Reflection on a Year

I'm contemplating time tonight. I have been trapped in a Facebook black hole for part of this evening, digging up memories that I had buried for the past year. A year. I can't believe how long a year can feel. The past year for me has felt like the longest one of my life. Last summer, on July 19, Alex had not yet been fired (I believe it came the next day..), we had a whole different group of friends that has since scattered, I was half way done with my pregnancy, and we didn't have even an inkling of what our lives would look like merely a month later.

That bump!

Prepping a house to sell is a lot of work!

When I think about my life now, my friends, our church, my son...I am overwhelmed. Last summer I did not even know that life could be this sweet. That I would have friendships with people, with women, who I admire so deeply, trust so innately, relate to so immediately. I didn't know Alex would find work at a place where we feel accepted, appreciated, loved and where we feel so much respect for the leadership. I didn't know I would live in the most beautiful, small town with a tight knit community, that is a couple hours from my family. I didn't know how magical motherhood was, how much Emmett would change everything. I didn't know how special it would be to see my parents become grandparents. To see Alex become a dad.

I have never been as fulfilled with a deep sense of joy as I am at this stage of life. I want to remember this. I want this post to be a record of this time, because I know it won't last forever. I know I'm on a mountain right now, and that the valley will come. I want to look back at this when life feels like it's crumbling, when I go through a hard time, and remember how much God loves me and provides for every need, even ones I am unaware of.

A year ago, life crumbled. It was only because of that crumbling that God rebuilt my life and blessed me with a peace that seemed impossible in the midst of the destruction. I lost so many things that at the time seemed good, just to discover that God had great waiting. God had a place for us where we fit. Not where we had to pretend to be something else, or hide our beliefs or force ourselves to connect with certain people. He gave us a place where we are not alone. We are surrounded by friends who inspire us and help us grow and embrace us and share in our beliefs. Our son is loved by these wonderful people who we've only known for a handful of months. We are loved.

This is a thank you. It's a thank God. I am so undeserving and He gives us so much. I am unworthy and He has filled me up.

Time is doing that pesky thing where it speeds by and crawls at the same time. This year has been so full of change, it has felt so long, simply because everything about my life seems to be different than a year ago. But, of course, it also feels like it passed in the blink of an eye. I remember sitting in my empty house in Kansas about 11 months ago, sobbing a guttural cry because of everything that we had lost. I cried so deeply I would lose my voice. I felt so betrayed, so unloved, so hurt by people we had invested in for over a year. I felt this huge weight of injustice. I felt like I never wanted to go back to a church, like I couldn't trust anyone, like I didn't want to. I remember being so scared of passing the stress of my life to Emmett, growing in me. I remember hating the people that treated us like we were disposable. I felt devastated that we were having to "regress" in our adult lives. Live off of the charity of my family, enter into parenthood with uncertainties.

How could I, in one year, go from this valley to this summit? Only God. I am in awe of the change. Of the opportunities he presented us with. The friends, the jobs, the beauty of Big Bear. This place is healing and He brought us here, just like He does with so many of the people who end up in this small forest town. Last year I lived in a holler, and now I'm on a mountain and that is no coincidence. All I can do is praise.

|| Posted by Kate ||

The Person I Want To Be

I was walking across campus, my ear throbbing from an infection, my nose dripping. I had just stayed up til midnight the night before working on papers, trying desperately to catch up on things I had let slide. In all fairness, the majority of the day was spent staring at a blank page or trying to find anything to distract myself. And now I was walking like a zombie, loaded up on NyQuil, not quite fully present, but not absent either.

That’s when I ran into PJ. PJ and I had a class together first quarter. She had struggled to adjust to seminary life and I had attended a study session with her where I shared a lot of the study tips that I learned in undergrad. Concepts about canon, and infallibility, and how faith and Bible study must build each other up, but one of the most important lessons was learning what you don’t need to read. She would spend the day in class, go to work after, come home to her young son, not to mention whatever other church work she was volunteering for, and after all of that she would spend hours reading over the articles and books that were assigned for class. The advice I gave was apparently profound, but at the time I thought it was just a clever form of laziness. I said, “don’t do all the reading.” It’s simple. If you’ve got that much on your plate, you need to recognize the bare minimum that you can get away with in these classes and that’s what you do. At least until you can find a more permanent solution.

When I saw PJ she asked “how has your quarter been?” And I hesitantly shared that I had been phoning it in all quarter, struggling to balance my life, my work, my school, and my sanity. She volleyed the same advice I had given her in the Fall. She reminded me about priorities and about grace, and in that moment I was reminded for the millionth time that the Gospel is true, that God loves me, and that I can’t earn His grace.

I’ve been given life, and life abundantly, a life so full of blessings and gifts that I simply can’t hold them all, and they overflow. But I’m in the weird-happy of trying to keep everything inside, rather than letting the abundance pour over me.

I want to be that person. I want to be the person who is acutely aware of the amazingness of each breath. I want to be the person who always puts God first. The person who always prioritizes my family. I want to dedicate my mind to studying the Scriptures, and dedicate my body to living them out. I want so badly to be this person.

The Buried Things

Imagine one of those dramatic scenes where the shovel breaks the dirt, and it is solemnly brought over a hole in the ground. The dirt falls across… something.

You seldom see the body, but you know it’s there. In your head there is something in that grave. There is something getting buried, and there is a moment of tension as you let go of whatever just happened and recognize that for whatever is in that grave- this is the end. And you let it go.

You bury the hatchet. You put things in the past. You let it die. And you can grieve, and you can move on, but nothing will be how it was. This is what it means to bury things. Dead means done, done means not coming back. Freedom, and release, and sorrow, and loss, all in one moment.

Do you have things in your life, that no matter how you grieve them and process them they always seem to come back? I’ve heard countless sermons about letting go, forgiveness, moving on, letting the past be the past. And the sheer number of object lessons attached to those sermons is daunting. The price is paid, a dog doesn't return to its vomit, Lot’s wife “looked back” and you saw what happened to her. I’ve held trinkets in my pocket to remind me that I’ve forgiven people, I’ve carried around heavy luggage, I’ve written things down and nailed them on crosses, set them on fire, dyed them in red coloring, bleached them white.

And yet I was sitting in counseling today, my foot tapping like crazy as I anxiously recalled that one thing that just wouldn’t die.

This is the part of every post where I think to myself, “I wish I could just end it here. I’m not sure I have any good advice to give, and I’m not sure I’m done wrestling with this thing, so let’s just drop the mic and walk away.” But I can’t. Cause this is one of those things that just.
won’t.
die.

And I’m torn, because I celebrate Resurrection Sunday. I think Christ’s resurrection from the grave is the single most important event in the history of humanity.

But I’m also a fan of The Walking Dead. I imagine something rising from the grave as a cold, decomposing horror, that chases me without relent.

So, I have two choices: zombie, or exalted.

Two Truths and a Lie

I am unhealthy. -Truth

I go out of my way to adopt healthy behaviors. -Truth

I am fat. - Lie

---

I agree with the Democratic party. -Truth

I agree with the Republican party. -Truth

I am a Republican or Democrat. -Lie

---

Today is a good day. -Truth

Today is a bad day. -Truth

How I feel about Today matters. -Lie

---

I am right. -Truth

I am wrong. -Truth

I define right and wrong. -Lie


You’re familiar with the game, right? I come up with two things that are true about myself, and then one lie, and you have to guess the lie. I always hated this game, because you always have someone who just cannot come up with anything, and they sit there trying to figure out one thing that is true about themselves and they just can’t.

Then there are the people who you know are lying about all three things, or are at least lying through omission. Like, “oh I totally went to prom with a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model,” which is true, but it’s only half true. They went to prom with someone who was featured in the background of a shot of as an extra, but since they were paid they were technically a Sports Illustrated model, and they were technically wearing a swimsuit, so… truth? (That would still be impressive…) And there are the people who just tell whatever story they can think of to get attention, and it may be true, and really heart breaking, but they kind of forgot this is just a game. Like, “I was adopted from a third world country, and still wake up in the middle of the night crying from memories of my family.” And everyone is just sitting there like, “God, I hope that’s not true, but also- this is a game right? Like, this isn’t counseling?” We’re supposed to say fun things, like- my dog’s name was McPoops cause everytime he ate McDonald’s he would diarrhea on the carpet. I’m not supposed to then finish that story with- “so we put him down, and my parent’s didn’t tell me until I got home from school, and I failed geometry that year because I was so depressed, but no one ever understood why I didn’t do my work, so my parents thought I was stupid and I had to get a tutor, and ever since then I’ve felt like my parent’s think I’m stupid.” Cause that would be super sad, right? (Also, stop feeding McDonald’s to dogs.)

But the point is, that game should be called “Two half truths, and something you wish were true.” Because functionally that is a more accurate title.

We all have a tendency to do that, don’t we?

The Future American Church - or How to Stop Sending and Start Receiving

There are two things I desperately want to write about, and they may not seem to be connected but they really are - promise.

First, Christian Sci-Fi isn’t much of “a thing”.

Christian culture seems to shy away from forecasting future events, unless that forecast ultimately consists of Christ returning and everything else being pointless. The church seems far more concerned with eschatology, and far less concerned with futurology. But the generation coming up in the Western World seems to have rejected the fairy-tales of the Left Behind era, in favor of dreams of self-driving cars, an internet of things, and the implications of 3D printing (or at least I have). For years now this has been perceived as a departure away from Christianity and toward the secular, but I would disagree.

To those Christians who still drive cars with faded NOTW stickers, I share this with you:

Emmett...Ode to an Easy Baby

Dearest Emmett,

Thank you. I can't say thank you enough for what an amazing baby you are. Ever since you were born, you have given me at least 7 hours of sleep a night. Granted, for most of those nights those 7 hours were split into 2-3 chunks, but that's nothing to scoff at! You have been so generous to grant me so much rest and I thank you profusely.

Also, I gotta say, you're not much of a crier. You cry, but only when you need something specific. And it's always either a burp, hunger, or a poop that you're working out. And once in a while you're a little overstimulated. But really, that's it! You also tend to fuss for a while before the actual crying starts, which lets me try to figure out what it is you need before you have actual baby tears running down your face. Those tears are heartbreaking, baby. Also (and you get this from me) you turn beet red. Which is cute, except for the screaming and sweating. Which, again, happens so rarely that I can't even start to complain!

Have You Heard the News? (Everyone’s Talking) Life is Good, cause...

So, the word is out. And it’s true, I’m a pastor again. And there are so many stories I want to share about how it all happened, and what happened, and why it happened… ya know, the happenings, but I am finishing up my finals for the Winter Quarter at Fuller, so I’ll keep this post brief (I just finished the post, and realized it’s not brief at all… sorry).

Back when I got ordained I got a nice fancy piece of paper that said “Alex Jackson is hereby ordained as a Minister of the Gospel”, one of the ladies at the church even took time to decorate it with glitter markers so you knew it was really extra special. When you go through an ordination process it requires that you really consider what God has called you to do, and when I was ordained I knew that it wasn’t just for one church, and it wasn’t just as a Youth Pastor, it was forever. From that day on I was a Minister of the Gospel, no matter the circumstances. It was a call I received from God, and you can’t just be un-called. It’s not like Jonah was chilling in the whale thinking “great! I totally got out of that mess! Now I’ll never have to go to Nineveh.” No, it was more like “well… I guess God does get what He wants.”

But let me tell ya, these last few months tested that to my very core. As I attended Fuller I kept on having to write about my calling and where God wanted me, all the while I was floating around from different jobs, learning how to be a dad, and not know what the future would look like.

What Works

Now that we've had our little Emmett for almost 2 months, I'm feeling a bit more confident as his mother. We have our routine down, I can interpret his cries, I know when he's about to have a big poop, and we share so many sweet moments throughout every day. He has the sweetest smile and he recognizes my voice and my smell, and it's magical to be his mommy.

I have had some help along the way, and no, I'm not talking about my parents or Alex (although their help is INVALUABLE and I would be lost without them!). I'm talking about baby merch! There are SO many things on the market for moms and their new babies, and it was quite a process shifting though all the options and finding what I wanted... And that was only step one! It matters much more what Emmett wants and what makes him comfortable and happy, and learning that was another process of it's own. So here is my review on the top baby items we have, what works for me and for him, and what I would recommend to new moms everywhere!

1. Fisher-Price My Little Lamb Platinum Edition Cradle 'n Swing : This nifty swing is a lifesaver for Emmett's daytime naps. He LOVES the gentle rocking and the mobile and blue light he looks up at, and most of all the sweet baby songs that I can play at different volumes. I even like listening to the cheesy baby songs. When they're on, I can hum along (I've listened to them hundreds of times now) and they make me feel like there's a baby in the house. (Weird, but I like it). Most of all, this cute swing plugs in. It's on so much that I would go through TONS of batteries if it didn't have an AC adapter. That was the number one thing I was looking for in a swing, and I'm so glad I did. Finally, we've had a few blow-outs (poop everywhere, for those of you who aren't parents) and the fabric lamb that Emmett sits in comes out super easy and is machine washable. This is a must. I would definitely recommend this swing and I'm so grateful to my "aunt" Lisa for giving me this at my baby shower!

Emmett's Birth Story

Disclaimer: This post is super long. I am writing it all out so that I can remember all of the precious details of Emmett's birth, so just get ready for an in-depth story!

Emmett's journey into the world was not what I expected. Isn't that what you hear from every mom? When does it ever go exactly as anticipated? When does anything?

I'm so glad he came into the world his way...even if labor took 3 times longer than I thought it would. Even though I had to resort to taking medications that I was trying so hard not to take. Even though the pain was indescribable (and immediately forgettable).

December 8th came and went, and my hope that he would come on his due date proved false. Every day that week was agonizing, emotionally more than physically (although I was the size of a whale and every little thing took a ton of effort). I wanted him to be out so badly! I wanted to meet him, I wanted to be done being pregnant, I wanted to avoid being induced, I wanted his birthday not too close to Christmas. But that's a lot about me, and I figured out quickly that Emmett's entrance was, and should be, all about him.

My family made dollar bets about what day Emmett would show up. One by one, each day we had bet on passed by. The latest day that was predicted was by Jim, and was December 13. As that day came to a close, Alex and I felt so discouraged. Almost a week late and still no baby. Around 11pm we got in bed and prayed. It had been a while since we've prayed out loud together and I was feeling so down, I let Alex take the reins. He prayed that Emmett would be born soon. On God's timing, but soon. He prayed that I wouldn't have to be induced. He prayed that we would be healthy and safe. He prayed that we could meet our little one.

We started to fall asleep. After a couple minutes, at 11:30, I woke up with some cramp-like pains. I didn't admit to myself at first that they were contractions, I didn't want to get my hopes up. Alex started timing the pains, and after about an hour and a half they were 5 minutes apart and lasting for a minute. We woke up my mom, who's room is 15 feet away. (My dad was up in NorCal, but he got a call later on). I was moved downstairs to labor, and most of the next couple hours are a blur because I was so exhausted! We got zero sleep that night. Around 2:30, we let my doula, Betsy, know that labor had been consistent and contractions were getting stronger. She came over to observe and support. She told me to let myself melt into the pain. When a contraction would hit, I would breathe in and out very slowly and moan gently. I let every muscle in my body relax so much that I felt like I was just melting away. This technique helped me so much, and I continued to do it once we got to the hospital.

Who Determines When The Snow Falls?

On Halloween night, it snowed. Apparently, this isn’t the first time I’ve experienced snow on Halloween. When I was younger and living in Kentucky there was a freak snow storm while I was trick-or-treating, but I don’t remember it all that well. And being in Southern California for most of my life, snow in October is not a common thing. Snow in general is not a common thing.

We got our seasons from the decorations at Disneyland and the seasonal offerings at the local eateries. “Pumpkin pancakes?! It must be Fall!” I think this is partly responsible for my love of all things Autumn and Christmas. I’m eating pumpkin flavored things the first Sunday of September, just because I wanna be in the spirit. I’m downing eggnog before we’ve even finished the Halloween candy. 

But this year is a little different. Little baby Emmett is due in December, so my Christmas plans are going on the back burner. Kate and I aren’t sure to what extent we will decorate the Lodge in Big Bear because we’re going to be staying with her parents when the baby comes. Since we can’t know for sure when the baby will come, we can’t know for sure when we’ll be heading back up the hill. There are so many questions, and so many unknowns. All because we are anxiously awaiting the arrival of our little baby.

So, when God blessed us with our first snow on Halloween night I decided to throw tradition to the wind and just go full Christmas. I’m extending the advent season by 100%. No longer will it be crammed into the space between Thanksgiving and Christmas, like Santa trying to fit in a coach seat. We’re moving him to first class! Making the advent last 2 whole months.

Now, I have my selfish reasons. I want to listen to Christmas music before it will be interrupted by newborn cries. I want to enjoy the smells of Christmas before they’re paired with fresh dirty diaper stink (read: stank). 

But I also think that this time of Advent is important. And this year may be the year that I understand Advent the best. Not just am I anxiously awaiting the celebration of the birth of our Saviour, I’m also anxiously awaiting the celebration of the birth of my first child.  

Oh, painful night.

I got punched in the face tonight. It’s the first time in my life that has ever happened. And it was done by a very old, very drunk woman. 

I learned something. Getting punched in the face sucks, but not as much as getting a B- on a Book Review for your New Testament Introduction class. It falls somewhere in between stubbing your toe on a coffee table and having a really bad migraine.

I work as a bouncer at a venue on the weekends. Typically it’s pretty laid back. I stand there and look intimidating while I tear tickets and tell people there are no “ins and outs”. Occasionally a drunk person does something stupid, keeps things interesting.

But some nights they bring in a Country/Hip Hop artist. As in, both country and hip hop… at the same time. It’s not my cup of tea. It sounds like rap music without the rap or the music, and with a fiddle thrown in over it. But that’s not the worst part. It’s the confederate flags that seem to be plastered everywhere. It’s the big guy in the pit wearing a cowboy hat made out of a Bud Light box. It’s the amazingly drunk people doing amazingly ridiculous things. It’s not without its entertainment value. It’s certainly exciting, but as I said, it’s not my cup of tea.

I take these muscle-relaxers for my back when it flairs up. I know, I’m an old man. Being a bouncer means standing for 7+ hours straight, so I took one about halfway through my shift. No more than a minute after I take my pill my manager comes running up to me. “We need you in the pit. Now!”

The Questions of Saints

How many saints, whose words were filled with God's gospel of grace and love, were forever silenced by this hate filled world? If we believe the scriptures’ promise of persecution, and its life changing message of forgiveness, how often were truly meek and kind people cast out by a society that is aroused by strength, and who lusts for control?


Did those saints die in quiet questioning, asking themselves if they could possibly hold any worth in a world that derives value from how many people sit under you, how many you've used or can use?


How many saints had memories and dreams destroyed because they chose to serve their oppressors rather than fight them, and yet whose words of love and encouragement were heard as insult to ears who longed for sin?


How many friendships were severed, traditions broken, and histories forked by people who loved imperfectly meeting people who had perfected their sin?


How many times has the spirit of Christ been crucified?


And how many saints bear one thorn in their side and eventually are brought under by it? How many hear so frequently that they are worthless outside of their utility and find themselves believing it, even if for just a few moments?


Is this life not an eternal torment for those who pursue righteousness? Is the pursuit of righteousness not akin to Sisyphus? If the goal is only achievable to those greater than man, does not the weight of our sin come rolling back over us once we believe we've gotten near the conclusion?


Is this not torment?

Well, hello there.

If you don't know me, though I'm fairly certain you do, I'm Kate. Alex is here too, but here in the sitting-near-me-in-the-living-room sort of way, not in the also-typing-with-me sort of way. We have both blogged in the past.. his was called Alex Has Office Hours (yes he did.) and mine was Just Wanna Lose Myself in Grace (name taken from one of the best songs by one of the best bands. If you play guess the song in the comments, you can earn points.) We both liked our blogs. I liked taking pictures of things I baked and posting the recipes, Alex liked writing little short stories about bunnies (or was it dust?) or commentaries on cheesy ABC Family Christmas movies and the Occupy Wall Street movement. But due to life and change, both of these blogs began a slow, quiet journey to internet oblivion. They live somewhere on Blogger, dusty with neglect and fading like an old polaroid of a distant life. Sometimes it seems like it wasn't even us that wrote those blogs.. we were such different people and in such different stages of life than where we are now. And in some ways, it feels undeniably "us." Because marriage and a cross country move can seem like a lot of change, but we're still the same old people. Or young people. I should say that while it's still true.

Plus, it's only been a year since we were the Alex and Kate from AHOH and JWLMG. (Just thought of those acronyms. It's a shame I didn't think of those when I was writing my old blog...jewlemguh has a ring to it.) How much can really change in a year?

For those who know me (and Alex), our new blog, theLumberjacksons, will show you. And if you don't know us, you will soon.