Week One

Week Two

Week Three

Week Four

Week Five

Week Six

Week Seven

Week Eight

Conclusion

Hey, Siestas!
Several of you asked this week about the upcoming schedule for our Siesta So Long Insecurity discussion group. All of a sudden I realized that it was just days away and I’d better hop on it! I’ve had the shelf date continually in my mind but my priority attentions to it have been shoved behind the SMT Celebration and the launch of Tuesday night Bible study. My blond brain can only sufficiently handle one thing at a time and it’s finally time for this to be the one thing.

For those of you who aren’t up to speed on the subject, this blog community was my biggest resource and, hands down, my most valuable one for the new book, So Long Insecurity. I thought it would be so appropriate and insightful (and fun) to go through it together when it comes out. Well, it’s coming out on Tuesday so we better get this big ball rolling! I’ll put the information in the form of an FAQ for those of you who find that kind of layout most helpful. So here goes:

What’s the plan?
To go through the book together here on the blog over the course of nine weeks. It will conclude the week prior to the SLI simulcast (on April 24th) and I’m anticipating God using our discussions here to add insight into the messages I’ll share that day. He’s used you so many times in this ministry.

How will it work?
Every week I’ll give you a reading assignment (roughly two chapters a week) along with one or two questions based on that material. Those who want to respond will do so through posting comments.

Who should participate?
Anyone with two X chromosomes! Everybody’s welcome! Some of the things we do together on this blog – like summer Bible study and Scripture memory – are over the heads or outside the interests of many of our female coworkers, neighbors, siblings, or friends. Not this time. This subject matter was purposely written to be relevant for any woman trying to survive this culture with a little dignity. My prayer is that, in the pursuit of dignity, they will discover real Security. (Proverbs 3:26 NLT) I give you my word it is not a trap. It is what I believe from the marrow of my bones to be the Truth. If you’re unsure you want to risk asking someone outside the Christian community to join us, grab hold of the book quickly, read it for yourself and see if you think a few of your friends might be open to going through it. No pressure. It’s entirely up to you. God alone has the power to draw people to His Son.

When will we start?
So Long Insecurity hits the stands this coming Tuesday, February 2nd. I will give everyone who wants to participate one week to get your hands on a copy (bookstores, Amazon, etc.). Then, on Tuesday, February 9th, I’ll do a “roll call” (First name and city) to see who’s going to participate. That’s always a ton of fun. In an outreach setting like this one, it will be a blast to see brand new names. On Thursday, February 11th, we’ll start our reading assignments and our first week’s discussion questions. Each Thursday for the next nine weeks I’ll pitch another set of assignments and questions on the blog until we reach the conclusion. (For those who are afraid that one week might not be long enough to get a copy of the book in your hands, keep in mind that, even if you get yours late into the second week, the reading goes quickly enough to put you right on schedule.)

What if I don’t want to take nine whole weeks to read the book?
I just knew somebody was going to ask that question. I’m laughing but I’d be the same way. You can read the book as fast as you’d like then look back on it chapter by chapter as we slow down and do it together as a group.

But what if I don’t want to participate?
Then don’t! I’ll love you so much anyway and meet with you plenty of other times on the blog.

WOW. This is about to be a reality. I just have one last thing to say, Siestas. If you hate it, you helped me write it. SHARE MY PAIN!

I love you.

*Update*
You can sign up for the SLI DG on the roll call post.*

Hey, Darling Things! How are you? I have been in a whirlwind of activity for the last ten days and, since I’m still not quite my back to my normal abnormal, everything on the periphery has had to bow to the urgent. Out of respect to you wonderful Siestas who were not here with us in Houston last weekend, I will refrain from saying as much as I’d like. AJ penned such a fabulous recap so I’ll leave my comments at this: I’ve never had a better time with a group in 25 years of speaking. I’m not even kidding. I wish I had the opportunity to interact like that all the time. I will never forget it. My gratitude to God overflows.

I really had an epiphany about our whole blog community while 507 of us were together last weekend at the SMT celebration. I marveled at the love and laughter between Siestas from all over the country – 42 States! – and Canada who’d come to know each other simply on the basis of expression of heart. I watched (and participated) while so many had their pictures taken together like they’d been friends all their lives and most of them hadn’t been face-to-face until that very weekend. They hadn’t been drawn together by a single outward characteristic. Not similar jobs, finances, age groups, appearances, or stations in life. They’d been drawn by one another’s hearts in Christ and on the Internet of all things. Seeing it in action was nothing less than astonishing. I am honored to be a part of this community. You have won my respect in so many ways over the last several years. I reflect back on the days when Amanda began talking to me about starting an LPM blog and me thinking that I needed something else to do like I needed a hole in the head. I had no idea what this little town would come to mean to me. You are a big priority in my ministry life.

OK, as my friend Amy says, if we’re going to serve up that much cheese, somebody grab the salsa and let’s at least make queso.

My man is in the mood to talk so I’m not going to be able to carry on. I’ll wrap it up by saying that God gave us the neatest group for Bible study last night. I asked them to raise their hands if they were attending for the first time and we were blown away by the numbers. I bet well over a third were brand new. I could not believe it. I hope so much they stick it out. I love the story of David. God used it in countless ways years ago to give hope and dignity back to this former pit-dweller. I find myself once again in a great place for a brand new heart. A heart a whole lot more like His.

I love you, Siestas! Let me know how you’re doing! And don’t be too long winded because I really do try to read as many of them as I can. If most of us see a super long one, we usually end up having to skim it just for time’s sake. No telling what we’re missing. Give me a shout when you get a chance. Blessings to you!

A few evenings ago, the Joneses were over at our house for dinner along with Keith’s parents so we could celebrate CJ’s and Pop’s birthdays. (Curtis’s was over the holidays while they were out of town so I had a roast and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole waiting for him when they got back to Houston. It happens to be Keith’s Dad’s favorite meal, too, so they made a great pair for a Moore celebration.) My adorable grandson is not much for lingering at the dinner table once his half-pint tummy is full so, about the third time he was told to get out from under the table and back up in his chair, I started strategizing an exit plan. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Bibby, wanna play wis me?”

Sensing this was escape from an inevitable time out, I quipped, “Of course, I want to play with you!”

And, while everyone else sat at the table and talked, Jackson and I headed to the den to play. We play all sorts of things when he’s at my house. Last night, for instance, we played toy store and he “sold” me (and his mommy) various toys from his big box at Bibby’s (actually, his old pack ‘n play) for pennies and nickles that he promptly stuck in his play-wallet. It was great fun. He’s like a lot of sales folks, however. He is more inclined to sell you what he wants you to buy rather than what you request. I was just as content with his selections anyway. It makes me really happy when he thinks something like a lizard would suit me best. Last night was a departure from our norm. We ordinarily play cars. We sit across from one another, each with a matchbox car, and we say in unison, “One, two, three, GO!” And on “go,” we each spin a car as fast as we can toward the other with the chief objective to make them crash. It’s harder than you think for a boy and his grandmother and we high-five if they do.

Several nights ago, the night on the table for this post, the play of choice was blocks. Brand new ones, as a matter of fact. I’d ordered him a really cool set off the Internet for Christmas and, when I received them from UPS, the toy company had added a smaller bonus box. I promptly snatched them up for Bibby’s house. Maybe you’ve seen the kind. They’re made for little builders with all sorts of accessories like wrenches and bolts and wheels.

You can’t imagine all the shapes you can make. Hence, my story.

Jackson didn’t feel very well that evening like most people in Houston. He’d been coughing and snorting like his life depended on it. As a matter of fact, much of the time we were down on the floor in the den, building blocks, he had his head propped against my right shoulder. I reasoned to myself that when I don’t feel well, my creative juices tend to be stifled and, if that were the case for the three-and-a-half-year-old sitting next to me, he could probably use some help with construction concepts. So, I said, “Why don’t you put this piece right here?”

Shook his head.

“OK, well, how about putting this wheel on this side so it will roll really good?”

Shook his head again.

Hmmmm. Almost out of ideas. “Well, we don’t have many bolts on this side. Wanna put a few over here?”

He picked his head up off my shoulder, looked straight in my eyes, and said, not rudely but firmly,

“Bibby, that’s not what I’m doing.”

It was everything I could do not to bust out laughing.

Instead, a very serious, “Oh, I see! Sorry, Buddy. You go right ahead.”

To which he seemed relieved.

The lesson wasn’t wasted on me. I didn’t have to wait till my head was on the pillow and started spinning. I never made it off the floor without thinking how often I try to help God out with ideas. “Why don’t You do it this way?” Or, “why don’t You do so and so with so and so?”

I’m forever giving God workable suggestions about how He could – sometimes, if I may be so bold, should – handle something. Or someone.

Anybody else?

Don’t you know there are times He wants to say to us right out loud in our stubborn hearing, “Child, THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M DOING.”

Often, we just don’t know what God is doing. So often we think we do but, the truth is, we just don’t. Thankfully, He does. He really does. He doesn’t need our help. Our brilliant ideas. Or our last ditch efforts because He ignored our first ten suggestions. He just wants our cooperation.

He is constructing something beyond our human rationale. He knows in advance every piece – past, present, and future – that will be required for the finished work. He has all the patience in the universe to put it together. We see one little part and one little moment. He, the One who is, who was, and is to come, sees beyond the singular piece to every generation and condition He means to effect. Meanwhile, He works all things together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. The one thing may not be good at all by itself. In fact, it may be horrendous. Criminal. It’s when He weaves it with all that comes before it and all that will come around and behind it that something good, something beneficial, emerges.

Never let Romans 8:28 become so familiar that you subconsciously fold it into your spiritual fairy tale file. It is as true today as it was the moment the Apostle dripped the letters on the parchment. Don’t blow them dry.

Maybe it’s not that God isn’t listening. Maybe it’s just that what we keep suggesting is not exactly what He’s doing. And, if that’s so, what He’s doing can only be better and more effectual than what we think we’d do in His place.

John 13:7 says something that keeps ringing in my ears.

Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

Later.

LATER.

L.A.T.E.R.

We WILL understand.

My Dear Siestas,

We’re having the same conversations in our family that many of you are having in yours. Melissa called me a little while ago and said, “You don’t sound good, Mom. What is it?”

I told her I was just standing in front of the television screen still trying to wrap my mind around the ever-worsening horror in Haiti. She then said, “That’s just what I was calling to talk about.” While we were on the phone, Amanda called and we also shared our heart sickness over the unimaginable tragedies there.

Melissa mentioned that the more she watched, the more hopeless she felt and that suddenly she grasped hold of the obvious: “I don’t have to just sit here feeling like there’s nothing I can do. I can find a way to give.” Amanda and I agreed that doing something tangible to help – like getting down on our knees in believing prayer and back up on our feet to open our checkbooks – might be the only way we three Moore women can sleep tonight.

Many of you already have avenues for giving to disaster relief. Others may not know exactly what to do. Compassion is already in active operation toward aid for Haiti and so is World Vision. You can also get on the official Red Cross website and give online. Go to Redcross.org then look for “donate” and choose “International Response Fund.” You’ll see Haiti specified there. I know for a fact that many of you are financially strapped right now and you might be looking for a way to make a vital contribution but one that won’t put you further in the hole. Perhaps this ready option might work:

Text “HAITI” to 90999 to donate $10 to Red Cross relief efforts. It will be charged on your cell phone bill.

On any given day, around 10,000 independent visitors come to this blog. Ten dollars may not sound like a lot until you multiply it that many times over. Sister, if you don’t have an extra dime to help, God knows the desires of your heart and esteems your powerful intercessory prayer. Let’s just not sit here and twiddle our helpless thumbs. Join us as we cry out for mercy.

And miracles.

I am honored to kneel alongside each of you and band together as a group and give.

My Dear Siestas,

For starters, I have two words for you: Who knew?

WHO KNEW??

As, under the heavy burden of responsibility bequeathed to me, I pen my official findings on this hot button of Christendom, we have barreled past 1000 comments, each vital in unquestionable contribution. Doubtless, our humble community is the frantic talk and frenzied tweet of interior designers all over the world for, clearly, we have uncovered the very underbelly of furniture rearrangement. You just can’t plan a movement like this. It either happens or it doesn’t.

It could very well take months before I, myself, can fully absorb the depths of our spontaneous discovery. The well is deep. Without far greater deliberation, I am forced to offer you the merest bucket from this unbridled spring but it will be replete with meaning for those willing to delve. Multiple readings will help the true student plunge these depths.

And, now, without further ado, my ten top findings:

1. Siestaville is a diverse community comprised of formidable teams of both movers and immovers (the false noun form of the adjective “immovable.”) As Holly pointed out, immovers appear to prefer daytime and movers are undeniably night owls. (As are vampires.)

2. Approximately three people in Siestaville appear to possess the remotest moderation. The rest are confident extremists. (Which explains why a like roll call of Calvinists and Arminians will not be forthcoming.) We are obsessive in both our rearranging and our utter refusal to budge a single bar stool. No wonder I’m your Siesta Mama.

One example:
“My friend Donna came over in 1997 when I added the sunroom to my house. She arranged the wall of white bookshelves with my treasures (books, mostly) and I literally made little pencil marks under everything so that when I dusted I could put it back in the right places.”

There were a few exceptions. Amber was one of my favorites:
“Can I please be both?”

Yes, Darling. Since you asked so nicely, you certainly may.

There were a handful that would fall under the category of what Skubaliscious called “semi-movers” but most admitted that their moderation was in space and budget. Not taste. As Liberty Ruffles waxed with eloquence, “I am a mover stuck in a non-mover’s house.”

While most Siestas had no few words to say about either extreme, Mercy4Drew simply commented:
“Non Mover.”

Impressive. How does she do that??

Some movers rearrange so obsessively that, among those married, many coinciding husbands don’t put down their brief cases after coming in from work until they see their own wives’ faces. They simply never are sure they’ve walked into the right house. And God forbid that they get up during the night and try to navigate their way to the bathroom in the dark. Many have been discovered in various stages of brokenness. Ronda’s husband claims never to begin his descent into a sitting position until he has checked carefully to make sure a chair is still there.

Many movers, Ocean Mommy among them, just happened to mention that they love to rearrange the furniture once a month. I’m just sayin.

Others had no specific pattern. I suppose we might say they are movers with irregularity.

Some immovers are more naïve than unwilling. PraisinYahweh was willing to take us back to the basics by begging the question,

“Moving furniture? Can we do that?”

For others, reluctance to domestic change is not their fault. It’s their phobia. “MadeforHim” says of her and her man:

“Truly we are both scared to death of color. Our walls are all white.”

Speaking of fears, one of my very own trusted sisters described in her insightful comment what I fear – and she pegged – could be me:

“My friend Laura is like you. Gets it like she likes it and leaves it alone. She moved into a new house a few years ago, and when I went to see her I walked in the front door and died laughing. EXACT same floor plan as her old house, just bigger and with one more bedroom. Tickled me to no end.”

Yes, and I’m nearly crying. Is your friend Dr. Laura, by chance? Does she have some psychological insight into the healthiness of human immutability that the less informed public knows nothing about?

3. Siestas had strong and diverse opinions concerning the optimum matter of whether or not the piece of furniture that sprung such controversy – one might say a movement – is indeed a sofa table as said worship leader claimed. One went so far as to say she was certain that it was not but, alas, she did not know the name of what it actually was. (Some fancy foreign name that kept slipping her tongue.) Another simply stated that the moment the piece was moved away from the sofa, it was no longer a sofa table. Sensible.

As for me, I have no idea. You be the judge:

(I can’t wait for Melissa and Amanda, both camera lovers, to see the stunning artistic touches in this selection. It took me a total of two tries to fully capture the scene. Notice how I included a reflection of the fire place in the mirror. If I stay home from work a single day longer, there is no telling what other self-discoveries I will make.)

4. There is some evidence to suggest that anger plays a role among movers. Lori said, “I like to change [around the furniture] when I am really mad.” Another Siesta referenced herself accordingly as “the angry decorator.” Another claimed to only have the urge to paint a room a new exotic color when her husband went hunting. Repression. As you can see, the issue has now broadened considerably in complexity. Is is no longer, “Am I a mover?” but “Why?”

5. This public admission earned the right to be a point all by itself: “Just me-bobbie jo” not only rearranges her own furniture. She arranges other peoples’ furniture in her mind. Watch her carefully if she comes to your house. Invite her on purpose or not at all. Never let her slip through the door with a friend. If you’re as unsure as I am about what she looks like, card every visitor to your home that you don’t recognize.

6. Many Siestas reacted to their own blog Mama’s claim to never have moved a stick of furniture in 31 years with nothing less than shock and awe. Indeed, they’d thought better of me. I couldn’t have astonished them more if I’d confessed to chicken skinning on the side for extra cash. Does it help to know that I rearrange old outfits all the time to make them look new and sometimes I’m so proud of myself, I clap my own hands? (As opposed to clapping someone else’s. You’ve clearly nearly pushed me over the edge.) Does it also help to know that, while I somehow lack adequate concern about the ever-changing interior of my home, I am obsessed with my yard and oversee the changing of flowers multiple times a year?

I would nearly have despaired over having so drastically lowered Siesta expectations had I not seen Jennyhope’s comment like a beacon of light in the darkness. A mirage in the Siesta Sahara. She admitted to my own inclination but then prided herself in having added several “extra leafs” to her dining table recently, and, with great relief, believed it to qualify on the blog post as a rearrangement. My favorite part was that she voiced uncertainty over whether or not it was even spelled “l-e-a-f” (like the kind on a tree). And, as I live and breathe, I do not know either. However, that small unsettled issue does nothing to dampen my exhilaration as one who ALSO added a leaf to her dining table recently, if only for the Thanksgiving meal. Thank you, Jennyhope. We can hold our heads up high. At the very least we are seasonal movers. Sniff.

7. Military wives and pastors wives are movers but not by choice. They are movers by trade. Sister3 writes,

“Are you kidding me? I’m married to a United Methodist minister! Not only do I rearrange furniture, I exchange houses with another minister’s family every 4 – 5 years!”

We better write our pastors’ wives a thank you note this minute. And, while we’re at it, our military wives, too. Many of them rearrange a new dwelling every year. Yep. That was my mama, the Major Dad’s wife of 55 years. Maybe that’s my problem.

8. Wives are not the only movers in a marriage. One brave brother (identified as randommumblings) added depth and texture to our landscape by characterizing himself as the mover in his family rather than his bride. After only three short years of marriage, his wife “FORBID” (his word, not mine, and in all caps) him bringing home any more “discoveries” for their budding décor.

9. Some compulsive movers admit that they might have the slightest obsession but that it’s all relative.

Bekah writes, “I not only change furniture with a fervency, but I change ROOM purposes any old chance I get. I have a three bedroom house that I will have lived in ten years come this summer, and by that time, each room will have served as master bedroom, guest bedroom, and office at some point in that time span. It’s a blessed good thing my kitchen and bathrooms won’t uproot without significant expense. It’s probably a sickness, but I figure there are worse ones I could have.”

Yes, I know for a fact that there are. Still, I may move a twin bed into the den tonight. I wasn’t the least tempted to be a mover until you turned it into a psychological disorder. Then, true to form, I began to manifest it.

10. One Siesta was under particular inspiration when she unknowingly summed up my considerable intellectual contributions to the blog world with this:

“I just love that you talk about everyday stupid stuff.”

I have never loved y’all more.

UPDATE ON WEDNESDAY MORNING: One of my favorites ever. Y’all kill me. You just kill me. I am watching these closely and you may look forward to a post hopefully later this evening or tomorrow morning on my findings and reflections concerning movers versus immovers here in the imaginary city of Siestaville. You will not want to miss this life changing message. Until then, I’d simply like to say that some of you don’t get enough sleep. I just brought in over 200 comments that were written during the night. As for me, I am currently spending my night hours putting on extra jammies because I’m cold then taking them off one piece at a time because I’m hot. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to say that I’m annoyed. Last thing: don’t get worried if you don’t see your comments posted for a couple of hours. I’ve got to go to the back doctor today and will be out for pockets of time throughout the day. I promise to get all of them in by afternoon. You’re my bffs right this minute. Even you movers.

ORIGINAL POST:

OK, Y’all. After 31 years of marriage, Keith and I just experienced a FIRST. Remember that beautiful Christmas tree he had his nephews deliver to me while he was out of town after my surgery? Well, ever since we got home from Passion, I’ve been hinting about how that tree sure does look dry and those needles sure are piling up on the carpet. I adore the Christmas season and love all the decorations but by 12:01 AM on New Year’s Day, while the neighbors do their bottle rockets, I’m obsessing about getting my house back in order. Normally, Keith is MIA this time a year and I, like the Hoss I pretend to be (if that’s a bad word, I don’t know it so forgive me), haul that tree right out of my house single handedly and drag it to the curb. But alas, I presently have two strikes against independence: 1) a persistent large herniated disk and 2) only four weeks out of surgery and can’t lift more than ten pounds for four more interminable weeks.

You can probably imagine that my hints are about as subtle as my biker friend who likes to sit on the front row at church wearing intense black leather and about 65 pounds of chains. I love him because he loves Jesus. And I get a kick out of the novelty and wonder if God does, too. So, anyway, Keith got on his heavy gloves and grabbed that Christmas tree by its wilting throat, leaving that typical four-inch deep train of pine needles. He walked back in the house and I said in my meekest, most apologetic voice, “Honey, did you know I can’t sweep either? I’m not supposed to do that side to side motion.” He got the broom. I’m pretty sure he liked me better last night when he was watching that deer show all by himself and I was blogging.

Of course, true to form, none of this is my point. Nor is it our big first I wrote to tell you about. What happened is this: he had to move the furniture around to drag out the tree and when he put it all back, since I could offer him no assistance, he ended up putting a table in the wrong place. It was one of those tables that goes behind your couch. I think there’s a name for it but goodness knows I don’t know what it is. Instead of putting it where it had been since our remodel, Keith shoved it against the wall. I stood in the den staring at it for the longest time and finally said, “Hey, Sweetie, did you realize you put the table in the wrong place?”

Him, squinting at it like it was a hog under a distant deer feeder: “I knew something was off but I didn’t know what.”

Me: “You’re not going to believe this but I think I like it.”

Him, staring at me in disbelief, wondering if it could be the low estrogen. Can he really trust anything I have to say right now? Finally, he breaks the silence: “Uh, I think I do, too.”

And, so, we left it there.

First time in 31 years.

I have never one time – I said never one time – rearranged the furniture. When we moved into this house 25 years ago, the movers put the furniture down and I have not scooted around one single chair since. When Melissa was graduating from high school and we were having guests over to our house to celebrate, I asked Keith if I could get some new den furniture…then proceeded to put the new couch exactly where the old couch had been. The coffee table exactly where the old coffee table had been. And so forth.

Three and a half years ago we remodeled. Our friend, Vicky, was in charge of the entire project because I don’t care what color paint goes where nor would I know a silk pillow from polyester. She positioned the furniture and I’ve haven’t moved a stick of it since. I mean, why mess it up?

Until today.

We actually rearranged a piece of furniture. I’m so excited. It’s only one but I feel a sudden recklessness. I may march right into the master bathroom and change out the decorative hand towels with the gold tassels. I am feeling dangerous. Edgy.

So, what about you, Siestas? Are you the type that loves to rearrange furniture and spontaneously redecorate a corner of your home? Or are you like me and once it’s there, it’s not going anywhere? And either way, what do you think that says about us??

I can’t wait. You’re so much fun.

UPDATE HALF HOUR IN: OK, this is a blast. I’m going to do an approximate tally in a day or two and tell you how we shake out on this life-altering issue here in Siestaville.

NEW UPDATE AN HOUR IN: Travis just sent me a two-word text: “Sofa Table.” TRAVIS told me that. My worship leader had to tell me it was a sofa table. I’ve had it. I’m going to get furniture therapy.

Anybody who doubts the power of Siesta prayers hasn’t been hanging around this place long enough. Of course, all of us know it’s not the power of prayers. It’s the power of God sought in prayer. I praise Him to the highest heavens for His kindness. I cannot thank you enough for praying me to Atlanta and back, for the entire Passion conference and for over 20,000 young lives who represent the Church of tomorrow. I had no idea when I stepped on that platform Sunday morning whether or not I had the unction to still be up on my feet an hour later. Regathering the strength to walk to the end of the street and having the stamina to deliver a message in a large setting are two wildly different things. In all these years I’d never been in that situation. If Melissa said once, she said a hundred times to people while we were there, “I’m just saying that we need to be careful with her. We’ve barely gotten her out of the house. And now here we are.” (I kept whispering behind her back, “I’m really okay.”) You might say she sort of took on the role of bouncer. She was scared to death I was going to get about half way through the message under those hot spotlights and drop straight to the floor. Not one time, Siestas, NOT ONCE, did I even feel light headed. It wasn’t the best crafted message a soul has ever heard, but, Girlfriend, it got delivered. And God alone got it done. Then turned around two hours later and did it again. My hat is off to Him. My knees are bent. He alone.

But here’s the thing. I want those answers for you, too. He loves you so much and is so intently watching over you and ordaining details to let you know He’s there. Oh, that He would give us eyes to see! My deep hope is that many of you who shared such seasons of turmoil through your comments to the Exodus 33 post have also seen evidence of His heightened activity and answered prayer. You are never forgotten. Never overlooked.

“So we must not grow weary in doing good, for in due time we will reap, if we do not give up. So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us do good to all people, and especially to those who belong to the family of faith.” (Galatians 6:9,10)

Continue praying for the conclusion of Passion 2010. (I had to come straight back home.) It will wrap up tomorrow and thousands of young people will spread back out over this globe with the challenge to live to the great glory of God through the gospel of Jesus Christ. I cannot think of a more important time in all of life to have your heart completely stolen by God. What more strategic age could there be? Please also pray them all safely home. Many of them will get back on the road with bleary eyes.

If you can spare one more prayer, please remember our resident blog master and my darling firstborn. Amanda and her man, Curtis, will get back on a plane to Missouri tomorrow, spend the night with his parents (who have so graciously afforded them this time alone) then start the long trek home with Jackson and Annabeth in the car. Honestly, if I don’t get my hands on those babies pretty soon, I’m going to get violent. Really, I just want them to make it home safely, no matter how long it takes. Thank you for remembering them.

OK, Keith’s making me get off line. The thing of it is, the only reason I got on here is because he was watching a deer hunting show that was on skin diseases they can get (the deer, not the hunters) and I couldn’t stand it another minute. I whined for us to “watch something together” and I warned (“I’m not kidding. I’m not watching this another second.”) and then I withdrew to the world wide web. He is now repentant for having rejected me but only because the show is over. I am being summoned to the den. And submissive woman that I am, I will bid you adieu.

Anyway, WHEN DOES 24 START?? IS THERE NOTHING DECENT TO WATCH?????????? I love a good show and I don’t mind telling you I’m in an entertainment drought. I am so sick of bad TV that I could throw up. If you know something worth watching, speak up!

Let’s give praise to God, Siestas, for such faithfulness to us in 2009. Pause for a moment and glance back over the last 12 months. Most of you have had the same kind of year I’ve had: a mixture of joy and pain. Others of you have crawled on your hands and knees through an unrelenting season in the valley of suffering. I pray with all my heart that 2010 will be a glorious respite for those of you, our faithful sisters, who have spent the year with fears and tears.

I often think back on Exodus 33 when an overwrought Moses asked God to show him His glory. Moses didn’t understand that he wouldn’t have survived the kind of revelation he’d requested. Instead of giving His servant what he asked, the Lord said to him,

There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. (V.22)

The next part is so wild:

Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.

Metaphorically speaking, the same thing can happen to us. When a shadow overtakes our lives and the light dims nearly beyond recognition, we may not see a single evidence of His arrival in our crisis. Sometimes we’re in such blackness, we may go weeks or months that we don’t sense God right by our side or feel the presence of His abiding Spirit within us. Those are the seasons when we make the choice whether we’ll go by what we see and feel, or walk by what we know to be true. These are the places we learn what it really means to walk by faith and not by sight. To sow the seed of Scripture in our tears. It’s often not until the crisis begins to dissipate that we look back upon the outstretched horizon and see God’s hand prints all over it. No, we do not see His face, because, as Scripture says, our mortal bodies are not equipped to bear the sight. But, in a beautiful sense, we do indeed see His “back.’ As the season draws to a close, we see that He took every single step we did.

We are quick to assume that all darkness is demonic but sometimes maybe the shadow over us is the hand of God covering us while His glory passes by.

I wonder if any of you can glance back over 2009 and see the “back” of God. Maybe you didn’t see His face. Maybe you weren’t even positive at times He was there. But now, as you look over your shoulder at the months behind you, the fog clears and you get a glimpse of His back, leading the way to your exodus.

If you’ve experienced such a thing over the course of this year, share it as succinctly as you can so that your sisters can read each one. If you haven’t been in a season of overshadowing difficulty, write a prayer for one of your Siestas who has. One of the most fulfilling things I see in this blog community is the way you respond to one another. Let’s end 2009 and begin 2010 doing exactly that. Let’s be the Body of Christ, free of our divisions, prejudices and partialities. Let’s make the Spirit feel so welcome here, offering Him a place where He is free from our misconceptions.

I am honored to close this year with you and greet another. May we each be astounded by the power and abiding Presence of God in 2010. May we continue to spur one another on to love and good works. May we see His glory…or sense His hand.

You crown the year with Your good blessings, and You leave abundance in Your wake. Psalm 65:11

Good morning, my darling sisters.

Melissa and I are cooking up a post together with highlights from our holidays (our Amanda is in Missouri with Curtis and his family) but I thought I’d jump on here and jot a quick hello since it’s been a while. I am slowly getting back my energy and feeling more like myself. (You’ve prayed six pounds back on me! Thank you! Come to a screeching halt at six more. Grin.) True to the post-op norm, however, I suddenly hit a brick wall each day and I’m done. Can hardly lift a finger. It’s all I can do to be mildly hilarious with my family at that point but I have humbly managed. (I so hope you newbies understand our weird humor around here.) I’ve gotten out a little while each day but by the time I got back home, I only had the energy to moderate your comments and nothing left to write a fresh post. My inner man was shouting a loud hello. My outer man needed a heating pad and a nap. I lapsed to the latter, as I knew you’d want me to.

Alas, I’ve gotten to you today before doing anything else so I’ll hit a brick wall on something else instead.

It’s Keith’s and my 31st wedding anniversary. That’s why I’m writing today. I’m not looking for congratulations. Y’all have gone out of your way to send us so many greetings recently. I don’t want to wear you out. I just want to share it with you. I have so many feelings. More feelings than energy so I’ll limit myself to expressing only a few.

Keith and I have rarely been together on our actual anniversary. I had the audacity to set our wedding date at the peak of deer season. I’m so sorry if many of you are offended by hunters. I am not a hunter – can hardly stomp on a roach – but I surely did marry one and there’s not a whole lot I can do about it now but love the hunter. And I do. He didn’t mean to marry a woman who does what I do either and he finds it just about as baffling. Anyway, that wild man and I have been married for 31 years today. We celebrated two nights ago before he left town but, actually, this is our big day. God seems to ordain that I end up alone with Him on my wedding anniversary every year instead of alone with Keith. I am quite certain it is because He’s responsible for our longevity. Not Keith and me.

That we have a single hair left on our heads from the roller coaster we’ve ridden is a testimony to the staying power of God, especially if you consider how many of my hairs have been weakened at the roots by bleach. We closed out 2008 with one of the hardest years of our marriage. In fact, I’m embarrassed to tell you that we were hundreds of miles apart on our 30th anniversary and hardly spoke. On purpose. That was a first for us. It was also frightening and I hope and pray we never do that again. We prefer to talk things out passionately – even fight them out – rather than freeze each other out. Last year was a huge and terrifying departure from our norm and dangerous. I don’t want any repeats.

After the worst start to a new year of marriage in our three-decade history (last December 30th), we then proceeded to have our best year yet. Only Jesus. God used a host of things to bring us to such a happy season. I spent much of the year writing the insecurity book and, in the process, receiving a deep and much needed work of the Spirit. I don’t know if another woman on the planet will be jarred the least by it but it was a life changing journey for me. Keith also came to a new place in his life with God. That’s for him to share. Not me. I’ll own my own stuff and let him tell his story to his own discretion. Keep in mind that this happy year of marriage was amid a hard physical health year. Odd how that can happen. No year in a normal life is without hardship.

All that to say, a few minutes ago I was sitting on my bed having my quiet time and my I-phone dinged with an incoming text, jotted quickly from a certain deer stand six hours from Houston.

You are my lifelong sweets I adore you I love marital bliss

(It was written just like that. No punctuations or periods.)

And you, Ivan Keith Moore, are MINE. Right this minute, I love you more than I’ve ever loved you. I appreciate you more than I’ve ever appreciated you. Most of the time I have no idea what to do with you but this I know. I can’t imagine being anything but bored stiff with anybody else. We’ve been a lot of things but boring is not among them. I had no idea what I was doing 31 years ago today. I was scared out of my mind in that rented off-white wedding dress when I walked down that aisle with my father and wondered how on earth two such troubled people would make it. It was already very clear that we were both loons. I do, however, know what I’m doing today. I choose you. You ARE my lifelong sweets. I adore you, too. And right this very minute, propped up all by myself on a mess of pillows, hours from my compulsive outdoorsman-husband, with a phone sitting just to my left elbow sporting a text that speaks louder than three dozen roses, I love marital bliss, too.

Happy Anniversary.

Thank You, Lord.

Greetings this glorious, cold December 25th in the Name of our Savior, Jesus Christ!

Celebrate with Amanda, Melissa, and me and all your Siestas around the world this revolutionary truth:

The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. From this fullness of His grace we have ALL received…

…ONE BLESSING AFTER ANOTHER. John 1:14,16 NIV

When you get a moment over the next day or two, share one very SPECIFIC way God blessed you this wonderful day. It would be so fun for us to name our cities so we can be reminded once again how we stretch over this globe.

Oh, Sisters. We love you so much.
Beth