Have you been Expelled?

My husband is a biologist. He also believes that God created the world--that life didn't just happen by random chance. For one thing, God says He did it. But even if He never took credit, there's simply too much order in a single cell, let alone the whole universe, for life to have evolved without a designer.

Nobody can prove scientifically how life started, because nobody can go back in time and observe the process. Any explanation for the origin of life requires a certain amount of faith--believing in things that can't be seen or measured or recreated in a test tube. But somewhere along the line, Darwin's theory of evolution became accepted as proven fact, and anyone who offers a dissenting argument or evidence to the contrary is labeled stupid or accused of trying to mix science and religion. Some have lost their jobs.

Well-known comedian, actor, and author, Ben Stein, decided to get to the bottom of the issue, and the result was the recently released documentary, Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed. I highly recommend this movie to anyone who cares about the future of education and society. Parts of it will make you laugh. It will also make you cry. But most importantly, it will make you think.

Please go see it. Take your parents and friends, and then discuss it. Academic freedom may be under attack, but no one can stop you from thinking for yourself.

Dubrovnik!

No, I didn't just stub my toe or hit my thumb with a hammer. Dubrovnik is the name of a city in Croatia, and I'm going there Wednesday to help staff two back-to-back retreats for 150 American missionary women serving all over the world! This is a photograph of where we'll be.


Isn't that gorgeous?

In John 13, during the last supper with His disciples, Jesus surprised them all by kneeling in front of them and washing their feet. He explained that true leadership involves humbling oneself and serving others. He also provided a very basic physical need--cool, refreshing water for their hot, dusty feet.

Missionaries spend a lot of their time serving others, both physically and spiritually. These retreats provide an opportunity for them to come away for a few days to rest and be on the receiving end of ministry. They will be spiritually refreshed as they hear Bible teaching and sing worship songs (both in English--a welcome change if they're still trying to learn a new language). They'll also have daily opportunities to share and pray together in small groups, encouraging each other not to lose heart as they battle loneliness or culture shock or disappointment in ministry--all struggles common in cross-cultural missions.

Staff members will provide physical refreshment in the form of pedicures, manicures, massages, make-overs, hair cuts, or even image consulting. Hopefully every missionary will go back to her work renewed in spirit, mind, heart, and body.

My main jobs will be leading worship and taking pictures, and I LOVE to do both. I'll also co-lead a small group and spend a lot of time just hanging out with these amazing women. I may teach some line dancing, too. Can you think of a more delightful way to spend the first two weeks of March?

Please pray for safe travel for everyone attending, for God to meet with us in our times of worship, and for friendships to form that will continue to grow after the retreats are over.

Thanks for praying!
Jeanne

The Show Must Go On

Two weeks ago I awoke, sat up in bed, and immediately began to cough. A deep, painful chest cough. By noon, I felt a little light headed and dizzy, and I knew I was running a fever.

My preference would have been to crawl back in bed, pull the covers over my head, and sleep it off--no matter how long "it" lasted. But that wasn't an option, because the day I woke up coughing happened to be the first day of dance rehearsals for a Broadway Musical Revue I choreographed. I had exactly ten days to work with more than a hundred performers, teaching the steps for seven dance numbers (a few of which were actually medleys, making the song total more like eleven or twelve).

So I'd pop a couple of Tylenol and haul my puny self up to the auditorium for four hours a day. Then I'd come home, collapse on the couch or bed, get up the next day and do it again.

Why am I telling you this? Certainly not so you'll pat me on the back for heroism in the face of hardship. I'm telling you, because I want to brag on the teens who performed in this show. Many of them were also battling the bug, but they came to rehearsals anyway and worked hard to perfect their steps. They listened well and showed me the utmost respect and consideration, making my job so much easier to accomplish. Then they threw their whole selves into performing three shows in one weekend for delighted audiences.

Some people accuse today's teens of being apathetic, self-centered, or lazy. All I can say is those people haven't been around the same teens I know.

Sure, there are teens messing up. But there are plenty more making great choices and applying themselves to develop skills they will enjoy using for the rest of their lives.

Yesterday was the final performance of the show. It was fabulous! I couldn't be more proud of those kids and more thankful for the chance to work with them. We all wake up every morning with choices to make. The eyes of the Lord roam to and fro seeking those whose hearts are perfect toward Him. When He finds a willing heart, He blesses that person with opportunities. With us or without us, God's show will go on. Let's grab our top hats and canes and be a part of it.

It's okay to start small

This is Curtis. He married my daughter three months ago. This is the living room of their cozy cottage. And this is their first Christmas tree.

I love this picture for many reasons, but I posted it simply to say it's okay to start small. Most of us are in a hurry to achieve our goals. We want big success (in school, relationships, sports or hobbies or even in our faith) and we want it now. But there are reasons why God didn't create us as full-grown, knowledgeable, talented adults. We have to grow and learn. Develop our skills. Study. Practice.

In His wisdom, God even chose for Jesus to start small. He came as an infant. He had to learn to walk and talk and feed Himself. He had to go to school and learn to read. He had to practice carpentry under Joseph's watchful eye. He even had to spend time in prayer to refresh His spirit.

If starting small was okay for Jesus, it's okay for us, too.

Maybe someday Curtis and Grace will have a big, fancy Christmas tree in a lavishly furnished home. But meanwhile, they're making the most of small beginnings. They're happy. And that, my friends, is huge.

Back 2 Skool

It's that time again. New classes. New teachers. New books. Freshly waxed floors. Clean gym clothes. Inspirational speeches over the intercom about how 2007-2008 will be the best year ever at Name Your High.

I always loved/hated the start of a new school year. I loved buying the latest clothes, seeing friends, getting back into my favorite clubs or activities. I hated the thought of getting up early every morning, enduring certain classes, putting up with obnoxious or even dangerous people.

High school is a difficult time of life in a lot of ways. Children become adults. Hormones and emotions soar off the charts. Joys are intense. Disappointments are magnified. It's easy to get caught up in our own dreams, goals, and desires, sometimes overlooking or even trampling people who get in our way. And it's hard to be happy for someone else who edges us out of achieving what we set our hearts on.

Wherever you are in your educational journey, I want to encourage you right now to take some time apart with God as the new year begins. Ask Him to remind you that every day is a gift, and every breath is grace. Though I truly wish you exceeding delights during high school, I pray God will grant you wisdom to see beyond today--to focus on His eternal purposes. Chances are, there are hundreds of people around you who don't know Jesus and who are riding the emotional teen roller coaster without His tender, comforting embrace to steady them.

Always know we're here to pray for you. Please don't hesitate to let us know when you especially need it. May you go into this new year as shining lights for Him, and may many be drawn to your flame.

Love, Jeanne

Putting a Face on Pain

Sunday evening we watched the movie, The Pursuit of Happyness. We hadn't seen it before, but had heard it was good. Now that I've seen it, I agree it's a good movie, but it wasn't very easy to watch.

Based on a true story, Will Smith plays a man named Chris Gardner who is struggling to support his wife and five-year-old son. They're behind on rent, taxes, and everything else. The stress becomes too much for his wife, and she leaves. He insists their son remain with him.

It seems that every time something goes well for Chris, five things go wrong. Against all odds he's accepted into an internship at Dean Witter, but it's a non-paying position. He has to try to make ends meet while completing the six month course, with no guarantee of a job at the end of it. He can't afford rent, so they wind up on the street, standing in line for a bed at a local mission, sometimes sleeping in the subway bathroom. His friends let him down. Strangers take advantage of him. His fellow interns and potential bosses have no idea that he's destitute, or that he's a single father, or that he's studying late at night in a stairwell while his son sleeps nearby on a cot at a homeless shelter.

The Pursuit of Happyness is a movie about love and commitment. About how much a man will endure for his son. About not giving up, no matter what.

But it meant something else to me. It made me realize that I far too often stereotype people. If someone is homeless I assume he is either mentally ill or irresponsible or lazy. If he's healthy and smart, I wonder why he doesn't just get a job. I don't make the effort to find out how this person landed on the street. The Pursuit of Happyness let me walk in one man's shoes and allowed me to feel his desperation, to watch the world beat him down again and again, and to realize that, unless I allow God to make me the heart and hands of Jesus to people I encounter, I may add to the pain of someone like Chris Gardner.

I recommend the movie. But even more, I recommend obeying Jesus' command to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Even (or maybe especially?) if our neighbor doesn't have a home.

People Can Be So Interesting

I was just taking care of mundane business. We had lots of forms to fill out before Luke went off to college, and one of them involved his health history, insurance, etc. I had to verify that our policy would fully cover him once he moved out of state. If not, Wheaton required that he purchase insurance from them, which was a $600/year expense I preferred to avoid. So I called Blue Cross and Blue Shield. I explained what I needed to know, and the woman brought up our account on her computer.

"Oh," she said, "Your children were born the same years as mine."

"Congratulations," I responded, and we both laughed. Then I added, "I guess you're in college mode, too."

"Well, actually, no . . ."

I listened as she chatted in her mid-western-don'tcha-know accent about what was going on with her kids, the whole while feeling a little amused and surprised that this woman was so eager to share her life with me. By the end I knew that she lived in Illinois, her 20-year-old son was engaged, her 17-year-old daughter (Tracey) would be a high-school senior in the fall and was a little concerned, because she'd signed up for Spanish, but her favorite teacher was leaving, and now she wasn't sure she would like it, and then after graduation, she planned to go to a college about an hour away from home to become an elementary ed major, but was having second thoughts, because she helped raise her little brother, who was only seven, and when Tracey recently took the snacks to his school for his birthday celebration, she realized how hard it would be to leave him in a year . . .

I threw in the occasional observation when she seemed to want it. Mostly I just enjoyed her accent and allowed myself to chill for a while till she finished her tale. I also answered all her questions about my kids, what they planned to study, what they wanted to do with their lives. I did eventually get all the info I needed about our insurance. Luke would be covered. So that was nice.

As I was about to hang up, she encouraged me to call her (like I can determine who answers my call after navigating all the voice mail options?) if I needed anything else. We parted friends. Or at least it sure felt that way.

I hung up feeling kind of happy about the fact that friendliness exists everywhere, that not all people are cold or cynical or suspicious. Some folks just want to find the something--anything--in common and connect with another human for a while. Even if that human is just the voice of a stranger on the other end of the phone.

Let's live with our eyes and ears open. Friends may show up where we least expect them, don'tcha know!

My Prince

I have a photograph. We're both sitting in an armchair made for one. I'm wearing denim overalls and a light blue t-shirt. My long hair is swept up loosely with a clip, and my head is thrown back in delighted laughter.

He is looking at the camera. His hair is just long enough to be in a perpetual state of unruliness, and he's grinning from ear to ear. He's wearing . . .

Well, let me start over.

My knight in shining armor came riding into my life on his valiant steed. He was really just a tousle-headed college boy in levi corduroys on a ten-speed bike. But he was mine. We'd been engaged for a few months, but hadn't told anyone yet. We had our reasons. In retrospect, they are mostly silly and romantic, but we had them. One evening my doorbell rang. He was standing there, his eyes full of merriment, and he said, "I've come courting."

I laughed at him. In fact, I couldn't stop laughing. But he wasn't offended. That's exactly the response he'd anticipated. He and his dorm buddies had pooled their resources and decked him out in quite the interesting finery: an orange and blue plaid flannel shirt, brown and white checked pants, a hot pink tie with neon colored flowers, and a brown blazer. Courting duds.

So we put on some music and danced. We talked and laughed. My roommate snapped some pictures. I'm so glad.

He stayed as long as was proper. Then he went to the window, opened it, and called to his bicycle, "Mighty Bones! Prepare to ride!" And he left. Through the door, not the window. I watched him ride away, feeling loved, happy, courted.

It's such a great memory. And to think, twenty-eight years later, he's still my prince. Still loves me, courts me, makes me laugh.

If your prince hasn't come courting yet, keep praying and trusting God to bring him at just the right time. Princes come in all shapes and sizes. And they don't all ride white horses. Sometimes they show up on a ten-speed bike.

Pretty Little Dutch Girl

One day, when I was a six-year-old first grader at William L. Cabel Elementary School in North Dallas, our music teacher, Mrs. Adams, marched the whole class into the auditorium and sat us on the first two rows. I remember how tiny I felt in that cavernous room with its towering ceiling and wide stage hidden behind a curtain that looked to be at least two stories high.

The folding wooden seats dwarfed my classmates and me, our feet sticking straight out as though to parade our assortment of scuffed hush puppies and mary janes, like a squirming display in a second-hand shoe store.

Mrs. Adams stood in front of us and pointed out the auditorium's features. Then she said, "Would anyone like to go up on stage and perform?"

I'm fascinated by the ways confidence, self-awareness, fear, and ambition develop in young souls--how the praise or criticism of significant adults helps to shape self-image. In my life I've fluctuated up and down the self-consciousness scale, at times eager to take the spotlight, at others mortified at the very thought. That day in first grade was one of the eager times. My hand shot up.

Mrs. Adams led me backstage and out to the middle of a vast, polished hardwood expanse where I stood alone, a tiny slip of humanity in a sleeveless dress, white anklets, and sensible suede oxford shoes, my long blond hair pulled into a pony tail. I can still see the dusky darkness, the thick folds of the closed curtain, the thin line of light peeking under it. I can still feel the thrill of waiting for the curtain to part and the quickening of my heart as it did.

Of course, having arrived at school that morning not knowing this day would mark my theatrical debut, I hadn't prepared anything in advance. I can only assume it was a stroke of artistic genius that I decided on the spot to sing, "I am a Pretty Little Dutch Girl."

The curtain jolted to a stop and swung gently several times before settling. I scanned the faces of my audience, cleared my throat, and sang.

I am a pretty little Dutch girl
As pretty as pretty can be
And all the boys on the baseball team
Go crazy over me.

I have a boyfriend Tommy
Who likes to eat salami
With a pickle on his nose
And strawberry toes
And this is the way my story goes.

One day as I was walking
I heard my boyfriend talking
To a pretty little girl
With a strawberry curl
And this is what he said to her.

I L-O-V-E love you
I K-I-S-S kiss you
I K-I-S-S kiss you
On your F-A-C-E face, face, face.

I curtsied to the sound of thunderous applause. (Okay, so it was only as thunderous as twenty first graders and one teacher can muster.) My classmates were probably as impressed with my spelling skills as my singing ability. I stood there a little longer, basking in the moment. Then the curtain began its journey back across the front of the stage, shutting out my public, returning me to the dusky reality of my ordinary life.

There was a boy in my class named Tommy. When I'd sung the line with his name, I'd looked straight at him, and he'd grinned at me, crinkling his freckled nose. I'd grinned back, feeling not the least bit of awkwardness. I don't remember anything else about Tommy. Not his last name. Not a single other incident when I noticed his presence in my life. Ours was a brief romance based on a line in a song and lasting only until the curtain closed again. But I remember what it felt like to meet his eyes, to sing my song and be accepted. Would I be someone different today if he'd stuck out his tongue instead?

Perhaps it's insignificant. Perhaps it's huge. I honestly don't know. If nothing else, though, it reminds me that everyone needs to shine, be seen, and to see acceptance in another. We get older and more careful. Less spontaneous and free. But the curtain keeps opening, and--no matter how small we may feel--we still have to sing.

Happy singing, my friends. May your public grant you the thunderous applause you deserve, simply because you're God's masterpiece.

Octo-randium-factus

Yeah, so how do you like my Latin-ish title? Impressive, I know. (Warning: I am a professional writer and have experience making up words in various languages. Don't try this at home or in your Latin class.)

But I'm getting ahead of myself. As you know, we've all been tagged, and the first rule of the game is to post the rules of the game. Here they are:

Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blah-de-blog. (Okay, so you knew all that. I'm just trying to be a good, obedient child.)

Please secure all loose articles, and away we go!

1. When my mom was pregnant with me she drove straight into an oncoming tornado. (We won't discuss the intelligence of this move. Parental respect and all.) When she realized the tornado was not standing still in the road as it appeared to be, but was indeed moving toward her, she veered off into a parking lot just as all sorts of large debris fell on her car. She then experienced a huge adrenalin surge and hot flash. As you will see, this explains a lot.

2. I was born on my due date. However, when labor started, my mom ignored it, because "babies are never born on their due date." (Ahem. See above parenthetical note.) She barely made it to the hospital. Thankfully there were no tornadoes that day.

3. When I was a tiny infant in the crib, before I could say a single word, I could sing. Real notes and real melodies. It was a little freaky for my mom, but hey, she's the one who drove into the tornado.

4. As a child I almost never took naps, even as an infant, and I definitely couldn't go to sleep if a light was on. (A little overcharged maybe? Hot flash, anyone?)

5. When I was seven I set two goals I wanted to achieve before my next birthday: to ride a bike without training wheels and to whistle. I rode the bike. I still can't whistle.

6. Some time around high school I realized I could write perfect cursive backwards at regular speed.

7. I have an alter ego who is a popular speaker at various events. She thinks in iambic tetrameter. (I wonder if that's the meter of someone's heartbeat when they experience a major adrenalin surge?)

8. When I have to deal with annoying people, I write stories about them in my head. I find it makes me actually want to be around them longer--to see how the story turns out. Many of them wind up driving into tornadoes. (Just kidding, but it seemed like a good way to tie this all together.)

As for tagging eight more people by name, I'd much rather just get the octo-randium-factus from anyone reading this. Come on, gang. Let's hear it. I mean, what do you have to lose? You can't be weirder than me. (And I bet you can't beat my excuse, either.)