's thick here. And dark. But we've learned to discern and battle and trust.
• Stripping. Much of who I thought I was has been stripped away, down to the bare bones of me. And yet I still love Jesus with a passion, even when I feel small or naked or needy or tired or broken. He's still there.
• Family. God has knit our family together in amazing ways through some very difficult times as well as lighthearted times. We saw Julia come to Jesus this year and be baptized. Wow.
• Impact. "You came here just for me," she said when we had lunch together. "It was not a waste. Don't you dare think that. You saved my life." I needed to hear those words, that my friendship meant something to someone here. Thank You Jesus.
• Remembering. "I have a word from the Lord," another friend said. "You know how hard it is here. You please tell the American church how hard it is. Pray for us. Please, pray for us." How can we not? God has engraved these French believers deep into our hearts.
• Perseverance. It was one foot in front of the other. Step. Step. Step. Dogged obedience. But we persevered and we found Jesus faithful with each step.
• Rest. This last year, we've celebrated Sabbath. I thank God for that. My heart is better, more renewed, more alive, more joyful, more free because of it. I will fight for it when we get back to the busy U.S.
• Contentment. We've lived in a small house with one car and have learned the secret of being content.

There is so much more I could say, but it's late and I have to get to sleep. The packers come tomorrow, the movers on Tuesday. They'll pack up our lives in France, send our things on a container across the Atlantic. But they can't pack our hearts. Part of us will always live here, thankful for Jesus who met us one thousand upon one thousand times in a land in desperate need of His grace, joy, peace, freedom, and salvation.

A Terrible Rhyming Poem: ODE TO MOVING

The car is not sold
The kitchen is neither
My back’s feeling old
And I need a breather

Moving is stressful
And tiring and poopy
I’m longing for blissful
Instead I’m quite loopy

We move in three days
Seventy-two hours of fun
Our house is a maze
Of boxes undone

So please pray for the fam
As we venture to Texas
Living life on the lam
While packing does vex us

A room of my own

I'm going a bit nutty, the tail end of something that's been hard for me for two years. I've had so little space for myself, and very little for my writing. I write in a corner. No door. A teeny tiny window. If I stand where I'm writing, I can touch the ceiling.

So it was with rapid (or maybe better said: rabid) heart that I read these words from Orhan Pamuk, the 2006 winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature:

"Now, so many years later, I know that this discontent is the basic trait that turns a person into a writer. To become a writer, patience and toil are not enough: we must first feel compelled to escape crowds, company, the stuff of ordinary, everyday life, and shut ourselves up in a room. We wish for patience and hope so that we can create a deep world in our writing. But the desire to shut oneself up in a room is what pushes us into action."

He understands! He understands me! Though I fancy myself an extrovert, to create word pictures I must be alone and quiet, a door closed in peaceful solitude.

So as we travel back to the States on Wednesday, a wee desire of mine is this: a room of my own to write in.

Wolves Wearing Wool

In my earlier years as a Christian, I would read about false teachers and wolves in sheep's clothing and really have no idea what Paul or Jude or Peter meant. In my youthfulness, every one who attended church was to be trusted and respected.

But as I've walked a longer path, I realize the truth of all the New Testament warnings. There are people in the church we need to be cautious around, proving just how important discernment is.

I'm reading through the Bible in a year. Today's reading cemented my latter revelations about the need for caution and discernment. Read this with fresh eyes. Put on your discernment hat. Are there wolves nearby?

This is taken from Jude:

8 Yet these false teachers, who claim authority from their dreams, live immoral lives, defy authority, and scoff at the power of the glorious ones. 9 But even Michael, one of the mightiest of the angels, did not dare accuse Satan of blasphemy, but simply said, "The Lord rebuke you." (This took place when Michael was arguing with Satan about Moses' body.) 10 But these people mock and curse the things they do not understand. Like animals, they do whatever their instincts tell them, and they bring about their own destruction.

11 How terrible it will be for them! For they follow the evil example of Cain, who killed his brother. Like Balaam, they will do anything for money. And like Korah, they will perish because of their rebellion.

12 When these people join you in fellowship meals celebrating the love of the Lord, they are like dangerous reefs that can shipwreck you. They are shameless in the way they care only about themselves. They are like clouds blowing over dry land without giving rain, promising much but producing nothing. They are like trees without fruit at harvest time. They are not only dead but doubly dead, for they have been pulled out by the roots. 13 They are like wild waves of the sea, churning up the dirty foam of their shameful deeds. They are wandering stars, heading for everlasting gloom and darkness.

14 Now Enoch, who lived seven generations after Adam, prophesied about these people. He said, "Look, the Lord is coming with thousands of his holy ones. 15 He will bring the people of the world to judgment. He will convict the ungodly of all the evil things they have done in rebellion and of all the insults that godless sinners have spoken against him."

16 These people are grumblers and complainers, doing whatever evil they feel like. They are loudmouthed braggarts, and they flatter others to get favors in return.

***
From these verses, folks like this have these characteristics. They are:

• immoral
• often defying authority
• mockers
• always doing whatever they feel like
• rebellious
• eager to do anything it takes to have more money
• dangerous to the church
• narcissistic
• fruitless
• grumblers
• loudmouthed
• braggers
• often using flattery to get what they want

In a world of niceties, what would the Lord have us do with folks like this?

Don't eat with pretenders:

1 Corinthians 5:11: What I meant was that you are not to associate with anyone who claims to be a Christian yet indulges in sexual sin, or is greedy, or worships idols, or is abusive, or a drunkard, or a swindler. Don't even eat with such people.

Stay away from teachers like this:

Romans 16: 17-18: And now I make one more appeal, my dear brothers and sisters. Watch out for people who cause divisions and upset people's faith by teaching things that are contrary to what you have been taught. Stay away from them. 18 Such people are not serving Christ our Lord; they are serving their own personal interests. By smooth talk and glowing words they deceive innocent people.

***

My questions:

Have you ever encountered wolves in sheep's clothing? How? When?

What helped you navigate your relationship with them?

How has God helped you grow through that discovery?

She Meant it in the Kindest Way

A new acquaintance said, "I need to tell you something."

I nodded for her to go on.

"People are saying all sorts of things . . . about you leaving . . . quitting . . . but I wanted to tell you that you're not a failure. It's hard to be a missionary in France. Most people don't even try."

I truly believe she meant her words to be an encouragement, so I'm not upset. But it was hard to hear the first part of her words. People are saying we're quitters.

I've walked with Jesus long enough to know that He holds my reputation in His hands. For me to defend myself, to try to help people understand the nuances and difficulties of this decision, to exasperate myself on explanations that would fall on deaf ears, would be an exercise in futility. Of all the words I've clung to these past two years, the most powerful are these:

GOD SEES.

He sees. He knows. He watches. He understands. He leads.

I am living for His smile, not the nodding approval of people "out there" who don't understand, who pass judgment without knowing. Thank Jesus He watches. And more than any person He sees my heart. I can rest in that. I must rest in that.

My Dear Children

Aidan came home from a surprise party today. I love that Sophie went into his room, asked him about the party, read the notes from his friends, and rejoiced with him over his gifts. This after she'd had a surprise party and could've boasted about that.

I love that Julia knows when I'm upset. She always, always hugs me and kisses me when I'm stressed. Or she draws me a picture and writes love notes to me.

I love how responsible Aidan is. If I ask him to do something, he is very proud to do it. He loves to be entrusted with responsibility. Sometimes he walks to our village and orders, buys, and brings home pizzas!

I can't tell you how proud I am of all three.

All are fluent in French.

All have weathered cross-cultural transition beautifully--and often, better than me.

All have remained friends through this all.

Sophie, Aidan, and Julia: You are my heroes.

Boring Books that Boxify God

I can't tell you how very tired I am of boring Christian books. There exists some sort of "acceptable" content that we write about ad infinitum, but rarely do we hear from writers who dare to go out on limbs--to share what is really, really inside. It takes guts. It's not easy.

I'm not talking about writing heresy or unorthodox words, but to be willing enough to be honest. The truth is, we are very small folk on this earth. We don't understand all the mysteries of life or of God. There is much left that we cannot comprehend. So much of evangelical stuff out there deals in boxifying God, making Him palatable, acceptable, easily understood.

But He is not so.

And we do the world a disservice when we present Christianity as a happy to-do list of virtues. Personally, I bleed over my words. I sometimes regurgitate my angst on the page. I have paid for my honesty (though it be tempered), but I have also seen others set free when they realize we don't have to be perfect Christian clones of one another to follow hard after Jesus.

I would love to see more honesty, more reality, more genuine grappling with truth. I'm tired to death of folks regurgitating the things they've never really thought through, thoughts given to them by others. Are we parrots,merely mimicking words we've never wrestled with?

Well, wouldn't you know it?

An accident. Today. Of all the days.

Not Patrick's fault, thankfully. And ol' Bessy the brown station wagon did pretty well--just a license plate problem and a busted headlight. Patrick's fine.

But, geez! Why now????

Grrrrr.

If you're a praying person, pray that Bessy would sell--she's a great gal and she needs a home.

And we're leaving ours.

Scam Magnets

When you have to move in a short period of time, you automatically become a target for scam artists. We are wise in this area (unfortunately), but still are shocked when scams come our way.

First, moving. Patrick found what he thought to be a reputatable moving company. When they asked for a credit card deposit before they'd even seen the house or our stuff and wrote a letter with all these spelling/grammar errors, I knew something was wrong:

Dear Ms. Mary E DeMuth,
Thank you very much for noticying this.
Please disregard this order for service and use this updated version attached below.

Looking forward to hear from you,
NAME OF TERRIBLE AWFUL YUCKY MEAN SCAMMER

(Note to self: grammar and spelling DO matter.)

Then I went on the web and found this message board about the agency. EEEEEK! I'm so glad I found it! Oh my!

So now we're trying to sell our car. Today we received these emails:

Hello i am intrested in buying your (CAR) you have for sale so i will want you to get me the present condition and the lowest price and also the pics and i want you to know that i will be taking care of the pickup arrangement.And also you can email me direct on these email: EMAIL OF BAD MAN WHO WANTS TO SCAM US. Thanks!!!

Hello Patrick , Am okay with the price of the (Car),i will send the payment of Euros 6,000 in a form of cashier check or money order to you at your location,so be expecting payment from now okay and as soon as you received the payment i will instruct my Shipper to come pickup the (Car) for me at your location okay.Get back to me with your address once again and phone number and dont forget that you will have to sent the remaining balance to my shipper after the cheque as clear at your banks so that they will come for the pickup The (Car) at your destination Thanks looking forward for the information Thanks!!.And you can also get to me on these email, EMAIL OF BAD MAN WHO WANTS TO SCAM US.

In case you think this is legit (which I know you can't). Here's a site that outlines this scam. And, hey, you'd think the man would have the decency to erase (Car) and put the actual make of our car there.

So, yeah.

In addition to having to hassle with selling our (Car), our KITCHEN (Yep!), and everything electronic, we have to weed through these terrible folks bent on taking our money. It's enough to make me yell really loud. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK.

But at least I can console myself with this equation that may or may not be true, but I feel it is nonetheless:

Bad grammar+bad spelling+too good to be true=SCAM

Untying

My heart's been atangle
bound by chords of language
these past two years
Even today
telephone to ear
mouth to receiver
I stuttered speech
unintelligible
Two years old I am
A toddler's bumbling
of language on my tongue
A tear slipped out
as I said au revoir
words of yearning
and goodbye

O to be understood
again
and to decipher
correctly
the tangled words
I've heard
I've said
Is it You untying the chords
Setting my words free?
my heart free?
Merci bien, O Jesus
for untying me home

God told me to tell you . . .

I heartily believe God speaks to us. And I'm forever grateful that He does. Where I get angsty is when someone else, on my behalf, tells me what God wants me to do, particularly when it doesn't square with what God has said to me.

It's all so subjective, isn't it?

The frustrating part is keeping one's mouth shut. Believe me, a part of me wants to shout, "Hey, how can you be sure this is God and not just your holy agenda or bias for my life?" Because, when 'words from God' come from people who are utterly convinced they're spouting His words, it's hard not to shout. Or defend. Or try to convince.

I've had this happen a few times in my life. When it has, I have reminded myself of the difficult truth that God holds my reputation in His capable hands. He is my defender. He is the One who sees me, understands me, lets me know His will. I can trust in Him, even when someone scorns me for not obeying their particular word from God.

Before I close my rant, I do want to say I've been blessed by others who come to me with words of encouragement. The words they say confirm what God has said and they don't come in a condescending, directive, assured way. Just bits of Scripture that jump off the page to them and to me, or prayers, or stories that seem to fit seamlessly into what God's been communicating to me.

And remember, just because someone who appears spiritual and pious comes to you and tells you, "God told me to tell you that you need to sell your Honda and buy a Buick," doesn't mean it's from God. It might just be from a Buick salesman.

It is December 1st, time for the FIRST Day Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month we will feature an author and their latest book's FIRST chapter!

This month's feature author is:

BRYAN DAVIS

and his latest book:

Eye of the Oracle

Bryan Davis is the author of the four book Dragons in Our Midst series, a contemporary/fantasy blend for young people. The first book, Raising Dragons, was released in July of 2004. The second book, The Candlestone, followed in October. Circles of Seven debuted in April of 2005, followed in November by Tears of a Dragon.

Bryan is the author of several other works including The Image of a Father (AMG) and Spit and Polish for Husbands (AMG), and four books in the Arch Books series: The Story of Jesus' Baptism and Temptation, The Day Jesus Died, The Story of the Empty Tomb (over 100,000 sold), and Jacob's Dream. Bryan lives in Winter Park, Florida with his wife, Susie, and their children. Bryan and Susie have homeschooled their four girls and three boys.

To read more about Bryan and his books, visit the Dragons in our Midst Website or visit Bryan's blog.