{Originally published at Graceful}

A few weeks ago I realized that I am getting better at praying.

We were canoeing in the Boundary Waters, a remote, uninhabited wilderness in northern Minnesota. I should preface this by admitting that I am not a canoeist. Prior to this outing I had canoed twice in my entire life, both times when Brad and I were first dating (that alone speaks volumes). But Brad wanted to take the kids on a little adventure while we were in Minnesota, and I wasn’t going to be the only stuffed shirt who stayed home.

We glided across the glinting lake, our paddles dipping rhythmically in and out of the water. The kids dangled their fingers in the lake as we wove around lily pads and through golden lake grass, undulating like ribbons just beneath the surface. Noah admired the lavender iris springing from the edges of the marshy shore. It was, in a word, Heaven.

After about two hours of easy paddling, we pulled the canoe onto an island and portaged (i.e. lugged really heavy, cumbersome canoe across dry land while being viciously attacked by massive swarms of mosquitoes) to the other side. But as we rounded the corner on the far side of the island, we were surprised to find ourselves nearly knocked flat by a gale force wind. Somehow the wind that had been a barely perceptible breeze at our backs had escalated to Hurricane Andrew.

Brad and I secured the kids’ life vests, and as we plunged in, pushing off the rocks lining the shore with our paddles, it took about 30 seconds for me to realize that the return trip was not going to be relaxing. Though I was paddling as hard as I could, when I glanced at the shore, it wasn’t moving; we were literally paddling in place. To make matters worse, the water was no longer gently lapping but was instead gushing over the bow of the canoe in a torrent, and every few minutes the canoe threatened to turn broadside against the waves.

{Originally Published on Conversion Diary}

When I was an atheist, Christmas was my favorite time of year.

The huge haul of top-of-the-line gifts stuffed under the tree each year (the spoils of being an only child) certainly helped my enjoyment of the season. But that actually wasn’t the most important thing to me. There was something else, something that stirred my soul more than any number of boxes wrapped with shiny paper ever could. I could never quite put my finger on what it was, but I sensed it every year when December rolled around.

There was a change that came over my family, my neighborhood, my town, and even my whole country in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Things weren’t perfect, but they were better. And better in a certain way.

Kitchens that were normally empty, only waystations for frantic parents to rush home from work in time to pick up the children for private tutoring or soccer practice or violin lessons, were suddenly filled with laughter and the smells of apple cider and baked goods. School was out, lessons and sports were on hiatus, workloads were lighter, and kids leaned on the counter and chatted with their parents as they cooked dinners from the old family recipe book.

Neighborhood folks who usually offered little more than a terse smile and a half wave opened their homes for Christmas parties, showering neighbors with the warm welcomes, relaxed conversation and even some homemade cookies.

Airports were filled with the sounds of high-pitched greetings of loved-ones who hadn’t hugged one another in months or years; highways were dotted with cars jammed with luggage and presents, families driving for hours and hours just to be in the same room with the people they loved on Christmas morning.

Workplaces normally filled with politics and stress came together to adopt families in need; miserly curmudgeons uncharacteristically slipped a couple bucks into the Salvation Army bucket; longstanding grudges were more likely to be forgiven; people seemed to spend more time thinking about others than about themselves.

When people would ask why my family loved Christmas even though we weren’t Christians, these are the images we’d point to.

We’d explain that the kindness, togetherness and love that permeated the holiday season were what made it magical for us. “You don’t have to be burdened by religious superstition to appreciate love, kindness and goodwill toward men,” the thinking went. For us, Christmas was a season of love, and that’s what we were celebrating.

What we didn’t understand, however, is that we weren’t as different from the Christians as we thought we were. We atheists celebrated peace, love and goodness; our Christian neighbors celebrated the One who is Peace, Love and Goodness itself.

{Originally Posted at Domestic Felicity}

One day, we will all go home.

To a place where our earthly possessions, our looks, ambitions, frustrations, demands, petty fights and competition with one another won’t matter anymore.

Where it won’t make any difference how much money we had, how big our house was, how fashionable were the clothes we wore; where it won’t even matter how much we excelled in housekeeping, gardening, cooking, sewing, or any other skill we prided ourselves for.

Our blunders won’t matter, either, nor will the blunders of others. The clumsy child who was scolded by his mother for smashing a cup, and had his little heart pointlessly broken over this, will be finally healed. The woman who felt torn apart because of cruel gossip, will have her heart restored.

There will be no more place for misunderstanding, suspicion and offense, no negative assumptions, and no need for explanation. It won’t matter what we had wanted to say, what we meant, tried, and failed to express. It will be possible to look into each other’s hearts, into our very souls, and see the goodness in there.

And finally we can cry over all the hidden treasures of goodness, kindness, forgiveness and love – tears of joy because they were found, tears of sadness because we never discovered them here on this earth, because of our human limitations.

We will be enveloped in infinite love. We will be, again, beautiful, beloved, sweet children. We will be forever with the One Who shaped us in our mother’s womb, and there will be no need to part again.

{Originally published on Genesis Moments: A Writer’s Journey}

Reality Church?

By Robin Pensieve | January 16th, 2009 | Category: BN Channel Religion & Philosophy, Featured 2, Robin at Pensieve, Uncategorized, Wednesday 1 | 3 comments

{Originally posted on Vintage Faith}

***

***

The First Stage: We begin going to a church, exciting, thrilling, love Jesus, the church is exciting, all things new.

Second Stage: We begin getting involved, learn behind the scenes things, feel privileged to know the church staff and leaders more personally, we are totally excited.

Third Stage: We see things you start to question, the thrill of the big church meetings wanes, as it seems more and more predictable, the leaders seem more human now and not as special as first.

Fourth Stage: We start to get tired of serving in ministry. It seems routine now and we only see it as fueling the big meeting that we don’t really like anymore. The leaders we once were in awe of now seem not only normal, but there is a suspicion of self-serving vs. serving the church in their motives. We lose excitement and wonder if church is even something we should be part of. We grow more disillusioned by the day.

Fifth Stage: Total disillusionment, begin feeling bitter towards church leaders, and wonder why people don’t question things more…

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Be generous. Always.

By Robin Pensieve | November 18th, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Religion & Philosophy, Featured 1, Robin at Pensieve, Tuesday 1, Uncategorized | 3 comments

{Originally posted on P E N S I E V E}

In its 15th and final season, hospital drama ER resurrected the dead: Anthony Edwards reprised his role as Dr. Mark Green last week in a series of flashbacks by Angela Bassett’s character, Cate Banfield.

When ER debuted in the Fall of ’94, I had an infant and a two-year-old, and I’m sure escaping into TV melodrama was a welcome respite from the “storms” my little ones ravaged. I remember lying on our sofa nursing my son–right side, left side, right side, left–through ER, the news and then late nights with Leno and Letterman.

During the episodes leading up to his death, Dr. Green takes his daughter to Hawaii, to teach her “important” life lessons–how to drive, how to surf…I really don’t recall much else.

Except a last admonishment to her, one that has haunted me in the ensuing years.

“Be generous. Always.”

It struck me as odd, then, that a parent’s dying words would speak to generosity. It was unsettling for some reason; I judged those words as somehow falling short. In my mind, as a believer, I felt like he should have offered some great spiritual insight, something with eternal value, something … more. Of course, I realized it was television after all, and the series had never before offered anything substantively spiritually enlightening; but still, I saw it as missed opportunity.

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Perfecktion

By Robin Pensieve | October 2nd, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Religion & Philosophy, Featured 2, Robin at Pensieve, Thursday 2 | 6 comments

{Originally posted at One Thing}

When I used to daydream about becoming a mother, I wasn’t completely naive. I knew there was more to it than the highly-romantic Similac commercials made it out to be. After all, I had a mother myself, and although she made the job look like just about the Best Thing Going, I knew it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. I knew it could be trying. I knew it could even be, at times, A Challenge.

When I got pregnant with my first child, I read articles that made motherhood sound like the ultimate self-help experience. Once you had children, the experts promised, you would hold yourself to a higher standard. You would want to model for your children the very best example, and therefore you would draw upon untapped levels of motherly goodness that you didn’t even know you had.

I have since learned the truth.

Motherhood is a Formal Enquiry, not “a challenge”. It is an Interrogation. Motherhood grabs you by the neck, slings you into a hard metal chair, angles a white hot light in your face and demands an accounting. It cross-examines you until you are no longer sure of who you are and can give no reasonable explanation for just what, exactly, you thought you were doing.

Did you think you were patient? What about the time you had to explain the concept of fractions to your fifth-grader for the eight-hundred and twenty-third time in three days? Thought you were pretty smart? Wait until you try to BS your way out of a moral dilemma and your teen calls your bluff. Think you’re Determined? Pit yourself against a 3 year old who decides overnight that elastic is Very, Very Bad In Every Way, But Most Especially On Pants. Were you strong? Resourceful? Brave? Think again.

It is the single most humbling experience possible to be confronted every day in every way with one’s inadequacies, but that, in a nutshell, has been my experience with parenthood.

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South Carolina did WHAT to their license plates?!

By Liz BrightStars | October 1st, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Politics, Featured 1, Wednesday 1 | 9 comments

{Originally published on greeblemonkey}

Basically, here’s the deal. Seeing as June and July have been a complete BLUR, I have really not paid any attention to my family, much less the news till right about, oh, 60 seconds ago. So, when Bryan brought up the South Carolina license plate controversy, he got a big. fat. blank. stare.

After the obligatory Fill-Aimee-In-On-The-Stuff-She-Has-Been-Missing Conversation, and a few Google searches, I started to get mad. REALLY mad. In a nutshell, South Carolina has authorized a vanity license plate with the words “I Believe” plus the image of a stained glass window and a CROSS over top of it. Clearly an indication that “I Believe” in Jesus Christ. CLEARLY a violation of the separation of church and state.

Have they lost their minds?

But before I go any further with my indignation over this situation, whatever happened to the POINT of a license plate in the first place? WHY does every state have 15,000 variations of design? I know this sounds crazy coming from a graphic designer, but here lies the place where my design sensibilities hit the road, Jack. The PURPOSE of a license plate is for you, me and any random police officer to IDENTIFY a car at a glance. How am I supposed to do that when someone can purchase their own oh-so-special Buffy The Vampire Slayer license plates? What happened to ONE STATE, ONE PLATE? This *is* like an official testament from the holy mother of all departmental clusterfracks, the Department of Motor Vehicles, right? So, not only are you going to make it harder for me to identify the person who just sideswiped me, you are also going to make it harder for me to get through that everlasting line because Granny Smith can’t decide between the University of Florida or Florida State University – you see, she has a grandson at both schools, don’t you know! And maybe she could just get one plate from each and put them at either end of the car??? Wouldn’t that be special!? OH, SHUT UP.

One state, one plate.

And NONE of them should be religious.

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A More Generous View

By Robin Pensieve | September 25th, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Religion & Philosophy, Featured 2, Robin at Pensieve, Thursday 2 | 2 comments

{Originally published on Kingdom Grace}

In reading and conversations about the gospel, church, and culture, I have run across many terms that were unfamiliar to me. I produced these posters in an attempt to portray simply some of the terms that I have encountered while blogging about religion. They are a reflection of my perception and understanding of these terms.

The post is titled “A More Generous View” because the posters are intended to portray the generous grace of God rather than a strict and rigid view of religion. I hope that you will find them to be an encouragement to your faith journey.

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Building a House of Cards

By Megan Jordan | September 12th, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Religion & Philosophy, Featured 1, Robin at Pensieve, Thursday 1 | 2 comments

{Originally published on “Et tu?“}

For whatever reason, I keep stumbling across blogs by mothers who are battling cancer lately.

One of the things that’s most striking about every one of them is how much looking through their posts highlights how fragile life is, and how little control we really have over our destinies. The post at the bottom of the page, from last Wednesday, might be titled something like “Feeling great!” and recount high hopes and improving health. And then the latest post, from today, might be titled “Bad news” and tell of dire test results and the choking realization that the author will probably not live to see her children grow up.

Just now I was doing my usual blog reading during the
kids’ naptime, and I came across yet another blogger who just received
a grave cancer diagnosis. She’s a mother, she’s not even 30 yet, and
there’s a good chance that she doesn’t have a lot more time.

Oddly, I was able to keep a stiff upper lip through most of the post, until she got to the part about all the plans she had: how she had her life neatly in place, her plans for the next few years all settled, and this diagnosis completely derailed everything. Nothing seems within her control any longer, and that’s one of the things she’s struggling with the most.

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