One of the things I enjoyed most about writing the prayer devotional blogs in the early days was that only a handful of people knew I was the one doing it. It was kinda fun to fly under the radar and catch snippets of overheard conversations here and there when people would mention the insert in the Sunday bulletin or the post on the church’s Facebook page, etc. It’s not really a secret now, especially since my pastors have mentioned it from the pulpit several times, in reference to that week’s sermon. Don’t get me wrong — it’s very kind of them to give a shout out, and I’m always happy when there’s a clear cross-over between the devotional and that week’s message, but it’s still a little embarrassing to be called out during church.

We recently had a new gal at our Tuesday morning Life group that meets at a local fast food joint for coffee/breakfast before work, and it was nice to visit with her. I had met her and her husband before, but I’ve not gotten to know them very well, so I asked her to tell me a little about herself while we waited for others to arrive. She made a comment that she felt like she knew me pretty well, since I am “a public figure” in the church. I laughed it off at the time, but I’ve been thinking about her comment for days.

It’s true that I’m a leader in the church, and I sometimes have a more visible function, like when I teach a Crosstraining class (discipleship training), occasionally speak or pitch in as an elder by helping lead a ceremonial service of some sort or another, but most of the time, I try not to draw attention to myself. It caught me a little off-guard to be referred to as a public figure, since that has a somewhat different meaning in my academic world. I’m not an elected official or government appointee, but I guess, in a way, I am still somewhat of a familiar face in the crowd to which she was referring.

When you realize that you no longer fly under the radar, it’s a little disconcerting to discover that every “blip, blip” on the radar screen could be someone scrutinizing your life. I don’t feel that way in my church family, really, because it’s a very loving and welcoming environment. But still, there is a sense of pressure, I suppose, to toe the line and set a good example. (Although, I guess I’ve always had that expectation, self-imposed or otherwise.)

It makes things complicated, though, when I face issues in my personal life that I don’t particularly want to discuss (in detail, at least) publicly. For example, I’ve been writing an annual Christmas newsletter since the early 2000s, and my family and close friends expect it (they’ve said as much!) each year between Thanksgiving and New Year. Knowing that there will be major changes this year, I’m already thinking about how I might explain the situation. Will some be offended that I didn’t tell them personally? Will they judge me? I’ve even been wondering about when/how/if to mention it here. I mean, it’s my own blog, after all, but still … I care [probably too much; it’s an inherent flaw of mine] what people think.

When your life is an open book, there aren’t any secret chapters. Besides, my closets are too crammed full of clutter to hold any skeletons.

I’ve been telling people in person as it comes up in conversation or seems like the appropriate time to mention it. The fact of the matter is: I’m getting a divorce. I opt not to go into nitty-gritty details, but I trust that if you know me very well at all, then you know that I’m not exactly the spontaneous type, so this isn’t a spur-of-the moment, knee-jerk reaction type of deal. I also hope that you’ll withhold judgement and pray for all of us, instead. The kids have taken the news well, and as odd as it may seem, I think our funky family dynamic contains the most resilient bunch of amazing boys on the planet.

Trust me, I get that this isn’t God’s ideal arrangement, but I trust that he still has a plan for me/us, regardless of our shortcomings (which are not one-sided, of course). I’m keenly aware of his grace, more than ever, and especially when I realize that my life is more of an open book than I previously thought. I am grateful for the support that I have received along the way, as well as the accountability from prayer partners.

Going forward, I’m not sure what to expect. I’m planning to just keep doing what I’m doing, in all aspects of my life, until I feel like God is leading me to shift gears. We’ll see what the future holds … one day at a time.

(Continued from yesterday’s post)

Sixteen years have passed since that Sunday morning. My life looks radically different, and yet many of my internal struggles nowadays are similar to ones that I experienced back then. I’m thrilled to report that my current boss is a delightful individual and going to work is not a drudgery, but there’s still a sense of “What do I want to be when I grow up?” People often ask me what I “plan to do with” my doctorate, as if the choices are all mine to be made. I honestly don’t know the answer to that question.

I enjoy the work that I’m doing, and I can see myself staying in this path, perhaps on a broader scale in the future. I’m making deliberate efforts to present and publish my research, so that I can gain a strong footing in academia, but even that can be iffy. I’ve seen faculty members strive for years to gain tenure and fail. Moving from “staff” to “faculty” can be next to impossible. Even making the leap from “staff” to “administrator” can be difficult, since so many of those folks come from the faculty. Anyway, it’s not something that I lose sleep over; I just do the best I can and trust that God has a plan for me.

The relationship aspects of what the woman told me, though — that’s another story. My dad and I went through some rocky times during and after my parents’ divorce. We have a much better relationship now, but I can see that God was preparing me back then to face some hard days. My brother and I developed a much closer relationship in the years following my overseas experience, which was awesome, and then he died, which was completely the opposite of awesome. I can see how she may have been referring to God “being there” for me when my brother was not. And then, there’s the marriage thing. It has been challenging, to say the least, Army deployments notwithstanding. I’m still trying to figure out the reference to that relationship. As for friends, some have come and gone, but a core few have remained, and for that, I’m very grateful.

Now that my eldest and I have the opportunity to go to Brazil this coming summer, I’ve been thinking about all of these things. There are so many prophesies in the Bible that pertain to both the current setting and some unknown time in the future. That’s kind of what this feels like right now. Perhaps the woman evangelist wasn’t just referring to Asia; maybe God was looking ahead to today. God hasn’t told me in such a clear way that we are supposed to go now like he did then, but he has already begun making provisions financially, and it is fun to watch my son’s excitement grow. It’s such a neat experience to be preparing for a trip like this as a pair, rather than just myself. I don’t know what he has in store, but I have a hunch that it’s going to be amazing!

(Continued from yesterday’s post)

When I heard my name called, I snapped out of my jumbled thoughts about work and life, in general, and I looked around to see if there was someone I hadn’t met yet who had my name. A couple of people looked at me, and it quickly became apparent that I was the only “Angela” there.

The speaker followed the others’ glances and looked my way, asking if I was Angela. I nodded, and she asked if I’d come wait for her to finish praying with the person she’d been talking to before she interrupted herself. I went down and sat on the front row, wondering what was going on.

After the other person went back to their seat, the speaker waved me over to her, so I went. She put a hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes and said: “Angela, God wants you to know that he will be your father; he will be your brother; he will be your husband; he will be your friend. And, he’s going to take you to a place that you’ve never been to minister to people you’ve never met, and you don’t need to be afraid to go, because he is with you.”

She said a few things after that, but I was so stunned that I don’t really remember anything except her first couple of sentences. What did it mean? I wondered. I had doubts about going overseas, but I had not shared any of them publicly. I believed that God was calling me, and yet I felt pressure from my family (indirectly or otherwise), as well as a sense of obligation not to ditch my job after just a few months. Besides, it was a volunteer position, and I had student loans to pay. How would I make ends meet?

I had spoken to the pastor and his wife about the opportunity to reapply for the overseas assignment not very long before this happened, so I just assumed that he had said something to the speaker about me. (Why he would mention little ol’ me, who wasn’t even a leader in the church, was beyond me, but it’s the only thing I could think of.) I went to him after the service and asked him what he’d told her about me. He looked dumbfounded and said that he had not said anything to her, about anyone in the church. I realized then that I’d been a part of something really spectacular.

I also knew that somehow, someway, God was going to make it possible for me to go overseas. I wondered about the different relationships that the woman mentioned in her comments to me. I got along ok with my dad, and my brother and I got along as well as siblings do. There was no animosity in either of those relationships, that I could think of at that time. As for the husband thing, well, I had started dating an old college friend long-distance, and we had begun discussing the future, but nothing was in stone, by any means. I had a couple of close friends, but I was feeling pretty isolated and lonely where I was, so I didn’t know what the reference to God being my friend meant, either.

The pieces fell into place, and I moved across the big ocean a few months later. I had my parents sell my car to help pay for my student loans while I was away, and although it was a struggle, I scraped together enough to make ends meet. It was an amazing experience, even though I only stayed a semester. Then, in the year after I returned to the states, life got topsy-turvy in some very good and very rotten ways: my parents divorced, my brother fractured his neck in a roll-over automobile accident, and I married that long-distance boyfriend. Still, I wondered what God was trying to say.

Life has a way of making time seem like it is flying by, and one day you look back and wonder: What did it all mean?

(To be continued in Part 3, tomorrow)

I have been thinking about an experience that happened many years ago at a vastly different time in my life (or so it seemed), so I’m writing it out. It’s a long story, though, so I’ll split it into two or three posts. Here goes …

—

I grew up in a mix of United Methodist, Southern Baptist and, later, independent Christian churches. Each of these denominations/groups have their strong points, and I still attend an independent church with Baptist roots. My point in sharing all of this is that none of my upbringing prepared me for a prophetic experience that happened on an otherwise average Sunday: the ones you read about in the Bible, and they sound like cool stories, but you wonder if they ever happen in real life. I certainly never expected it to happen to me!

My first job after college was as a newspaper reporter in a rest-stop-sized town in southeast Texas, sandwiched between a corn field, a rice paddy and the Interstate highway. The highlights of the town were a phenomenal Mexican food restaurant and a popular bar (and I didn’t even drink back then, so phooey). When I moved there and was trying to get settled in my new rent house, I was on a stubborn streak and dead-set against attending any church with the word “First” in its name, which left a small non-denominational congregation as my other option.

At first, I was a little nervous because my impression of non-denominational churches involved people swooning in the pews, dancing in the aisles, shouting out and speaking nonsensically. This congregation was very small; the pastor’s family comprised four of the 25 or so members, and the church met in a building next door to their house. I quickly became involved and helped out with organizing things for Sunday mornings (we used one of those school-type flat projectors and printed transparencies; this was before the days of PowerPoint and overhead projectors!)

They did have occasional speaking in tongues, but it was never disruptive or creepy. This was the first church that I can remember where people raised their hands in worship, which seemed odd to me initially, but it became more normal as I quit wondering what other people thought of me (quite frankly, no one cares). One Sunday, we had a guest speaker. First of all, the speaker was a SHE. I was impressed that she was offered the pulpit, because even though this was a progressive church (compared to all others I’d ever attended), the highest religious duty I’d ever seen a woman have was as the youth minister.

Before I tell you what happened that morning, I should give some background. The year prior to my relocation, I had interned with a local radio station near my college town. During one of my shifts, I heard an advertisement for a non-profit education organization that was recruiting volunteer teachers for semester and yearly appointments to teach English as a Second Language in Asia. I really felt compelled to do it, and I even began the application process, but for numerous reasons that don’t matter to the story right now, I declined to go and canceled my application.

In the few weeks leading up to this particular Sunday morning with the woman evangelist, I had received a phone call out of the blue from the education organization, asking if I would consider reapplying for the upcoming year. Besides being shocked that they managed to reach me at my new number in my new town, I was flabbergasted by God’s timing.

My job wasn’t anything like I’d anticipated; I was miserable. My boss was the owner’s son and immune to discipline. He was not a pleasant person to work with, much less for. I was ready to get the heck out of Dodge, despite the fact that I’d only been there a few months. I’d had all I could take of learning about boll weevils and the local taxidermy museum, and I was tired of sleeping with my police scanner so that I could jump out of bed and cover a wreck in the middle of the night.

And so, on the morning that God spoke, I was somewhat distracted from the sermon. It happened toward the end of the service, and they were having quiet time where you could walk down front and have someone pray with you. I was just sitting alone in my usual spot, thinking.

The speaker stopped in the middle of praying with someone, looked around the small crowd in the sanctuary and asked, “Is anyone here named Angela?”

(To be continued in Part 2, tomorrow)

The groundhog didn’t see his shadow on Saturday, and look what  I discovered when I arrived at my office this morning: My sweet little geranium has a new shoot growing!

This is the funkiest plant I’ve ever had, and the silk butterfly pick makes me smile. The geranium used to have a couple of different shoots, and at one point, it stretched about three feet straight up! It was the craziest thing. I cut it, primarily to keep it from toppling over, but also to see if I could root the cutting. Unfortunately, that didn’t work, but the plant lives on determinedly.

It’s exciting to see new growth, after all this time. I can’t wait to see its pretty pink blooms again … soon!

I have some Big Dreams. You might call it a Wish List or a Bucket List, perhaps, but I call it Big Dreams because not all of them are within my control to make happen. Some of them are things that I pray about (perhaps not as earnestly as I ought), and several are things that I have had on my heart for many years. I have been thinking about some of them quite a bit recently, so I thought I would jot them down for posterity.

Without further ado, here is a sampling of some of my Big Dreams (in no particular order):

• To visit places that I saw as a small child but don’t remember: Italy, Germany, Spain, France, The Netherlands
• To see the night sky from the Southern Hemisphere (Lord willing, this summer when No. 1 and I plan to travel to Brazil!)
• To visit Scotland and Australia
• To witness (and hopefully participate in) the baptism of each of my children (2 down, 3 to go!)
• To manage my finances so that I can live on half of my income and give the rest to ministry
• To return to China and see the Great Wall (which I didn’t get to see the first time I was there)
• To be the first author of a published academic work
• For my research/academic work to be cited by others because it is relevant and informative
• For my spouse to challenge me spiritually (not in a Bible-drill sort of way, but in a How-can-we-grow-together-and-further-the-ministry sort of way)
• To publish a novel
• For my boys to become godly men and marry like-minded women

There are surely others mulling around my head, but those are the ones that come to mind off-hand. Do you have any Big Dreams?

I must be a glutton for punishment, but I need accountability and promised my BFF that I would do the TriGirl super-sprint triathlon on Mother’s Day. Super-sprint doesn’t mean that you have to go super-fast; rather, it means that the race is super-short: 200-yd swim, 8-mi bike, 2-mi run/walk.

I rode 6mi on the bike at the Y tonight till my tush went numb, so that’s a good start! One lap around our neighborhood streets is about a mile, so I told the boys that when it gets a little warmer, then we can “train” together on our bikes.

I need to get back in the pool & see if 200 yds is still as “easy” as it used to be. I’m cautiously optimistic that it won’t be difficult, but I also know that I won’t be setting any new North Spring Swim Team records again, either. 😉  I’m seriously considering prescription goggles, but I need to do some pricing research first.

As for the final 2 miles, I may crawl; we’ll just have to see! I have never enjoyed running, and although my knee feels much better, I am admittedly afraid of re-injuring it. I’m building up endurance on the treadmill & elliptical machine, but I will not feel bad for walking the whole route, if need be.

Well, there you have it. I’ve talked about it publicly, so now I’m committed to doing it! 🙂

I have a bone to pick with Bank of America. I’ve been disappointed with the company since my husband’s first deployment, when his paychecks were off-cycle and late posting. I would never, ever willingly choose them to hold something as important as our mortgage. Unfortunately, the loan was sold, and BoA bought it. Blerg.

It hasn’t been a big deal until recently. I had the monthly payments set up through online banking, and I never had to deal with BoA directly. Unfortunately, our credit union decided to quit doing online bill pay as a cost-saving measure, so I had to change our payment setup to another account. I didn’t miss a single payment, wasn’t late on a single payment … simply changed the auto-pay arrangement. (In fact, I paid double that first month of the switch, because I forgot that the auto-pay was already scheduled.)

The holidays came and went, and then, the first FedEx envelope arrived. It was filled with a form letter advising us that we’d missed two scheduled payments, and BoA shared its heartfelt concern that we might need to read the enclosed 20+ pages on how to avoid foreclosure.

What. The. #(&Y*(^@>?!?

I called and talked to Customer Service and was informed (like I already knew) that our account was, indeed, current. In fact, she didn’t even have record that another arm of the company had contacted us! That’s what is so frustrating. How can a customer service rep NOT KNOW that their company had sent me a foreclosure counseling packet?? Not only that, but our account is flagged as deployed military, which means that they have no business sending foreclosure-related anything, even if we were behind on payments (which we aren’t). That’s part of the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Civil Relief Act!

I enclosed my own “heartfelt” reply in the pre-paid FedEx return envelope and sent it right back from whence it came, hoping that would be the end of it.

Of course not.

Next came the phone call. A concerned mortgage rep called and left a message expressing his interest in talking to us to help address any problems we may be having paying our mortgage. Again, WTH!? And, another FedEx envelope. This time, I called the number Mr. Concerned left, got his voice mail and really gave him a piece of my mind. I told him that these notices are not only infuriating, but they are flat-out insulting, that the left and right hands at BoA need to get their acts together, and I expect the issue to be resolved immediately with no further mail or phone calls.

I am so ticked off about their ineptitude that I’m seriously thinking of refinancing the mortgage, just to not have to deal with Bank of America anymore! The problem is, how do I know that a refi will not be sold to them, eventually? Are there any banks or credit unions out there that actually KEEP their loans? I understand that as a borrower, you are somewhat at the mercy of your lender, but you are still a consumer. The public policy analyst in me says that customers ought to have some say in who can (and CANNOT) purchase their mortgages.

Bank of America got into some deep doo-doo recently for robo-signing mortgage-related documents. Apparently, they haven’t learned their lesson, and a simple change in the payment system prompts an automated deluge of foreclosure doomsday bulletins.

I, for one, am livid.

I have a magnifying mirror in my bathroom, not because I’m so vain that I need to apply my makeup in fine detail, but because if I had to rely on the vanity mirror 2′ away, I might as well get ready without any mirror at all; I’m that near-sighted.

Before I got the magnifying one, I used a hand-held mirror that I frequently smudged with a mascara wand because I had to hold it so close to my face to see what I was doing. I still have to get rather close to the magnifying mirror; in fact, I often make accidental fog spots where I exhale. But, once I’m near enough to see it, then – wow! – I can really see up close.

This is how close I normally have to get to see in the magnifying mirror. I think it’s funky how the camera perspective makes the reflection looked warped.

All that is to set the stage for something peculiar that happened the other day. I had stepped away from the mirror to pick up something from the vanity, and I happened to glance back up at it. I was much too far away to see my reflection, but what I did see was my open closet door behind me, with my red bathrobe hanging on the hook inside the door. It was as clear as if I was wearing my glasses, only the image was inverted.

I was still standing there perplexed by the perfectly 20/20 reflection of my upside-down bathrobe when my 13yo walked in and asked what in the world I was doing.

I explained the phenomenon to him, and seeing as his prescription is as bad as mine (if not worse, poor dominant-gene child), he wanted to see if it happened to him, as well. It did! I tried to make sense of it, but I’m baffled. I know that convex and concave mirrors reflect differently (hence, the mirror rooms in carnival fun houses), but I’ve never experienced a reflection that was perfectly adjusted for my near-sightedness.

I mentioned earlier this fall about how we saved coins all year with the intention of donating the money to charity around the holidays, and I promised to report back on the final decision. When all was said and done, we had collected almost $120 in loose change!

The boys discussed what to do with the money, and they came to a unanimous agreement (shocking, I know!) about how to divvy it up. One of the things that warmed my heart as we were bouncing around ideas is that they wanted to support everything we could think of. But, even $120 doesn’t go very far when you spread it too thin, so they had to narrow down their choices. Here’s what they finally decided:

• A gift of baby chicks for a family through Samaritan’s Purse
• Our church’s inner-city ministry (we used this portion to buy gifts for our angel tree family)
• Run For Life: Haiti, to support a maternity center where some friends of ours serve as missionaries
• Lastly, they wanted to support the local mammoth exhibits, but they couldn’t decide between the Waco Mammoth Site or the Mayborn Museum, so they split the difference between the two.

I’m proud of them for thinking so broadly about how to help others. We’ve already started saving change for next year’s donation, so hopefully we’ll collect even more to give away!