[Love Looks Like] Junk Mail and Zucchini Bread

Here's a favorite from the archives: An essay I wrote about a family visit a couple summers ago.

I read a blog where the writer has a series called “Love Looks Like.” She writes about her husband of fourteen years and the marriage they have built together. The writing is beautiful; the essays speak of tired and tender moments, the sacrifices they have made for each other, and the memories that keep them warm. They are college sweethearts enjoying the middle years of their marriage. Each post ends with the short explanation, “I write now and then about what love looks like for us.”

Tonight I read another one and thought, “What does love look like for me?”

I've been single my whole life.  So what does love look like for me? Love does not look like:

• Flowers at work on my birthday
• Online countdowns to my upcoming wedding, anniversary, or baby
• Flipping through old photo albums of my budding romance
• Planning my future with someone
• Building a family

Right now, love doesn’t look like any of the things I see in those wonderful blog essays. Yet, it seems that in spite of my current solidly single status, God had not intended me to live a solidly loveless life. Thank goodness.

This weekend my parents came down for a visit. The first thing my mom handed me when she got out of the car was a Tupperware of potato salad. No explanation was needed; Mom just likes to feed her kids. The salad was followed with a loaf of zucchini bread and an apology for forgetting to bring a few bags of frozen sweet corn.

They stayed the night, with my parents sleeping in my bedroom on my cheap (and only) set of sheets while I bunked on the couch. The next day we went downtown to the farmer’s market to carry out our mission of getting fresh flowers for my sister. The big event of the weekend was my sister’s “white coat” ceremony, which, in terms of length and excitement, reminded me of my college graduation years ago: badly pronounced names droning on as a steady stream of students walked smartly across the stage.

We went out to eat and then returned to the rental house I share with several friends. My dad had brought a rubber mallet to help me install some new hubcaps he helped me buy online. Mine keep falling off, even though I’m certain I haven’t driven into anything! He crouched beside my car in the 95-degree heat, moving a little slower than usual because of a few broken ribs that were still healing, and he helped me put on four new hubcaps.

Just before my parents left, my mom handed me a plastic bag filled with mass mailings addressed to me. I still get mail at my parents’ house even though it’s been over a decade since I lived there. My mom either stacks it on my dresser for when I come home or brings it to me if she sees me in between my visits. It was really nice to have an address to use for all my mail during a few years I lived overseas, which is probably why I yet haven’t gone to any great effort to get things re-directed to where I live now.

Tonight I’m thinking that love looks like a bag of junk mail and a loaf of zucchini bread sitting on my kitchen table at this very moment. (I’ve already eaten half the bread.)

Love looks like having a permanent address, even though I haven’t had a permanent home since I graduated from high school.

Love looks like my dad carefully tapping my plastic hubcap into place while my mom pulls the next one out of its sleeve and we all stop to wipe off the sweat condensing on our temples.

Love looks like sitting through a two-hour long ceremony so my sister has a white coat and family support for embarking on two years of physician assistant school.

Love looks like me getting a mediocre night’s sleep on my couch so my parents could have a mediocre night’s sleep on my bed, and it looks like the overly gracious “Thank you for you hospitality” e-mail that just appeared in my inbox from my mom.

It's  Singleness Week on the blog!  Find the whole collection here.

It's about to get real up in here... Real single.

Hi guys!  This month I have an article coming out in an e-magazine called Single Matters.  In celebration, I'm declaring it Singleness Week here on the blog.

The peril of writing about singleness is, of course, VULNERABILITY.

If I talk candidly about being a single woman in my thirties, what will you think of me??

Will you misunderstand me?
Will you feel sorry for me?
Will you think I'm kind of whiny?
Will you think I'm desperate?
Will you think my jokes are pathetic?
Will you buy me a household of cats?

So before we launch Singleness Week, I need you to not assume that I'm secretly depressed.  (I'm not.)  I need you laugh at my jokes.  (They'll be super funny.)  I need you to buy me only one cat.  (A calico.)

We good here?  OK, thanks.  Enjoy Singleness Week!  (Find the whole collection here.)

Front Porch Stories

Neighbor kids and adults bike by at all hours in front of the corner house I rent from my roommate.  Sometimes they ride on the sidewalk; sometimes on the street.  A little neighbor girl goes by in her little electric car that can never quite negotiate the tightness of the turn.

Today a little boy wandered down and asked my roommate if she had a kitty cat he could pet.  She did not.  "How about a dog?"  Not that either.  Fortunately other people came by walking their dogs, and he could pet them, and he was pleased.

Meanwhile, our next-door neighbor produced a hose from somewhere amidst the beat-up cars and mountains of stuff surrounding his house.  He handed it to a lean, gray-haired man in a stained T-shirt and a Sherwin Williams cap and warned him, "It'll come out like a fire hose when it turns on."  And the gray-haired man twisted the spout and blasted his bicycle clean.  He rubbed it dry with a rag that he then balled up in his hand.

That older man's name was Dean.  I know that because he parked his bike in front of the porch where my roommate and I were sitting, and called up to us: "Doesn't look like fifteen years old, does it?"

We concurred that it did not, and praised the bike accordingly.  This was enough encouragement to entice Dean to walk up into the hostas at the side of the house, rest his arms on the porch rail, and talk with us for the next two hours.  During those two hours we learned:

• All about the previous previous owner of the house: his devastating break-up, his fight with cancer, and his eventual death by suicide somewhere in Nebraska.
• How Dean knew our next-door neighbor from their respective trades as a painter and a floor guy.
• How Dean met several of his previous girlfriends, and what became of them.  He illustrated these stories with yellowed newspaper cuttings featuring the women in question.
• The improvements he made on a house down the street in his job as a painter.  These stories were accompanied by pictures as well: a disintegrating packet of realty photos printed off in color.

At one point, Dean asked us how the shower in our basement was working.  I looked at my roommate.  "Shower??"  Here we were, under the impression that the house had nothing but a claw-foot tub until we moved in.  But apparently there was a little shower under the basement stairs where our laundry machines now sit.  Dean used to use it to clean up after a day's work before hanging out with his friends what is now my roommate's house.  "I have a picture with the old owner, right there in the dining room, but I don't have it with me in the truck."

While Dean stood twisting his now-dry rag in his hand and reminisced about days gone by, our little neighbor friend returned.  We still had no dog for him to pet.  But would he like to play with the remote for the LED lights on our porch?  Indeed he would!

He started kindergarten today and his teacher was "Mmmmrs Mmmmmiller" and he couldn't remember the name of his school but he liked it. 

"And do your mom and dad know where you are?"
"They're right there by the silver car," and he pointed a few houses down toward a heavyset lady in a turquoise shirt.

So he scampered around turning our porch lights from red to green to blue and back, and asking at intervals if he was big enough to ride the bike still sitting on our sidewalk; the one that Dean had polished up two hours before.  And Dean kept talking from the hostas, and soon the little boy's mom started yelling for him and he went running back down the street (where he got an earful from his mom and I had to go explain that he had thought his mom could see him and hadn't meant to run away).  And dusk overtook the street, ending another interesting evening on the front porch.

An eBook by me, for you!

This summer, I've made a deliberate effort to write more. (Hence the birth of this blog.)

The most daunting of all writing projects is a book. Today I'm pleased to share with you my first book!!!

To thank you for your readership, I'm publishing it here, in its entirety, for free!  Yeah!

Here it is, guys. Enjoy.

"This is a horse. A pig is rit here."

"Here is a lamb. You know wat this is and it says"

"A turkey says. And a cow says moo."

Can't wait for this project to take the non-fiction world by storm! New York Times best seller list, here I come! 

Stones of Remembrance: The Post-College-Ish Years

This is the last in my series about my "Stones of Remembrance," the times that God has shown his faithfulness in big ways in my life.   (You can start with these: Part 1 Part 2)  Today I'm wrapping up the series.

Stone 9:  New Perspectives

After undergrad, some friends and I moved into the University Apartments, where we planned to live intentionally among the many international grad students in our complex.  My roommates and I joined a church plant together.  I started my master's in speech therapy.

Those three years were some of the richest in my life, filled with friends, laughter, and fun.  We celebrated Thanksgivings with friends from all over the world, our furniture sitting out on the grass because we had to move it out of our apartment to accommodate five tables of family-style dining.

I thought that if I made friends with people, God would somehow eventually wiggle His way into those friendships.  Actually, though, in spite of the richness of my friendships at that time, there were many people I was close to that I never actually shared God's story with.  (I am still guilty of this, frequently.  But I honestly believe that his is the most important story out there!)

A very practical way that God worked was by providing me an opportunity to take a class called Perspectives, which gave me a better foundation for what international ministry can look like, including the very practical advice to verbally share the gospel, rather than hoping that friendliness will independently lead people to the Lord.  That class also solidified my plan to go to China, rather than just "abroad," because I learned in that class about the geographic locations that have the least exposure to Jesus.

Stone 10:  God's provision: $$$

I didn't like having to raise my own support to teach in China.  Who wants to ask people for money?  But the God provided for my needs for three years through the generosity of friends, family, and churches.  Many of you are reading this here.  Thank you!  My experience with support-raising showed me that God was faithful even in a task that I did NOT want to do.

Stone 11:  China's Christian Millions

The above title is the name of a book, China's Christian Millions, that describes the growth of the church in China in the last several decades.  Briefly, with the establishment of the Communist government in 1949, foreign missionaries were expelled from the country, and China's tiny, fragile Christian population was left to fend for itself.  Watchers of China were shocked when China opened up in the seventies and eighties, as they found that the church had not only survived, but increased!  The rural house church movement grew in spite of significant persecution, especially in the early decades of the Party's governance.

Living for three years in China, I got to see this amazing phenomenon with my own eyes.

I saw it in my first month in China, attending a large registered church in the University district of Beijing, packed full of college students and young professionals lifting their voices in worship songs that I sing too.

I saw it in a conversation with a young Christian woman who believed that the Lord was sending her to the Middle East to share the Father's story with Muslims living there.  She told me, "China has so many people because God wants to use China."  I got goosebumps; I believed her.

I saw it in one of my local friends who was boldly sharing hope with others in her workplace, counseling them through depression and health problems, even as her own job situation was made more complicated by her faith.

I saw it last summer, when I visited China with my American friend, and we sat across the table from two college students who invited us into their morning quiet time.  We all silently read a chapter of John and then each shared an insight.  We prayed together, literally, with all four of our voices lifted at the same time.  They sang a hymn in Chinese.  My friend and I sang "Great is thy Faithfulness."  And then we sang a song together that all of us knew, before getting up from the table to go about our day.  (That hour still comes to mind frequently when I think about all the programming and hierarchy that we try to add to our American Bible studies, and wonder if it muddles the joy of just reading, singing, praying, and learning together.)

The privilege of worshiping God in China, where the unlikeliest of Christian movements has brought millions to salvation, reminded me that God is bigger than we give him credit for; that his arm is not too short to work, and that he is able to do "far above all we can ask or think" (Ephesians 3:20).

Stone 12:  Moving Here

There were several things I prayed for when it was time to move back to America: a job in a city that had an international population and where I knew at least one person (and preferably in Iowa because Iowa is bomb), a household of Christian women to live with, and a church to join.

God provided all of these.  I know he doesn't always give us what we ask for.  But in that case, he did!  :)  He has led me through many transitions in the last ten years, and in each place he has provided what I need.

Well, the mosquitoes have just started nibbling on my face (I'm sitting on the front porch - where else?), so it's time to wrap this up.  Thanks so much for reading here.  What are YOUR stones of remembrance?

Stones of Remembrance: The College Years

This week I'm writing out my "Stones of Remembrance," the times that God has shown his faithfulness in big ways in my life.  Great is his faithfulness!  (You can start with Stones 1-4, HERE.)

Stone 5: Belize

I was 20.  I heard about a summer mission trip through a mailing at my college, and I decided to sign up.  I went with a team of about 10 American high school and college students to volunteer at an agricultural school for the deaf that was run by a Mennonite colony there.   We replaced a roof, harvested corn, painted benches, and hung out with the older students and staff that were there for the summer.

(IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE: One day I'd like to write more on how my views of short-term missions have changed over the years, and how many times our "paint a building!" "hug an orphan!" model can be counterproductive for the economic and spiritual development of the countries we visit.  But I am a repeat offender of that type of trip, and I can't deny that God has used them in my life.  And I highly recommend the book Toxic Charity for more on this topic.)

Here is what I gained from my first mission trip:

• A value for foreign missions, and an incipient desire to one day move abroad to do similar work
• An unforgettable cross-cultural experience
• The best team experience I've ever had, including some relationships I still have, 11 years later

Stone 6:  Transfer

The same summer, I decided to transfer to the University of Iowa.  Almost on a whim, I filled out an online application and felt immediate peace that the Lord wanted me there.  This was after two years of feeling like I had made the wrong college decision.

I look back on this decision as one of the clearest leadings of the Lord in my life, and it ushered in a few years of steady spiritual growth.

Stone 7:  Cracks in the shell

While at the University of Iowa, I got involved in InterVarsity college ministry.  With the ministry's emphasis on discipleship and outreach, a wonderful thing happened.

Back story - High school Alison was like this: I had a class of only about 30 people, and I was with them for a total of six years in my little private school.  By the end of those six years, I was still scared to talk to like half of those people.  I was once told, at my part-time job, that I was "very good at not talking."

But in college, I got involved in stuff, started reaching out, met other believers, and, hooray!  An extreme introvert became a little less extreme.  (But let's be honest - still pretty good at not talking.)

I know lots of Christians who have stories of dramatic personal change when they give their testimonies of God's work in their lives.  Because I followed God early in life, I don't have any stories of my years in drug rehab or how God saved me from my life of crime.  But what I described above is one of the biggest personal changes I can attribute to God's work in my life.

Stone 8:  China '05

I was 21.  A local church was sending a college team to spend a couple weeks at an English training school in China.  I went along, and the seed was planted: I could see how the needs of China (English, and eternal hope) coincided with my own skills and interests (language, and cross-cultural ministry).  That seed grew into a little tree called "Alison moving to China for three years," but that didn't happen until later.


Stay tuned for Part 3!  What are YOUR stones of remembrance?

Belize 2004

Stones of Remembrance: The Early Years

 A Bible story from Joshua 4, paraphrased by me:

Hey Israelites, you just crossed a river on dry land.  Don't ever forget!  Have twelve men carry twelve stones on their shoulders and make them into a memorial so that your kids and your kids' kids and your kids' kids' kids will ask you about those rocks, and you can tell them.  "Israel crossed this Jordan River on dry ground, for the Lord your God dried up the waters before you." And everyone on earth will know that the hand of the Lord is mighty.

The ancient Israelites were forgetful.  God did amazing things for them: A rescue from slavery!  Miraculous food from heaven!  A land flowing with milk and honey!  Forgiveness and redemption, again and again!  But when they faced hunger, outside pressure or even their own discontentment, they forgot the Lord's faithfulness and turned away from him.

I wonder if they ever looked at that pile of rocks and told their children how the Lord led them through the desert and finally across the Jordan river, on dry land, toward their promised homes.

Every Christian I have ever met is just as forgetful, and I believe that our forgetfulness steals our joy, saps our gratitude, and weakens our trust in God's goodness.  My next series of blog posts will be a short recounting of the ways God has worked in my life: my own stones of remembrance.


Stone 1:  Salvation

I was four.  My older brother was asking my mom questions about life after death, and she explained the Gospel to him: that all people are sinful and destined for eternal death unless they trust in Christ.  My brother wanted to pray and ask Jesus into his heart.  I wanted to be like my brother, so I did too.

Can a four-year-old understand the Gospel?  Probably not.  But I do remember that day, and I believed in God and Jesus throughout my childhood.  The first memory I have of God is the day I invited him into my heart.

Stone 2:  My parents' prayers

When I was really little, I had to have a minor bladder operation of some sort.  I remember two things: I got a mini chalkboard as a reward (hooray!), and my mom stopped by the church to pray.  We walked into the quiet, stained-glass sanctuary in the middle of a weekday.  The door was open, but I don't remember seeing even the priest there.  And we put down the kneelers and prayed about my bladder. :)

When we were kids, my mom and her friends started a group called Moms in Touch that prayed us all through school and beyond.  My dad led our prayers at the dinner table.  Our whole family knelt by my parents' bed at bedtime and prayed our requests (Mine was usually for my brother to stop bugging me; my little sister usually put in a good word for candy and gum).  I spent most of those family prayer times systematically pulling the stuffing out of the bedspread, so I can't say that they felt really meaningful at the time, but now I look back and thank God that he gave me parents who love him and pray for me.

Stone 3:  Church camp

I was thirteen.  I was going through my several-decades-long awkward phase, and I was way too shy to enjoy youth group or church events.  But for some reason I did go to church camp once, and it changed me!  The emotional crescendo of Christian events was real for me that year; I listened to the speakers and was moved.  They encouraged us to read the Bible and pray, and I did.  From that time on, I read the Bible on my own, with pen in hand.

(I am grateful that I can remember my first reading through the Bible.  When I read through Paul's letters, they were so immediate and conversational that I felt like he was talking to me.  And I remember reading through the Old Testament law and being so fascinated by all the weird regulations that I would try to make my own unleavened bread out of flour, water, and oil).

Thirteen was the age at which my faith became my own.

Stone 4:  Doubt and Deliverance Therefrom

I was nineteen.  I took a college course that called my faith in the Bible into question.  As an illustration of my intellectual turmoil, I remember the day the prof asked the class, "Who thinks it matters if the story of Jonah is fact or fiction?" and I was the only one who raised my hand.  It mattered to me!  If I was going to stake my life on a book, I wanted to know if it was true or false!

After a year or so of doubting God and his word, he restored my confidence.  This was the gift of faith, not a result of having my questions resolved, because I didn't find a fully satisfactory answer to my doubts about the Bible.  (I still think Jonah, for example, reads like it might be fiction.  But I know better than to admit that on a public blog that my Christian friends read...  or do I??)

God's restoration of my faith in him and his word is perhaps the most important thing he has done in my adult life, and I find my faith far more resilient now that it has been tested by doubt.  I've written more about this experience in my post On Faith, Doubt, and Biblical Inerrancy.

The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.  -Psalm 126:3

OK, readers, thanks for sticking with me.  Find Part Two here.  What are YOUR stones of remembrance?