My Stephen Kingiversary

Three years ago today I started reading my first Stephen King book. It was the expanded version of The Stand, and it is still one my favorite books I’ve ever read.

But the story begins long before that. When I was nine or ten years old I remember visiting my aunt and uncle’s house and being in awe of their collection of Stephen King books. Even though that was almost 30 years ago, King had already written many novels, and to my young mind it seemed that my aunt and uncle had them all. I’m not sure what my fascination was, and to be honest, I am not sure if I should have known who Stephen King was at that age. One evening my aunt let me take a book home with me when I left her house. I can still remember that drive home, the way the book felt in my hands. It was hard cover, and the weight of it was foreign to my normally holding Judy Blume hands. It was Pet Sematary, and it mesmerized me.

I never actually read that book. I am sure it sat around for several weeks and then was returned to my aunt and uncle. As much as I loved that book, I wasn’t prepared to read it. However my fascination - or my love affair - or whatever it was - didn’t stop, and that’s how I found myself finally reading The Stand three years ago.

Now I am able to sit down with a Stephen King book and read 1000 pages in a week. Over these last three years I’ve stayed up late, depriving myself of sleep because I was so engrossed in what was happening in his books. I’ve packed his books away to take on vacation. On many occasions I’ve stashed a book in my purse so I could read in a waiting room or the front seat of my car between appointments.

But when I really think about my Stephen Kingiversary, it comes down to one terrifying thought: I should love reading Scripture as much as I love reading Stephen King. Of course I do love Scripture. I love that God has provided us a written word. I love the practical advice of James. I love the scandalous stories of Genesis. I love envisioning all the characters around Jesus in the gospels. I love how Psalms begins in the New Century Version:

"Happy are those who don’t listen to the wicked, who don’t go where sinners go, who don’t do what evil people do. They love the Lord’s teachings, and they think about those teachings day and night." (Psalm 1:1-2)

But does an almost daily devotional or a weekly Bible study mean that I really love the Lord’s teachings? Do I think about His teachings day and night? When was the last time I read Acts by nightlight so I wouldn’t wake up my sleeping husband? When was the last time I thanked the dentist for running late so that I could read a few more Proverbs? When was the last time I left my schedule open so I could read Revelation in one sitting?


Lord, I want to love your Word more than any other word that exists. I want You to be the only King of my heart. Let Scripture be an anchor in my life that keeps me close to You. Amen.

FMF: Promise

Every word is a promise.

By Gods Word he spoke the world into creation.
And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. (Genesis 1:3)

By his word Isaac blessed the wrong child.
Isaac answered Esau, “I have made him lord over you and have made all his relatives his servants, and I have sustained him with grain and new wine. So what can I possibly do for you, my son?” (Genesis 27:37)

By His Word, Jesus forgave us as he hung on the cross.
Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing...” (Luke 23:34)

Every word we speak is a promise. There is no need to take an oath or pinky swear. There is no volume by which to measure a promise. “I will take the trash out at the next commercial” should have the same weight as “I will marry you next fall.” The very essence of my being should be truth, so that there is never any doubt that what I say I will do.




This post is a prompt from Five Minute Friday and was written in approximately five minutes. For more information, visit fiveminutefriday.com.

FMF: Practice

I’ve been “practicing” this blog post over and over in my head all day. I’ve written and rewritten the words that I wanted to type but instead of actually doing it, they’ve gone undone and have been lost into space. So many things in my life get “practiced” for no reason:

There are the words that I wish I had said after I had a fight with someone.

There are the things that I should’ve done to improve a situation that I was facing.

There are the ways that I intend to act when I get somewhere important.

There is the way I’m going to look when I finally lose those next few pounds.

In all of this “practice” I am spending energy and effort on things that don’t matter. I am not preparing. I am not rehearsing. I am wasting. And so could it be that this supposed “practice” is really something evil disguised as something important. Could it be a wolf in sheep‘s clothing waiting to attack me, from the inside, from my own very thoughts?

This could be why we are instructed in Philippians to think about good things. To think about things that are noble. To think about things that are trustworthy. This is why we are told in 2 Corinthians to take our thoughts and make them captive. And it is why the real practice is eliminating these “practices” and instead focusing on Christ.




This post is a prompt from Five Minute Friday and was written in approximately five minutes. For more information, visit fiveminutefriday.com.

Good Friday Prayers

As I drove to my church's Good Friday service I uttered a prayer that included some words like, "Let me see what You want me to see."  To be honest, I'm not sure exactly what I prayed because it was just an earnest prayer to begin preparing my heart for whatever the night held.  As an employee of my church, I had helped with many parts of our Easter events, but Good Friday is an evening that our pastor holds dear to his heart.  For several years we've had the tradition of a short worship service and then a modernized stations of the cross experience.  While I knew about certain elements - cotton balls, grape juice, and club soda - because I had bought them, I knew little more about the evening.

I've always struggled with prayer.  I believe in prayer because the Bible tells me to, and I believe in prayer because I've heard from trustworthy friends about the miracles they have seen, but if we are being honest I've had a hard time finding moments that I could say were direct answers to prayer.  Of course there have been some, but it's hard to hold onto "some" over decades of faith.  I don't blame God or the power of prayer for the "some"; I recognize it largely a result of my lack of commitment to prayer.  And so like many times, I found myself throwing out a prayer as I drove to church because I realized I was entering a truly holy time of the year without much prayer.  God, forgive me.

The Anointing
In Matthew 26:6-13 Jesus is anointed while at the home of Simon the Leper.  Side note: I've recently enjoyed thinking about how people are identified in the Gospels.  Was Simon the Leper still living with leprosy, or had Jesus healed him of the disease?  It seems like a simple answer at first, of course Jesus had probably healed him, but if that is the case, why is he not referred to as the one healed of leprosy?  It'd be like a biblical artist formerly known as Prince.  Another fun one to think about is The Other Mary of Matthew 27:61.  Really?  The only way to distinguish her was as "the other"?  I digress.

Simon the Leper had Jesus over for dinner when a woman pours expensive perfume from an alabaster jar on Jesus' head.  In my church's tradition we talk a lot about this woman.  Twice a year we collect an "alabaster offering" that goes directly to the mission field to help acquire property and construct buildings.  I do love it, but until last night I'd never seen it happen.  As the last details of service were coming together I watched a friend pour small amounts of good smelling oil onto cotton balls.  Unfortunately, a few cotton balls in she ran out of the lavender scented oil she had and switched to the frankincense oil instead.  I don't know for sure that the woman in the Bible poured frankincense on Jesus' head, but I do know it is a perfume and the oil my friend used costs $90 for one tablespoon.  Yes, you read that right: $90 for one tablespoon.  Without even knowing it, my friend had poured out her alabaster jar.

The Crowd
One subtle element of the crucifixion story that you may have missed is the crowd.  In most church plays the crowd is there to yell "crucify Him" and there was even an armed crowd when Judas initially betrayed Jesus, but they do little more than that.  At Passover Jerusalem would have been filled with Jews who traveled into the city to celebrate the holiday.  How many were there: One thousand?  Ten thousand?  One hundred thousand?  A million?  The crowd that could have come out to watch the crucifixion events unfold are staggering.  And the more that were there for crucifixion, the more that would be saying to their friends on Sunday morning, "Hey, you remember that guy we watch be crucified?  Something happened."  Well we certainly didn't have a million people at our Good Friday service.  We didn't even have one thousand.  We had 41.  And I know that because earlier in the day my pastor and I had a conversation about how many papers to prepare for one of the stations.  Is 40 enough, I asked.  I'd love to have 40, he said.  Sure enough, God did His thing.  He sent 41 people out to our little church on Friday night as a way of reminding us that He can do so much more than we imagine.

The Scattering and the Gathering
When I think about Good Friday, I often think of that lone disciple mentioned in the gospel of John (the beloved disciple, traditionally John).  We know what became of Judas (eek) and also Peter (sigh), and I envision the other nine running home to pack bags and get out of town.  It's possible that they were part of the crowds that watched from a distance, but they certainly are not identified.

Who is identified are two new characters, the secret disciples, Joseph and Nicodemus.  In John 19 we read that Joseph had been a secret disciple out of fear of the Jewish leaders.  If you've ever been to Sunday School you remember that Nicodemus had visited Jesus at night (and if you're a little rusty on your Bible quizzing facts you can read that account in John 3).

There comes a moment in each of our lives that we have to stop living in the shadows.  We can no longer let fear rule us, and we must decide to do what is right.  For these two men, their decision to put their faith into action at that moment secured them an amazing part of the greatest come back story ever.  I can't help but wonder what might be waiting for me if I were to do the same.

Peace & The Garden

Sunday mornings are not necessarily a peaceful time in my house.  When I started watching The Walking Dead with my husband a few years ago, there was a tender moment between the main character, Rick, and his son Carl.  In talking about their pre-apocalypse life, Rick remembers that his wife Lori, Carl's mom, always made pancakes on Sunday mornings.  These pancakes were notoriously awful, but she continued to make them because that was the kind of family she wanted to be.  The scene is endearing, but I remember thinking "Who has time to make pancakes on Sunday morning?"

I certainly don't.  On Sundays I find myself praying the coffee is strong and hot.  I attempt to gulp it down before I walk out the door so I can brush my teeth as to not offend anyone at church with coffee breath.  Almost every week either my oldest son or I are checking if we have the appropriate laptop, his for announcements and music slides or mine to teach children's church.  There is usually an odd item or two that needs to be taken to church.  Today it is supplies for the Easter, clean nursery sheets, and materials for children's church.  Then you add in all the chaos of "did you eat?" and "did you shower?" and "are you wearing that?" and Sundays take on a life of their own.

I sat down this morning at my dining room table with coffee in a Superman mug - my Batman mug is dirty - and looked outside at my garden.  I use the word "garden" loosely.  There are definitely things growing in my backyard, but they don't have the intentionality or, if I'm painfully honest, success that a garden should have.  And yet there is something about calling it a garden that I enjoy.  It tells the story of what I want my backyard to be.  I want it to be a place where we grow food, have more grass than weeds, certainly no weeds that reach up to my knees, and no pile of dead greenery that I cut a week ago.  No cracked concrete.  No gopher holes, though these have been entertaining for my husband and sons and dog.

This morning I sat down at my dining room table and saw past all that.  I saw what could be there: thick grass, neat edges, persimmons by the bunch, a clean patio with a table we could gather around, and maybe even a barbeque and some string lights.

I hope that when God looks at me He sees a garden.  I hope he sees past my weeds and shortcomings, and instead sees my potential.  I hope He sees the gallons of sweet lemonade I'm capable of supplying instead of the bitter fruit that is ripe for picking.