Babylon

Under Babylon’s sky we unite
Come together
Come together
And the fellowship we share,
a fragile dichotomy
Of self-worship and the promotion of others’ self-worship

Under Babylon’s sky we unite
Philosophers, priests, pleasure seekers, pagans,
We come together
As powerful and mighty and godless
We raise our fists to the sky
And sing our songs of independence
And praise the paths we’ve carved for ourselves
So different, yet so the same

Under Babylon’s sky we unite
We’re fierce and we never change
From Cain, our first son,
To Descartes, Sinatra, and Nietzsche
No God, I’m God, Dead God
The chant echoes from the deepest parts of man
Through the ages,
Through the races, creeds and nations

Under Babylon’s sky we unite
Her son has blinded
Her heat has deluded
Her sand has scraped the pupils dull

Mercy would be a broken tower
Mercy would be divided fellowship
Mercy would be different languages

Pray for Mercy under Babylon’s sky

Crazy Love

I've been reading this book, Crazy Love, by Francis Chan.

And when I say reading, I don't mean pick it up before bed and leisurely read a chapter.

I mean, brace myself for convicting truth, read a page or two, put it down, and pray. Sometimes weep. Sometimes repent.

The book's message has arrested my thought life. It's become a force that causes me to wrestle with self-assessment like never before.

I've invited the Holy Spirit to search me, my lifestyle and my worldview. To make me see ministry and discipleship a little more objectively. A little more through the lens of scripture.

I may blog later on specific issues the book has raised, but for now I invite you to join me!

If you're looking for some junk-food fiction (which I do read), this isn't it. If you're looking for a catalyst for your relationship with God, this may be it.

Let me know if you get it! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

www.crazylovebook.com

Styrofoam for Jesus

My husband is a pastor.

My husband is more outgoing than I am.

My husband likes people.

This isn’t to say that I don’t.

This is to say that we have people over for dinner.

A lot.

Tonight, it’s our new neighbors from across the street.

With women and hosting, I’ve found there tends to be a high standard we hold ourselves to. And, really, it’s just us women who hold us women to that standard. Men don’t care because men don’t even notice.

This is the standard, for dinner, that I’m talking about:

Clean floors, clean counters, no dishes in sink (because we all do them immediately after each meal, right?). Toys are in appropriate bins and there’s no pee on the guest toilet rim (because we clean that bathroom religiously, right?). Just in case the Woman who’s coming over wants to see how the Child’s room is painted, that’s tidied up, too.

Well, out of need to preserve my love of people over for dinner, I’ve modified that standard:

The house is decently cleaned, I don’t care about Carter’s room, and dinner is simple. I mean, simple. Neal grills chicken, I throw some frozen potato wedges in the oven and we might have a salad. If I’m up to it.

We no longer eat on real plates.

It’s Styrofoam all the way, baby. And those red Solo cups, complete with a Sharpie for labeling names to appease the compulsive teacher in me.

This is how I preserve my sanity. This is how I lower the standard so I can focus on the people we’re hosting and the connections being made.

Some Martha Stewarts out there might be able to do both. Perfection and genuine connections over dinner.

Well, that’s not me. I have a feeling, though, it might not be a lot us Women either.

What if we lowered the standard, risking silent judgment, for the sake of having dinners more often? What if we truly focused on the people coming over, and less on our ability to impress?

What if we did Styrofoam for Jesus?