Hello friends. I just got home from a fun morning with the LPM crew. Beth was interviewed on Great Day Houston at the CBS studios. Her segment is about the new book, So Long Insecurity. Mom’s portion won’t air for a few weeks, but most of my wonderful co-workers were there in the audience for today’s live show. You may have even seen them! Several of our girls were made to sit on the platform, front and center. When we were on our way there, Sabrina sent us a text message saying they had been moved to the stage and were feeling insecure. It made us laugh really hard. Our dear sisters who just happen to like being in the background were the ones who ended up on camera the most. Oh, the irony! Debra Duncan was a gracious host and we were thankful for the opportunity to get the word out about the new book. We are praying for God to use this message to free many women from insecurity. Some may even be introduced to Jesus for the first time.

I’m switching gears now. This is going to be one of those random posts that I’m known for.

Jackson has had a double ear infection this week. We’ve been very blessed not to have to deal with a lot of these, thank You Lord. But early yesterday evening I began to feel some pain and pressure in my own ear. We went over to my parents’ house for dinner and by the end of our time there, my ear was stopped up and hurting pretty bad. It gave me a lot of sympathy for my boy.

When we got home Curtis pulled out that infamous little watering can slash tea pot that some of you know and love. Yes, it was the neti pot. If you weren’t here for our previous discussion of the neti pot, you should read this. Did he even ask me? No. He just started mixing the saline solution and giving me instructions.

“What? I am not doing that!”

“Yes you are.” He spoke with authority.

For some reason I lost my will to fight.

I made him leave the room and shut the door behind him. I know he wanted to watch but it was too weird.

So I did it. I wish I could say it wasn’t awful, but it totally was. I felt like I had just taken a ride through the ocean with Flipper, but without the amusement of being best friends with a dolphin.

Afterward I found out you’re not supposed to use the neti pot when you have ear pain. Awesome. It was in that moment that I humbled myself even further and poured Similasan Children’s Ear Ache Relief into my ear. It helped!

In the neti Pot’s defense, I should say that my sinuses felt much better this morning. However, if I were actually speaking to you and not writing, my voice would be unusually loud because I can barely hear a thing out of the right side.

Alright, enough of that.

I have some news that I have been putting off sharing. I’m just going to blurt it out, like pulling off a bandaid quickly. We are not doing the Siesta Scripture Memory Team in 2010.

*Cringe*

Are you still there? I hope so. We’ve been getting a lot of questions lately and we knew we needed to get you up to speed. Forgive us for taking so long. We’re still just getting back on our feet around here. First let me say that we’re so sorry to those of you who are disappointed. If you were hoping to join in this year, you might want to consider rounding up a group of girlfriends to do it together. Mom says she learned years ago that specific (and challenging!) commitments like those need a beginning date and an ending date or people tend to drop out or lose interest. Most people have a hard time keeping something like that up indefinitely. She says we’ll probably do it again in 2011 if we still have significant interest but, since we’d committed to exactly one year on the blog, we needed to take time to celebrate it with our original team, let everyone have time to fulfill other commitments, then get back to it next year. Thank you for your cooperation!

Finally, isn’t our new blog design adorable? Kelly from Fabulous K Creative did it for us as a gift. Wasn’t that sweet of her? She asked if she could surprise us with the design and I said yes. I’m so glad I did! I love how cheerful it is. Kelly, thank you for blessing us!

Have a great Friday, everyone!

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.

A certain question has been running through my mind since before Christmas. What would it be like to know that you sinned but there was no way to be forgiven?

A couple of months after Annabeth was born I was trying to get back into aerobics. One evening I jumped in my Jeep with a smile on my face and a hop in my step and headed to the gym. I took a shortcut through my neighborhood, but I immediately realized I’d made the wrong decision when I saw about ten kids playing in a yard next to the street. If I’d seen them I would have taken a different route. I drove very slowly until I passed them and then I picked up speed (although I did not even reach the speed limit). All of a sudden a little dog came running down a driveway toward my car, barking all the way. I slammed on my brakes but I couldn’t avoid him. To my horror, I hit the dog. A terrible chorus of ten children screaming – including those of the dog owners – filled the street. It was one of the worst moments of my life.

One of the boys who lived there went running through the front door that had accidentally been left open and got his parents. They came out and got the dog who was still alive but was writhing in pain and crying. The other little boy was in hysterics. I stood in their driveway trying to apologize and explain but no one could speak to me.

“What can I do?” I begged.

“Nothing.”

I was completely devastated. Not only had I hurt and possibly killed this dog, but I had hurt this family and traumatized all of these kids. They would be able to look down a long street and see my car – the instrument of destruction – parked in our driveway. I was convinced that we’d need to move because I would be known as the wicked witch of the neighborhood.

It felt like my life was over. I went to the store and bought a card. I wrote a note about how sorry I was and how I would be praying for the dog and their family. I included my phone number in case they wanted to call and yell at me or to tell me how the dog was doing. I couldn’t bear to show my face there again, so Curtis took it over. I wanted him to tell them how sorry I was. They weren’t home, so he left the card on their doorstep.

Later I called my friend who lives near that family. I told her what had happened. “That was you?” Word had traveled fast. She’d heard that the dog was in rough shape. I felt sick.

I know in my mind that there was nothing I could have done to avoid the dog. I wasn’t speeding and I wasn’t being careless. As my friend suggested, maybe the Lord would use it to teach the children to be careful around the street. Even so, my heart desperately craved forgiveness.

It never came. We never heard from the family. Thankfully, I did hear from my friend that the dog was going to make a full recovery. That was such beautiful news to my ears. We have even seen the dog being walked down our street. I’ve wondered if they recognize my car in the driveway. Are they still mad at me? Were they ever mad? I know it’s selfish to think of my own emotional needs in a situation like that. I have chosen to release it to God and move on. Although I promise you I do not take that shortcut anymore.

Last week at Passion we heard the story of 30,000 children in Uganda who were kidnapped by a rebel army and turned into soldiers. They were forced to torture and kill others, sometimes starting with their own family members. These are the “Invisible Children” you may have heard about. Many of them returned to their homes upon release and found that their parents were dead.

A husband and wife named Gary and Marilyn Skinner have taken in some of these children and put them in homes with a loving mother. They found these child soldiers wandering the streets with blood on their hands. There was no one to wash it off. They had nowhere to bring their guilt. The Skinners knew better than that. They are teaching them about the hope of Jesus Christ. These boys and girls who have carried the guilt of violent bloodshed have been told the good news that Jesus can forgive them. God loves them. They can be made into new creatures and they can stand righteous before God. They can be justified and renewed.

Is there anything more glorious? Imagine that you are eight years old and you have been made to kill a little baby with a stick by some sick man standing over you. Your life feels like it is ruined forever. You feel worthless and guilty. But a Savior reaches out to you. You are rescued from guilt, condemnation and despair.

Without the birth of Christ, without His sinless life, without the horrible death He suffered on the cross, without God’s wrath toward our sin that He endured, without His resurrection from the dead, we would remain in our iniquity and guilt. We would stand guilty before Almighty God with no way to be forgiven. But WITH these things there is grace, forgiveness, life, beauty, wholeness, restoration, and innocence.

Thanks be to Jesus Christ our Lord who has rescued us from our sin and guilt. He has made peace between us and the Father by His own blood. When our faith is in Jesus, we are justified in the sight of God. Instead of our sin, the Father sees Christ’s righteousness.

I don’t know where you’re at right now. Maybe your heart is overwhelmed with guilt and shame over something in your past. Or in your present. I’ve been there. The Bible says that we’ve all sinned. No one is exempt from the corruption that is born into the human heart. The good news is that anyone can receive forgiveness through faith in Christ. You can have it right now. He delights to give it to you.

We were told that one of the head soldiers in charge of training these children to kill and destroy has given his life to Jesus.

Redemption.

Time and time again I am struck by how divine the story of the Gospel is. It did not originate in the human mind. No man could invent something so beautiful.

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

Christmas vacation started yesterday after our annual LPM Christmas party. Our whole staff gathered around the big table in the board room and we celebrated with Mexican food and a Secret Santa gift exchange. We have a dollar limit on what each person can spend and every single one of us was accused of going over it. There were many excuses, such as “I had a coupon!” or “It was on sale!” Only the Lord knows the truth.

We were all given beautiful scarves and “I love my job” mouse pads from Beth. My sister arranged her scarf in a perfect display of elegance while the rest of us begged her to give a demonstration. Most Texans sorely lack the skill set needed for elegant scarf wearing. Melissa has a clear advantage because she spent so many years in Chicago and Wheaton, IL.

Today was my favorite day in a long time. Curtis blessed me to spend it at my parents’ house while he kept the kids. I picked up some Chickfila – which would surely be Jesus’ favorite food if He lived on the earth in 2009 – and Melissa and I had lunch together while Mom took a nap. Dad made some baked potato soup for her and of course we had to sample some of that, too.

When Mom started to wake up, Melissa and I climbed in bed with her and we laid there forever laughing and looking at all the recent pictures on Melissa’s laptop. She just got a new lens for her camera, which is what she used to take those pretty pictures of “Baking with Bibby.”

Mom, who is clearly the nurturer and caretaker of our whole clan, is having an interesting time being the one who is served. Frankly, she hates it. Today, in her most dramatic voice, she said, “I am sucking the life out of this whole family! Just call me Hoover!” She was dead serious, but I just fell out laughing because that has got to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. We have had to do very, very little for her, especially when you think about all the energy it has taken her to care for this handful of a family for 31 years!

Later Melissa and I ran some errands together. We were nearly run over two times in the parking lot because apparently my sister hasn’t mastered the skill of looking both ways before she crosses the street. I naively trusted her to guide me across. Pray for her! We made a quick stop in a video game store for a family member who shall not be named and Melissa came extremely close to buying an old Nintendo set. I’m talking about the one from 1989 that we used to play Mario Brothers and Duck Hunt on. Get this, it was fifty dollars! That is craziness! Curt’s grandparents still have one at their house and we always play when we visit. I actually have a date with Dr. Mario in a few days. How many of us still remember the secret code to Contra?

Next we went to Best Buy, where we spotted a Bump-It of all things! Never fear, it left the store with us thanks to Melissa. I think she was trying to fill the hole in her heart from leaving that Nintendo in the video game store. Each Bump-It box contains three sizes and my sister immediately put the biggest one in her hair when we got home. Dad, who is never shy with his fashion commentary, said “Lissy, do you have an Ostrich egg coming out of your head?” Unfortunately, Melissa would not allow herself to be photographed in that moment.

Soon everyone wanted some hot tea. I don’t know how to make the simplest cup of coffee, but I’m the official Moore Family Tea Fixer. Everyone has jumped on the tea bandwagon since Mom’s surgery – it seems to be easier on her system. While I was making our tea, our friendly neighborhood UPS man delivered a key lime bundt cake from We Take the Cake. Is that not perfect timing? It came in the most adorable box ever. We pulled it out and everyone agreed it should have a small potted plant in the middle of it, a la My Big Fat Greek Wedding. We opened the card to find that Curtis’ family had sent the cake. How sweet of them and how sweet of the Lord to let me be there when it came! Melissa was in charge of icing the thing and let’s just say that a huge glob of it fell to one side and ruined any chance of a picture appearing on the blog. (Glob and blog are spelled similarly!) The cake was the perfect thing to have with our afternoon tea. It was a tasty ending to one of my favorite days ever.

Thanks for sticking through this very random post. To make it even more random, I’m going to add our family’s Christmas pictures. These were taken the day before Thanksgiving. Mom and Dad didn’t get a chance to send out cards this year, so I know they won’t mind me sharing them.

Siestas, I pray that you will have many moments of laughter and joy with your loved ones in the days to come. May the love of Christ fill your hearts and homes as you celebrate the wonder of His birth. Merry Christmas to you!