Russell Media - Laurie

A couple of weekends ago it was my birthday and the kids wanted to do a breakfast for me. I was excited to be able to sleep in and the kids were thrilled to be in charge of the meal. Early on the morning of my big day (unfortunately “big” here refers to the number on my cake) the kids snuck into our room and urged Mark out of bed to help them.

Thirty minutes later Noah, my 9-year-old, entered our bedroom carrying a cup of coffee, oblivious to the thin streams of coffee that were actively dripping off the side of the cup (it appears he inherited my lack of coordination).  Yes – time for leisure reading with a cup of java. He smiled in triumphant of his accomplishment as handed me the cup of coffee. He proudly told me the menu - hot, gluten-free biscuits, eggs and bacon and then ran back downstairs to join the others.

Another fifteen minutes passed and Anastasia, who had turned 8 the day before, scurried into the room, “I made the biscuits all by myself but the recipe only made three biscuits for some reasons??!! Weird, huh! So I’m making more. Can you wait a little bit longer?” More time to sip coffee and read...no problem! She was excited to be in lady of the kitchen and skipped out of the room.

Not long after that Noah returned. He was concerned that I was bored reading by myself so he thought if he read in bed with me, it would keep me from being lonely. (Yep, I suspected a double purpose on that kind gesture but I wasn’t about to lose the opportunity of one-on-one with him.) So the two of us cuddled and read. It was fun, however, there was rumbling in my belly and I was getting hungry.

Finally it was time to eat. I was ushered to my chair and a plate filled with runny eggs, half-cooked bacon and biscuits that looked more like thin cookies than biscuits. Anastasia was immediately upset by the appearance of the meal, “It doesn’t look right!”

We reassured her that the taste was all that mattered with food. We prayed and dug into our meal. It was…”okay” and I was earning an Oscar for my interpretation of eating at a 5-star restaurant until I got to the biscuits. I tried, I really, really did. However, when I bit into the biscuit my mouth involuntarily puckered up and I began feeling a slight burning sensation followed by a metallic taste on my tongue. I faked a reason to go into the kitchen and quickly spit it the biscuit into the trash. Unfortunately our kitchen and dining room are open and everyone caught me in the act (costing me the Oscar for this year.)

In my head I was quickly trying to come up with an excuse to why I did that and before I had to, ahem…lie, Anastasia had taken a bite and discovered the same problem. The biscuits tasted like pure baking soda. If you’ve ever eaten a spoonful of baking soda unexpectedly, you know it’s hard to not respond. Anastasia was heart-broken. All her hard work backed with her pure motive of serving me felt wasted. She thought she had failed.

But she was so, so wrong. Okay, I was still hungry and felt a bit nauseated after the biscuit but – I have never before felt so loved on a birthday. Those kids planned, gave up sleep and worked hard, thinking of everything with the sole reason to make me feel special and loved…and I did!

There have been times when I have served and tried to show God my love for him in service but things went wrong – the talk was boring, the article wasn’t clear or I fumbled over my words when talking about God to others. However, God isn’t interested in perfection. He only cares about the purity of motives in my heart. Like me with my kids, He loves seeing us show our love for Him with all of our heart.

So the next time you face a blunder when serving God – don’t feel as if you’ve failed Him. If your motives are pure, I’m pretty sure His heart will be overflowing with the feeling of being loved.

How do you feel and respond with your acts of service to God go wrong?

I heard a great sermon recently. My sister’s family lives in Atlanta and we all traveled there this year for Thanksgiving. They have been attending a fairly new church called Passion City Church. It’s pretty amazing. Louie Giglio teaches and Chris Tomlin leads the music. Talk about powerful praise and worship. I didn’t want it to end.

Louie’s sermon was titled Fully Alive and it really did a job on my soul. One point really stuck with me and I find myself continually talking about it with others. Louie highlighted Paul’s letter to the Philippians and focused on chapter 1 where Paul shares his struggle to die or not to die. If he were to die he’d instantly be in the arms of Jesus but to remain on earth he’d be able to continue sharing the love of Christ.

I’d always viewed this passage as encouragement for us to be content in all circumstances. Good and profit can be found anywhere. But Louie put a new twist on it for me. The goal of the people in the early church was not to live a long life; they worked to live a powerful life – one that served Christ and made his name known no matter the cost. If that meant a shortened life – so be it. It only meant that they’d be united with Christ sooner.

I was struck by the thought that so much of my time is wasted. I spend countless hours working hard to live long and look good as I’m doing it. I try to prevent my body from aging but allow my soul to wither. I then look in the mirror with discontentment. Paul did talk about a “thorn in his flesh” but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a need for a facelift or liposuction. He knew his days were limited and he was single-minded in spreading Jesus’ message to love God and to love others.

This passage revealed to me how egocentric I’ve become, especially when compared to the “other-centric” views of the early church. I’m consumed with the quality and quantity of my life. I work hard to obtain this so we can enjoy that. On the other hand, the early church worked hard to share this so other people can receive that, meaning eternal life with Christ. I desire a long, prosperous life but the early church longed for eternal life.

I do think there is value and great need in taking care of our self. If we have poor health, we’re limited in what we can do and where we can go to serve God. Plus, it’s often when I’m outdoors or on a run when I hear God clearest.

The take-home God gave me that day was not to work out less. But He did challenge me in how I use my time. The early church faced death daily. They lived in a time of occupation that purged those who challenged the system. But in spite of it they changed the world.

I’m blessed to live in a free country, in a time when medicine has enabled us to live longer and engineers have made it possible to travel the world in hours. I’ve been given the gift of time, freedom and ease of travel (except when traveling through Salt Lake City – we always seem to get stuck there). What am I doing with my days? Am I using my minutes to truly loving God and neighbor? Or am I wasting the extra time I’ve been given and consuming God’s love and hoarding it for myself?

I’ve never been one to make New Year’s resolutions but this year I think that I will. I want to begin truly living my life fully alive. I want to live like the early church as if I may face death at any moment. I want to use what God has given our generation to help change the world. If enough of us do it together – imagine what God will do through us.

Are you living your life fully alive?

Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?

If not, will you join me and fully live the time God has given us and give His love to others?

I’m a big fan of the National Geographic Show, The Dog Whisperer. I record and watch it whenever I get a chance. It’s amazing how much I learn from Cesar Milan, a.k.a. the Dog Whisperer. We have two black lab pups at home, and believe me, we can use all the help we can get. However, by watching the show I’ve not only learned better ways to handle our dogs. I’ve also been reminded of life principles I can use with my family.

One time I mentioned this to a group of my friends. They all laughed and began making jokes about me poking Mark in the side and loudly, “Shhhshing” him whenever he got distracted. And of course making him walk behind me – my personal favorite.

After the laughter died down, I shared a story with my friends to illustrate my point.

It was a weeknight and my 9-yr-old was up later than normal. We had overbooked ourselves after school with a play date and soccer practice. As he got ready for bed he “realized” that he had not finished his homework. When I asked if he wanted to do it now or get up earlier in the morning, he went into meltdown mode. I was suddenly the bad guy who put him in this situation, which, ahem, ticked me off. Being tired also, in a matter of seconds I went from being the mom he knows and loves to a crazed freak. (I really believe my head did at least one 360, maybe two). I lost it and yelled to him, “Get down here now and do your homework!”

Thrown off by my display, he hurried down the stairs. I got the action I wanted, but it didn’t feel right. He wasn’t in a learning mode. He actually seemed afraid of me, which is not something I want my child to feel. I sat down next to him, not sure how to fix what I had just done. He sniffed and I could tell he was trying not to cry. An internal conflict of sorrow and anger battled inside of me. I didn’t like the fact I had just yelled at my son but I was also tired of often being blamed for his mistakes.

A selfish, self-centered part of me wanted him to be the first to see his wrong and apologize for the way he had treated me earlier. A more mature side of me knew I too was in the wrong. I was the adult and needed to model an apology to him for the way I had lost my temper.

A principle Cesar teaches is that the pack leader is there to love the pack versus the pack being there to make the leader feel loved. The pack leader puts the care and balance of the pack before himself. In other words, sometimes the pack leader has to lose face in order to care for the good of a pack member.

Okay – I didn’t hear Cesar saying this in my head but God did whisper in my mind, “I gave Noah to you so you could teach him how to love. Now love him.”

Why does love require so much self-sacrificing?

I put my arm around Noah, “I love you buddy. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Will you forgive me?”

He remained stiff and shrugged, “Uh huh.”

All right, not the response I was looking for. I wanted him to lose face also and melt in my arms and tell me he loved my back. I wanted to feel his instant love and forgiveness. Okay, now I felt a bit biffed. I had to remind myself again, I’m the parent. He’s in my life so I can love him - model unconditional love to him.

Parenting is hard. Being in a family is hard. Being a human and trying to give unconditional love is even harder.

God models this to us every day but it’s impossible for us to match the depth of His love for us.  There are number of times I blame Him for my mistakes but He lovingly sits beside me waiting for me to warm up and come to my senses. He knows I’m unable to truly love without Him loving me first.

Noah eventually warmed up to me before he went to bed and we had some good cuddle time as we talked about things we could do to prevent a repeat of the night. It took time, patience and me being willing to show him love without receiving it in return. It was hard as my flesh wanted to revert to my grade school days and give attitude back to him. However…no one ever said love was easy – but it’s so worth it.

Do you have any lessons on loving first?

I’ve always had a fascination with Russia. As a child, I remember sitting and watching the hockey game in the 1980 Winter Olympic games, USA versus the USSR. The Soviet players appeared so serious and void of emotion. “Why do they look so mean?” I asked my father.

He explained the Cold War to me in age appropriate terms. An “us and them” mentality began to grow in my young mind until my dad said something that broke this chain of thought. “You have to realize it’s not the people we are against, it’s their government. It is a group of people forcing evil ways on their country. We must pray for the people in the USSR, for God to help them.”

Fourteen years later I found myself preparing to live in part of the former Soviet Union. I was headed to southern Russia as a missionary. The Iron Curtain had fallen a few years prior. The world had experienced crazy change practically overnight. I couldn’t believe it - had God heard the prayers of my father and thousands and millions of others?

Russia was my first overseas experience and in many ways like a first love. There were many firsts – international flight, foreign language, Christmas away from home, etc. It was also my first time working in full-time ministry. So I prayed like crazy and learn from a lot of trial and error.

One of my teammates and I began working with World War II veterans. We initially met them via a humanitarian project and then offered to do a Bible study with those interested. The numbers were huge in the beginning as we gave an overview of the Bible. But, as we began to focus on Jesus the numbers dwindled to a solid 20. We didn’t want to scare them all away so we toned it down a bit.

These Babushkas and Dedushkas (grandmother/grandfather) were precious and eager to learn yet there was another hurdle we faced. They refused to receive God themselves. Continually we were told, “It’s too late for us. Our lives are near the end. We must learn this so we can teach our children and grandchildren so they can have God.”

We prayed and looked for ways to show them that God’s love and peace were for all but nothing worked. The study continued but our time with them was running out. In a matter of weeks we would be heading back to the States. We decided the following week to be more direct with them as a group and as individuals. We weren’t teaching a history lesson, we were showing them how to find eternal life – regardless of age.

However, I was nervous about this – even as a missionary it wasn’t natural for me. Up to this point my faith was always safe. I kept it to myself unless others asked or if it was part of my job and I was working with another. I didn’t want to offend anyone or be too pushy. I had always played it safe.

The night before our next Bible study we were hit with a late season snowstorm. The sidewalks were covered with ice and snow. Our vets were all elderly. They wore shoes without traction and walked to bus stops. I didn’t think they’d make it. Why had I stalled?

We arrived that morning at the location of our study. My teammate and I shared the same fear – that no one would make it to our study in the snow. As we climbed the stairs to our meeting room we heard voices. “Phew…some of them made it.”

When we walked into the room, it was full! Not just a few but practically all made the journey in the snow. On the verge of tears I shared my amazement of their presence. “Oh Laurichka, of course we came. We are strong. We want to hear your lesson.”

Their eagerness to learn gave us boldness. God’s Spirit gave us the words. That day was a tipping point. They began to open up and receive God’s love for themselves that day.

I figured this study was God’s way of giving those, who had been robbed of the opportunity to learn about Him for 70 plus years, one last chance to receive Him. But…they proved me wrong.

Weeks later we had a party for us to say our good-byes. We were heading back to the States. Every single Babushka and Dedushka showed up. As we sat talking one Babushka began telling us how each week she took our lessons to her daughter’s house and shared all we had taught them with her family. Her daughter and youngest granddaughter had prayed to receive God. However, her oldest granddaughter had been more stubborn. She continued, “But this week I went over again and shared this last lesson. She got on her knees and took God as her own.”

Another lady piped in. She was going to the homes of shut-ins. They wanted to be part of our meetings but due to stairs and lack of wheelchairs, couldn’t make it. She did the same and shared God’s message with them.

I couldn’t believe it. They were earnestly seeking a treasure, walking through snowstorms to get, and found it. But, they didn’t hoard it. They walked through snowstorms to share it – over and over again.

These precious people reminded me that I’ve been given and have received a treasure in Jesus Christ. I shouldn’t be embarrassed to wear it. It’s been given for me to share it with others. If I don’t, I’m selfishly preventing others from receiving their portion of the treasure and there’s more than enough to go around.

This is still a struggle for me. I’m one who doesn’t like to offend others. But maybe that’s part of the problem. I’ve allowed myself to think of the Gospel as offensive when in reality it’s healing water. It’s a treasure to be shared freely, backed with love.

My precious friends in Russia showed me that it’s not offensive when you know your audience, have a genuine love for them and trust the Holy Spirit to give you the words. You may meet resistance but God’s love is not offensive. It’s a jewel.

Any thoughts?

Do you have the same struggles or perhaps encouraging words to help those of us who do?

“Okay Laura, you live in Chile now. I will kiss you when you arrive and when you leave.”

Wow! I never expected to hear these words at a doctor’s appointment. What may have sounded like the beginnings of a lawsuit was actually my doctor sharing with me a part of his culture. We were living in Santiago, Chile and had just learned I was pregnant with our first child. We would be seeing a lot of this doctor and he was preparing his new American patient how he would be greeting me on each visit. Mark chuckled behind me as he watched me awkwardly kiss my doctor on the cheek.

I had read about this custom in books as we prepared for our move to Chile. Chileans greet each other with a kiss on the cheek and repeat it when they depart. Men would generally give each other a handshake or hug, depending on the relationship, but women always kissed everyone.

We were introduced to this custom immediately. We lived with a Chilean family our first two weeks. They were incredible and quickly became our adopted family. Each morning began with a kiss on the cheek and each “good bye” required another kiss.

It felt natural to do this with close friends and it quickly became second nature for me. However, the Chileans didn’t save this custom for just friends. In social settings they greeted everyone this way, friends and strangers alike.

One evening, we were hanging out with our Chilean family. Some of their friends dropped by unannounced. The room was crowded and we were sitting on the other side of the table. When our friends introduced us to the visitors they didn’t just nod at us and continue talking with our hosts. Nope – they moved furniture, squeezed behind people, worked their way over to us and greeted me with a kiss and Mark with a handshake and pat on the back.

I had never had anyone work so hard to meet me! It made me feel special, as if my presence mattered.

I thought, perhaps we received a special greeting because we were with their good friends. But this behavior continued – and not just with us. I watched teenagers do the same with each other as they greeted one another in the mall. Friends pushed through crowded buses to kiss and say hello to each other.

One time a friend passed me on the other side of the street. They quickly crossed through busy traffic in order to say hello and briefly catch up. I couldn’t believe the effort this person made in order to acknowledge my presence. It was nice.

Many times in life, I’ve been surrounded by people yet still felt alone – a conference or party where I didn’t know anyone else. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. People are deep into conversation and either don’t notice you or they’re too tired or uncomfortable themselves to make the effort and say “hello” to a stranger or even an acquaintance.

Paul mentioned numerous times to “greet one another with a holy kiss” (Rom. 16:16; 1 Cor. 16:20; 2 Cor. 13:12). I’ve always breezed past this verse. I don’t know why, maybe because it’s not part of our culture. But the verse is not about the kiss; it’s about the greeting. The Chileans modeled for me the importance of welcoming and the acknowledging one another. People have an innate desire to know they have been seen. From an early age, babies will work to make eye contact. This is how they first know love. It’s a horrible feeling to be ignored.

I’m shy by nature so this Chilean custom initially took me out of my comfort zone but it felt good when I was the recipient and therefore nudged me to give this back to others.

Now that I’m back in our own culture, there have been times where I allowed myself to hide in a crowd. Sometimes it’s just easier. But God created me to love and bless others and that takes effort. How can we love one another if we ignore one another? So go out, enjoy you day and greet one another with a holy kiss (or at least genuine greeting).

What are your thoughts on this?

Do you feel our culture is as skilled in greeting one another?

Have you experienced something similar in other cultures?

I work from home most days. It’s really nice, especially since the lack of a commute saves me time and money. One morning I knew I wasn’t going to see anyone else until late afternoon. The kids were at school, Mark was at the office so I decided to save even more time and go with the “natural” look. I skipped my daily routine of putting on make-up. In a hurry to take advantage of my extra time, I jumped right into work.

About an hour after I started, the doorbell rang. I peeked out the window and saw it was our delivery guy in search of a signature. When I opened the door he looked at me and seemed thrown off a bit, “Oh, you’re home. I sure hope I didn’t wake you.”

Hmmm…why did he say that? I didn’t delay in answering the door. It was almost 10:00 a.m. on a weekday. Why would he think I’d still be in bed?

As I returned to my desk, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I stopped. I knew. My face, which is normally covered with beauty products, was completely bare. My imperfections glared. My eyes seemed smaller, my nose looked bigger and my hair was definitely nappier. I looked more like a woman fresh out of bed rather than one fresh for the day.

The rest of the morning was spent with me obsessing over my lack of “natural” beauty.

I have a love/hate relationship with beauty. The old saying tells us that “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,” but if this is true, why do I feel enslaved to it? Maybe it’s our present definition of it. Why do I feel the need for my body to be a certain size and my hair to not be a certain color? Why is it that I can I find beauty on the TV but not in the mirror? Something is wrong.

Perhaps part of the problem is our culture’s misconstrued definition of beauty. Dictionaries define beauty as something that that brings great pleasure to the senses or blesses the mind. I like this – it’s quite nice. According to this definition, beauty can be found basically anywhere. But if my skin is not a certain color or my jeans a particular size, I feel ugly.

I did an informal word search in a Bible program on the words “beauty” and “beautiful.” There I noticed two things. With the exception of the books of Esther and Song of Solomon, these two words were generally used to describe God or part of his creation and the other warned us of the dangers of depending on our own beauty or man-made beauty.

Again, this was an informal study but it appears that God knew that our obsession for beauty would take our eyes off of Him and what He has given us, and then place it on ourselves. We like beauty. We want it and will do what it takes to have it. In the process we lose sweet communion with God.

I personally don’t see harm in trying to improve my appearance but when it causes my focus to leave God and then fixate it on myself, I’m in insecure territory. I see all that I’m not. However, when my eyes are on God and all who He is, I see all that I am in Him. I see true beauty – one that blesses the mind and brings true pleasure. I’m filled with peace instead of anxiety. And to me, that sounds beautiful.

For now, I’ll continue to wear make-up most days but I’m won’t worry if others do a double take and wonder if I’ve been sick due to my small eyes. I may never see the natural color of my hair again. Come to think of it, I’m not sure if I actually remember it. Either way, when the gray makes its way through I’ll see it as a reminder that God has given me some great years and memories…and hopefully some wisdom learned along the way.

How about you? Does our culture’s definition of beauty haunt you? Any insight on how you deal with it? How are raising your children to deal with it?

My heart is very sad today and my house is empty. You see my parents, my sister and her family came for a visit and they just left to drive back home to the other side of the country. For the last eight days we’ve had twelve people in our home. It was fun…a crazy, crowded type of fun. A week-long slumber party that returned us adults to our childhood.

But now they’re gone and our house is so quiet and empty. I walk into a room with the instinct to step over a mattress, suitcase or toy, but nothing is there. It is all packed up and exaggerates the pain and loneliness I’m feeling.

It’s not fun feeling pain.

I’m reminded of a sign I once read in a race. I was running in my first marathon. We were at mile twenty with a little over six more miles yet to run. My legs were shutting down and my heart was beginning to question my ability to finish. I approached a curve in the road where a lone man stood with a sign that read, "Where there is pain, there is life.”

This quote gave me a surge of energy. The year before race I was healing from a c-section, the year before that, knee surgery to fix a torn ACL. I was experiencing pain but it was a healthy pain that reminded me that I was alive. I was able to move, be active and meet a personal challenge.

Emotional pain is hard. It often paralyzes us and tempts us to mask and fight it with substances, busyness and hardened hearts.

This past week, as the end of my family’s trip drew near, I found myself tempted to distant myself from them emotionally. I began planning out activity for the kids and me to fill our time after they left. I focused on the clutter and tried to lift my spirits at the thought of it being gone. These mental games almost worked until God reminded me of something important…

I love and I am loved and where there is love, there will be pain. However, if I continue to implement tactics designed to mask the pain I risk the opportunity of experiencing true love from another individual.

The pain I’m feeling reminds me that my heart still has the ability to care, to feel. It motivates me to reach out to those I love, to stay connected and tell and show them that I love them. People need to know when they are loved. When we have the confidence of being loved, we’re better able to give it away.

Prayer, time and the endorphins of a good workout do a good job of healing a hurting heart. So, I think I’ll sign off now and spend some time praying, thanking God for my awesome family and maybe take our pups for a long walk, knowing in time the pain will be replaced with joy.

I ask a favor of you today – make sure your loved ones know that you love them. The world needs more confidence in knowing it is loved.

Do you have any insights on lessons God’s taught you through pain, emotional or physical?

I dread going to the grocery store. It seems each time I go I’m in a hurry, with a time limit hanging over my head.

One time a while back, my kids and I went to the smaller, more expensive store by our house. We only needed a few things, and like always, I was in a hurry. The kids hung on to sides of the cart as I darted down each aisle in a race against the clock. I was like a mini van with a turbo engine weaving around other customers. And then I was forced to slow down.

My cart faced the backside of a little ol’ grandma who had parked her cart in the middle of the lane. She looked at one shelf, took a few steps and then looked some more. She turned and saw us waiting. A smile spread across her face and she said hello to the kids and then went back to her shopping.

She seemed oblivious that we were waiting on her to move. So I did what I’d want someone else to do if it was my mother in that situation, I smiled, pretended to be on the wrong row, turned around and hurried off. However, we must have been shopping for the same items because she was everywhere I needed to be and her cart remained in the way. I was getting annoyed, really annoyed. Didn’t she remember it’s rarely fun to shop with young kids hanging on your cart?

We finished up and I shuttled the kiddos out to the car. As I loaded my groceries, out came the little ol’ grandma and a store employee. He loaded her groceries as she chatted away. I could tell he was trying to cut her off and get back to work. I feared I was next to be chatted up by her so I hurried with my groceries in hopes of pulling off before the store employee was able to get away.

Then I heard her say something that changed everything, “My husband died about a month ago. It’s so hard eating dinner by myself. I don’t know how to shop and cook for just one person.”

Ouch, ouch, OUCH!

It literally took my away breath. She wasn’t a self-absorbed shopper taking up the aisle…she was a new widow learning how to survive without her husband and to eat alone. I was the self-absorbed one. I felt like such a jerk.

I stalled as I finished loading my car, I felt the need to talk with her. She said good-bye to the grocery boy and turned to face me. I didn’t know what to say so I commented on the fancy doors of her truck. She began telling me the story of her husband and how he wanted her to have a safe car. She wanted to save money but now that she’s alone, she figured he was right.

We talked for fifteen minutes. I was late to our next appointment but truly humbled that day. God reminded me that the heart of His children is more important than the busyness of my life.

This happened years ago and I still don’t know what to do with it. There are so many lonely and hurting people around me but I fear I’m often too distracted by my “to do” list to see them, and sometimes even care. We live in the earth’s most populated age yet many of us feel isolated and suffer alone.

I know I need to slow down, say “no” more and “be” in the moments of life. I often fear I’m raising my kids to live a busy life. I want them to live, love and be not survive, overlook and hurry. This is the first Saturday we have  no soccer or baseball games and I'm literally thinking of ways we need to "fill" the day and be productive versus enjoying one another. Where's the balance?

So, do any of you out there ever feel the same? Do you have any insight on how to slow down without pulling out of life?

Thanks for listening and your thoughts are cherished!