I wanted to separate this post out from the other one I created today. First, let me say HAPPY EASTER!

As a chocoholic, this holiday has always held a special place in my heart. I have pictures of me each year of childhood, from the time I could stand, biting the ears off of a chocolate bunny. Sort of a family tradition. My mom still gets me a bunny every year and still asks if I've eaten the ears yet.

But this year ... not just this year, but increasingly every year, I am more and more floored by Easter. By Resurrection Day. Easter is the term the world knows, but to me, it's "Sunday". Not just any Sunday, but Sunday with a huge, honkin' capital S. The day when hope comes alive.

Years ago, I heard a sermon by a beloved pastor, Tony Campolo, entitled, "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming!" Essentially, it's like this: when you think your dreams, your life, your hope, is dead and buried, it's just Friday. Sunday's coming, with all the promise and glory and restoration and power, beyond anything you could ever imagine.

Several months ago, I first heard a song by Tree63 called "Sunday" that echos this theme.

Broken promises, weary hearts

But one promise remains:

Crucified, he will come again

It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming

It’s Friday, but Sunday comes

Darkness is already crumbling

It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming

Oh, how I love this song. Satan knows he lost. He can see it but can't admit it. King of "De Nile"? [It ain't just a river in Egypt.] He's fighting to take everyone down with him that he can, but he's done. He's lost. Won battles, but not the war. And the darkness, the evil, Death, does not get the final world. Thank you, Jesus!

Especially this year, the promise of Sunday has been so very necessary to me. Death happens, divorce happens, loss happens, brokenness happens - but it's not the end of the story! I can't control what my former husband chose to do, decisions he chose to me, but I know that it is not the end of my story. No, God in his sovereignty didn't "fix" it. He chose not to restore my marriage [although I believe this is due to His respect of free will, not His desire that I should be divorced from that particular man, as some have suggested]. But He restores me. He set my feet on a rock. He provided for me by giving me a supportive, loving family and good job that uses my talents, even when I'd been job hunting for 3 years prior to that. [Those who know me know part of it had to do with moving around so much for my former husband's work and for my marriage, not with my laziness or feelings of entitlement.] When my former husband chose not to be my husband anymore, God stepped in and said, "I gave you to each other to be helpmeets and partners, but if he chooses to walk away, *I* am still your Husband." I sit here crying, yet again this weekend, over the graciousness and gifts I did not deserve. That I still do not deserve. I didn't "deserve" this life, even if I worked hard for it. Sometimes I got it in spite of not doing my best. It's not that I'm incapable or don't deserve it. That's how the world would see these words. But I know that all good things are from God, not from the fruit of my own labor.

Okay, back on the subject again. I seriously have been floored by this all weekend, that Friday doesn't get the final word. And one of my favorite Bible teachers, Beth Moore, posted on her blog this weekend, echoing what I'd been feeling in my heart for several days now:

He had it on His mind with every beat of that hammer on the nails penetrating Christ’s flesh. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.” Death never gets the last word. Not even the death of relationship. Respect. Well-being. Health. God cannot – will not – leave well enough alone. His business is life and life at its liveliest. Loveliest. May He roll away every last thing that is stifling His effervescence in us. He never promised that life here would always be fun but He mighty well promised that life here could always be full. Every single ounce of power expended on the Cross is yours in Jesus’ Name. Ask Him what that means. How you draw from it. That’s what I’m doing today. Like you, I’ve had innumerable blessings and unforgettable moments of late. Like you, I’ve also had my own heartbreaks, disappointments, and worries.
Felt weary to the bone. Frustrated to the core. I’ve cried, too. Thought I was fed-up with some things, too. Wondered if I’d ever change, too. Then comes Good Friday. The violence that says something’s about to be different. That causes our earths to quake. Then comes the Saturday wait that seems an eternity long. Then, finally, FINALLY comes Sunday morning…long before dawn. By that time the Father has waited long enough. And stones begin to roll.

Isn't it amazing that the Holy Spirit puts in hearts, not knowing each other and thousands of miles apart, the same thing? That He knew that I just needed someone else to say [far more eloquently than I] what I'd been thinking, so I knew it wasn't just wishful thinking?

May you have a blessed Sunday, looking forward to the "big S" Sunday!

Blame it on the genes.

I got to thinking recently, due to a combination of discussions I've had and reading I've done. [Thinking ... yes, it's dangerous.] Please note that, while I am not trying to be vulgar, this discussion requires some frankness that I will try to do delicately.

A casual friend was making disparaging remarks about an ex-lover's new wife and the assumed size of her vagina, due to the endowment of the man whose world they both share. I understand that the friend is upset that he married this other woman quite quickly after ending his sexual relationship with the friend, but why make jokes about the "echo"? Why do we trash other people based on things which are, to a great extent, out of their hands?

Anyone who has e-mail with an imperfect spam filter knows there are lauded treatments to modify the size of one's genitals, but mostly their proportions are determined by genetics. Men can get pumps and implants. Women can do Kegels and get tightened and have their hymen restored. But I think, in this world that makes character insinuations about a person based on their outward appearance, we've forgotten that we are what we are. Women, no matter how "snug" one is, are still stretchy enough to birth a baby. Sorry, but I've never seen a penis as big as a newborn.

I have students battling each other, and one of the threats thrown out by one girl to the other has to do with her being mixed race. As if the girl who claims a white and a black parent could do anything about the genetics her parents passed on to her.

I always got teased as a teenager because I needed a full night's sleep. I still do. In a society that acts as if you're somehow not an adult or not a go-getter if you need 8 hours of shut-eye, I'm looked down on, judged, for needing rest. Some people say they'll sleep when they're dead. Some people point to Martha Stewart and how she needs only 4-5 hours each night. They act like those who need more to survive, not just thrive, are somehow lazy or defective. [Trust me, I can get far less, like I did when my dad was dying, but it's not how I best function.] I know there are times I sleep too long, and I feel like crap. But again, I think it's how God made our bodies. Was Albert Einstein with his 11 hours of sleep each night a slacker? Was his somehow better than those who need less? No. It's just how he was made. It's just how Martha was made. It's just how I was made. While it affects how much I can get done in a day since, well, there are only 24 hours and that means I have 4 less hours to accomplish stuff each day compared to Martha, there's no sense in me trying to be something I'm not. If I try, the result is worse than before. I have 4 extra hours, but they're unproductive and mistake-ridden.

A certain male who is no longer in my life used to make negative comparisons, about how my best friend's voice is a soprano voice and another woman was more beautiful than I am. Apparently that meant her opinion of him was more valid, since that's what he said to me. I would respond that I was glad she had the brilliant foresight to choose parents with such excellent DNA to pass along to her.

I sure hope those reading this are intelligent enough to recognize the wry humor in that statement. It seems that those who don't get it are those who have a hard time giving due credit to environment, to genetics, and to choices. Character is under our control. Genes aren't. Nor is the environment in which we were raised, although we do choose as adults what surroundings, to some extent, we want in our lives.

I think about how I'm fat. Yes, I choose to not eat rabbit food or diet. I'm not as active as I should be. Even when I did those things, I wasn't thin. Thinner, yes, but not thin. I'm responsible for taking care of my body, but I also know I come from a long line of fat women on both sides of my family tree, women who lived long, healthy lives, active to the end. Since when is my character tied to the size of my butt?

This isn't to say, either, that my personality isn't shaped by how I'm made. I'm reading an evangelism book for introverts, and the author discusses Myer-Briggs personality traits and makes a good argument that we have to work within the personality God gave us. Anyone who meets a baby for the first time knows that they have their own little personalities pretty quickly, even if that base set of genes and God-given gifts and talents is shaped by environment and personal decisions. But even then, I'm not just an INTJ [close to the border of everything but "I"]. I'm also fat. I'm female. I'm American. I'm the youngest child, but 7 years behind my next older sibling, so I'm on the cusp of being a "youngest" and "only child" according to birth order books. I'm divorced. I'm a Christian. I'm middle class. I am allergic to aloe and soy and green beans [by no means an exhaustive list]. I've had my heart broken and probably broke some hearts.

But only some of those were under my control. The rest is where God put me, imbuing me with unique personality and gifts, "for such a time as this". I don't know why, but I know I'm important to my generation where I am with who I am. And my true value has to do with who I am in Christ, not the size of my vagina.

Fresh new day, fresh new blog

As I was showering, a thought came to me. Truly, under running water is my best spot for ingenious and insightful thoughts. Or perhaps it just seems that way when I'm naked and drenched.

I was thinking of something regarding my students who are in the program I oversee because of choices they've made or circumstances in their life that lead them to that place. I started thinking of how I goofed a certain time. Just a factual, academic sort of goof, but a goof nonetheless. I thought about how I'd likely not make that same mistake now that I'm older, more mature, better able to concentrate on tasks that I failed in the past. And then I was reminded of how I keep forgetting to add salt to things when I cook these days. I thought of how I like to joke around that it was due to a "blonde moment" or a "brain fart". I seem to have a lot of those.

And then I was reminded, thanks to just watching a Bible study video* for the nth time that, each time I blame it on the blonde**, I'm detracting from the fact that I - talented, intelligent, capable I - am not perfect. And why "blame" anything, let alone hair color? Why can't I, or many others in this world, accept that I'm never going to get it 100% right no matter how hard I try or how good I am innately. I'm still, plainly and simply, "fleshy".

Well, yes, fleshy in the bodily sense, which I don't believe to be a character flaw, but also fleshy in the Godly sense. I'm still driven by desires and motives and failures because of being a fallen person living in a fallen world. So if I know this, why am I pretending otherwise? It sure isn't because I'm somehow hiding the truth about myself from others. They know. They can see it. Thankfully, most are polite enough not to comment.

So, here I am again. My third blog. I haven't blogged in ages. I've been thinking of it. I thought about blogging my adventures of a newly single life [thanks to my former husband who decided to exercise his free will in ending our marriage], a newly purchased house [not a new house, just new to me - but moving was too tiring to even contemplate typing!], a newly gained career in a field I swore I'd never be in.

I thought about blogging the stages of my life lately - surviving, settling, and, hopefully, shining. Surviving was from last May 14th to December 28th, the dates of my separation and house purchase. Settling is the stage I'm in now. I'm giving myself permission to spend the same amount of time in this stage as I did in the survival stage, since I know I can't rush ahead without missing some key lessons I need to learn or tasks I need to do. And then, somewhere around the beginning of August, will be my goal date for shining. You may ask why I don't shine now. Well, I do, but we're not talking about oily skin here. I feel I need to faithfully handle the spot God has put me at in my life, at this moment and for this time and in this place. I'm forever getting too big for my britches, spiritually speaking, and then wondering why God won't give me the exalted tasks to which I feel I entitled. [Side note: The story in Luke 14 of the banquet and the person wanting the seat of honor spoke to me even as a child. I rebelled against the lesson in my heart even then. I believe this was God seeing and dealing with my issues when they could've been nipped in the bud, but here I am still dealing with them.]

My Bible Verse Right Now
[2 Corinthians 6:3-10] Well, now is the right time to listen, the day to be helped. Don't put it off; don't frustrate God's work by showing up late, throwing a question mark over everything we're doing. Our work as God's servants gets validated—or not—in the details. People are watching us as we stay at our post, alertly, unswervingly ... in hard times, tough times, bad times; when we're beaten up, jailed, and mobbed; working hard, working late, working without eating; with pure heart, clear head, steady hand; in gentleness, holiness, and honest love; when we're telling the truth, and when God's showing his power; when we're doing our best setting things right; when we're praised, and when we're blamed; slandered, and honored; true to our word, though distrusted; ignored by the world, but recognized by God; terrifically alive, though rumored to be dead; beaten within an inch of our lives, but refusing to die; immersed in tears, yet always filled with deep joy; living on handouts, yet enriching many; having nothing, having it all.

Prayer Requests [For privacy, not mentioning names. God knows who they are. He doesn't need their address.]
Mom, brother, and sister-in-law, for safe travel in and from Israel
Friend, for healing from a benign mass in his brain
Students, for courage and strength to reach their goal in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds
Former husband, that God will work powerfully in his life and pour blessing over him
Self, for healing from this flu that seems to last about a month

What I'm Reading Right Now [There seems to always be a stack. And, if not, I go to Borders. Actually, I go to Borders regardless.]

• Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
• In the Pit With A Lion On A Snowy Day - Mark Batterson
• Warrior Chicks - Holly Wagner
• Fight Like A Girl - Lisa Bevere
• Be Angry But Don't Blow It - Lisa Bevere
• Nurture - Lisa Bevere
• Remember Me? - Sophie Kinsella

Footnotes [As if I don't use enough sidebars already.]
* The Bible Study video I watched was Beth Moore's Daniel. It's the one on Daniel 3.
** I'm not sure who, if any, will read this blog. However, I want to clarify that my title has to do with ME, not anyone else. There are some who may feel I'm talking about an individual, but know that this individual is myself. As for others out there, well, there needs to be accountability all around for all sorts of actions and behaviors, but this isn't about anything but my actions and behaviors, appropriately naked before you.