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I don’t write nearly enough any more, and when I do, all these ends and bunches of things come together, and I fear I am trying to sound profound when really, I am just trying to comprehend it all.

Sunday I finished reading this book called Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust, written by Immaculée Ilibagiza, who survived the Rwandan holocaust in the 90s. No, she didn’t just survive. During the three months she hid in a tiny bathroom with 7 other women, she also taught herself English, forgave the murderers who had taken most of her family and friends much of her village, and discovered God in a more real way than most of us have imagined.

I feel what I read, so this story has affected me deeply. I cried the rest of the day not just for Immaculée’s story and those she was able to share, but for the unnamed masses who suffered the horrors she described. Imagine all those millions of deaths, and each one having a story that can break your heart in pieces. It’s too much.
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Today I watched the Inauguration while holding my 11 month old daughter (and trying to keep the 2 year old one quiet in her room).

Rick Warren, an Evangelical like me, prayed at the beginning of the ceremony. I prayed with him; in fact, I prayed harder than I have in a long time.

I was nervous about the ceremony. I felt vulnerable. So many terrible acts have happened in public gatherings in recent history. So mostly I was hoping that everyone at the Inauguration would be safe.

And that led me to think again about how my perception of safety has changed through my adult life. I used to just hike up to the store or through a bad town or wherever, whenever I wanted. I didn’t consider that I might be assaulted or something stolen from me. In 2002, a friend of mine was carjacked and murdered at a Dunkin Donuts not far from where I live. Don’t think that didn’t change my perception

But before that, almost one year to the day actually, September 11th happened. Remember how that felt? I remember being glued to the news, so scared I would miss something. I remember a burning need to do something, to reach out. I remember how in stores and restaurants, people were meeting each other’s eyes, trying more than I’d ever seen to make connections.

I felt that connectivity tonight. I saw an elderly man in Walmart wearing an Obama hat. He was beaming. I beamed back at him. He asked me how I was; we exchanged those simple pleasantries and went about our business. I didn’t have the kids with me; usually, when I am alone, very few people want to make small talk.

When I got back in the car, someone on the radio was talking about President Bush, about how during a final interview, he talked about the things presidents do that nobody really sees or understands.

I can’t really imagine what today must be like for him. I voted for him twice. I have no regrets about that. I am thankful for his leadership in the scariest time of my life. I am grateful that he remained a man who prayed and sought counsel and found courage to make difficult decisions even when they were unpopular. I know that he made mistakes, I am sure he has regrets, but I am thankful because I believe he gave his best and always had the best interests of our country as his priority.

I plan to have that same kind of loyalty and respect for President Obama. I didn’t vote for him, but I do believe he has the same core strengths: the desire to see America rise to greatness, the desire to keep us safe. I am glad that the obnoxious and disrespectful anti-Bush bumper stickers and whatnot can finally go away. I hope that history will look more objectively and kindly on the last eight years. Who would envy being the leader of our country during these times? Who can honestly say he/she would have know what to do to make everything better than it’s been?

I am also grateful for the historic nature of today. I heard one black lady in the audience say she was so happy that her grandchildren were able to see this particular breakthrough being made, and she only wished her grandparents could see it, too. I’ve been thinking a lot about my own rich heritage: grandparents who came over from Ireland with nothing, another set of grandparents who rose from poverty to become homeowners and whose family grew to include seven grandchildren who graduated from college and 10 and counting great grandchildren. I am grateful I grew up in a place where I could have friends of all different colors and backgrounds. I am glad I was taught black literature in my college coursework so that I could appreciate paths different from mine. I am glad to know that so many of the students I taught and my own children can now look at the oval office and dream bigger and hopefully get it that they don’t have to be limited by what they come from or what the world tells them they are.

I hope that people will start to see and believe that we really are all equal.

And speaking of hope, I understand so deeply why President Obama’s message of hope is so appealing. We were created with a longing for it, with an emptiness that can only be fulfilled by the acceptance of one eternal Message of hope. It’s not a new message, though. Check this out:

Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be self-controlled; set your hope fully on the grace to be given you when Jesus Christ is revealed. 1 Peter 1:13

We have been given a call to action by our new President. I hope in carrying it out - in caring for others, taking responsibility for ourselves, and dusting off our defeats- we will all find the Great Hope that lies before us to grasp.

May God bless our new president, his family, and yours.

Originally published 11.17.08

This week’s title is, yes, a real direct quote from Mommy to toddler Miranda. And yes, it was mostly said in jest, but also with a bit of seriousness too. After all, how can we be the picture of the perfect trio, sitting in the congregation with matching colors and smiling up at Daddy while he sings, if Miranda wants to tears a page out of the hymnal and crumbles crackers on the ground?

Backstory: I am certifiably a member of the Gen X Mommies… we buy organic milk, enroll our tiny babies in music classes, arrange play dates at coffeehouses, blog about politics, social issues, and mostly our kids, and, well, find that nothing is ever good enough. We’re always looking past our “dreams come true” to the next thing. Sometimes, in our quest to give make everything perfect, we miss the moments that really count.

Recently I joined a wonderful Moms & More group at a local church, and among the many things about it that impressed me at our first meeting were some words spoken by one of the leaders. She said that both she and her husband had been on staff and volunteering at their church since they were married, were constantly running around and busy with church activities, and because their hectic schedule was ministry related, they had unconsciously excused themselves for instinctively expecting their kids to keep up and go with the flow.

Wow! I sat in that room after hearing that description and had dozens of flashbacks fill my brain… Miranda eating dinner and ice cream at midnight after a concert, feeding three-week-old Kaity in a (quite posh and clean) church bathroom during a daylong gospel convention, trying to keep them both eerily quiet during a studio session, bribing with extra bottles and candy and pens-and-offering-envelopes during church concerts. If you’ve been there, you know the list goes on. And even though my kids clearly enjoy the chaotic lives they have inherited from us, they definitely get stressed out by long hours on the road and the sometimes kid-unfriendly atmosphere of concert schedules.

As Miranda rages forth into her “terrific twos,” I find it’s getting more and more difficult to “contain” her during formal church services. She is usually good during the singing parts, entertaining herself and those around her by singing along, clapping, dancing, raising her hands, shouting Amen, and most recently, encouraging her baby sister to join along. During the “quiet” times though, of testimony, explanation, prayer, invitation, she has a hard time “keeping the victory,” as we call it. And more and more lately, I find myself discovering that “crying rooms” are my favorite invention ever for a church (because no matter how many times I hear my husband sing, I always want to be there for it, not stuck in the nursery. Can’t help it).

Now that school has started, our oldest daughter Paige isn’t traveling with us much, and I always get nervous when we are at a church where we don’t know anyone. What if there is a tantrum? What if there is vomiting? What if, Heaven forbid, I have to use the ladies’ room?

My answer is always the same. Every church has at least one kind, sweet, lady who is a grandma or mommy or auntie and who just “gets it,” and she sits near us, and picks up the bottles or toys that are flung, and usually ends up with one of my children in her arms.

A few weeks ago, that woman was Bobbie. She held and rocked my little Kaity from the moment Miranda went on the move. And after I inevitably had to remove us from the service, she came to say goodbye to us in the crying room.

That’s where I got to know Bobbie and got to know her story. She’s a mom, like me. She’s a stepmom, like me. But quite unlike me, she has suffered a heartbreak that only Heaven is going to cure: four years ago, she lost her youngest son, age 20, in an accident, and she will never be the same.

As Bobbie told me about him and showed me pictures, my girls were keeping busy feeding each other forbidden candy from my bag, fighting over toys, and squalling for my attention. I was growing more and more impatient and flustered, but Bobbie was not phased. As I wiped up and shushed and tug-of-warred, she let her tears flow and poured out her heart.

I ached for her, and yet, I was blessed by her. The scene before her had to mean so many things: perhaps a memory of her son as a child, perhaps a glimpse into the grandchildren he might have given her. And since it didn’t bother or hinder her, I exhaled and let the kids be for a minute. I called upon every word of wisdom I had heard about this situation I couldn’t fathom and shared them with her. I hugged her. And before she left, I was able to block out everything else and pray with her (because an evangelist we met recently taught us that lesson: don’t just tell someone you will pray for her. Do it right then and there before your forget!).

Bobbie might not remember those sweet, chaotic minutes, but I won’t forget them and the lesson they brought to me. And maybe my girls won’t forget either. Just today, in the midst of packing for another trip, Miranda interrupted her play time, walked over to her baby sister in her high chair, and showed her how to pray before eating her breakfast. Maybe one of these days they’ll tell me to quit worrying: they, too, have ministry to do!

Sine Gospel Music Times in not archived, I will be placing my weekly columns in some sort of order. This the debut one…

Originally published November 10, 2008

Let me start by saying this: growing up in the middle-class, blue-collar, far south suburbs of Chicago, Illinois, my lifetime dream was to be a teacher, writer, mommy, and wife. Other than experiencing some visits from quartets in the few years my family attended a Baptist church, I wasn’t even familiar with what southern gospel was.

I did like Christian music, though. In the early years of my childhood, there was always some form of it playing on Ma and Dad’s stereo console… usually Tammy Faye or Barbara Mandrell or my dad’s favorite, Elvis, singing “How Great Thou Art.”

As I grew older, the music changed some. For my parents, it turned to the traditional sound of Sandi Patty; for me, it was more contemporary music like Amy Grant, Petra, and the black-and-yellow wonders of Stryper. While I would have recognized songs like “He Touched Me” or “Jesus is Coming Soon,” Southern Gospel was just not a prominent part of the musical landscape in South Chicago Heights.

When I first met my husband, he was pretty much singing through the Gaither catalogue at our church, and I loved it all. Fast forward nearly a decade, two years into our marriage, when he realized God was calling him back into the ministry that his heart had never left. I was just as excited as he was. I loved his voice, I loved his music, and as it turns out, I have the personality of a groupie.

What I didn’t expect was how all-encompassing the world of southern gospel would be, nor did I realize how different it is from the culture of secular or even other kinds of Christian music, how family-like it is in comparison. Before long, I was exchanging emails with people I considered “stars,” driving down the road and hearing songs on the radio by people whose cell numbers are programmed into my phone, and hanging out in the home studio of a Grammy winning engineer who let my baby daughter play with his keyboard. Three years into this family calling, I still have to pinch myself sometimes. The record contract and recording sessions and conventions were followed by our second baby daughter and just a few weeks later, our bus. Two children under two on a forty foot piece of metal barreling down the highway… picture it!… and know that in millions of daydreams through the years, I never imagined it once!

Our first trip on the bus took us all the way to Eufaula, Alabama and included sickness for daughter one, dehydration for me, two-month-old daughter two being an utter trouper (as she remains), and my husband getting the bus stuck in the mud. There were also various malfunctions caused by novice user error, the most memorable being the night we accidentally ran out of water and the day the gallon of milk flew out of the fridge and spilled all over the place as we were going around a circular highway ramp.

That first trip was when I decided I had to record these crazy and precious experiences for myself, my kids, and our curious loved ones. And not long after, I found that there are other SG wives and husbands and parents out there who support someone in the ministry and have laughed and cried along the way at the curves and blessings that come along with the ride.

I was so fortunate during this year’s National Quartet Convention to meet some of those special people and share what we all feel is our calling. Being a Southern Gospel Support Person comes with many ever-changing roles. There are some to be joked about, such as being the navigator on road trips even if we’re terrible with directions, making sure our singers have matching clothes and tepid water and the right tracks with them, and trying to keep the babies from stealing all the attention during the concerts. There are really fun ones, such as helping to listen to demos and choose songs, frying up burgers on the bus for whoever wants to join us, and singing every word and clapping to every song during every concert to make sure someone is!

There are also really meaningful roles. As a Southern Gospel Wife, I get to witness my husband answering God’s call and sharing his heart, testimony, and talent with the lost and broken. I get to be there to pray with and encourage those who visit our table or our website with testimonies and needs of their own. I get to share my children and watch them be “loved on” and give people smiles. I get to meet amazing people all over the country who have become family to us. When people ask me why we do this, why we shuffle the kids all over the place (including, you know, Steak and Shake at 11pm), why we run ourselves ragged while paying astronomical prices for diesel, why we spend so much energy updating websites and sending newsletters, why we let our teenage daughter miss a week of school every September, I can tell them that these are the reasons why.  God has a role for each of us, and whether it’s on the stage or off, His main mission is for us is to be ambassadors of His love and grace. No matter how we live that out, it’s certain to be a great adventure.

Starting this week, “Adventures in the Life of a Southern Gospel Wife” will be featured in Gospel Music Times.

I am very excited to be a part of this publication, which I believe has a heart for the ministry and artists of Southern Gospel.

As for this blog, I am considering some options for it, in case all 20 of you decide to stick around

Please visit & subscribe (it’s free): www.gospelmusictimes.com

Stay tuned for exciting news about “Adventures in the Life of a Southern Gospel Wife.”

(They are still happening…)

It is well with my soul

If you don’t want to read this, at least listen to the song. Kelly is about to be much more honest than she usually is while blogging.

watch?v=Vaar6Ij55ig

Since Friday, I have felt so heavy-hearted. There is no other word for it. Part of it is for people close to me who are lost or hurting or both. And part of it started when my faith was attacked by someone, under the guise of “love.” It struck me a lot more deeply than it should have.

I live in a place where culturally, I fit in less every day. It’s not just that I vote Republican in a blue state, and indeed, in a very, very blue county. It’s that, as the Bible promised, my beliefs make me an alien in this world.

Perhaps you think you know what my beliefs are. The problem, though, is that I have never spelled them out on my blog, which is the place I tend to be the most verbal. And this morning, I got up to run, but hurried back home early, because it’s time for me to make them clear.

I believe there is one God, eternal life, two places in which it can be spent, and only one way to Heaven.

I believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God, that He died in place of all of us because whether or not we have good intentions, we are all sinners. I believe that in the flesh, He lived again on this earth and that He also lives in the hearts of all who call on His name and believe in Him.

I believe any thing that we put above Him - whether it’s another powerful figure, another deity, our own selves, our jobs, money, our kids, whatever… that is the worship of a false god. I believe that the truth I embrace is absolute truth. The doctrine of “whatever you believe is ok, just believe in something” is as dangerous as it is ignorant. Why believe something if you don’t believe in it all the way, if you don’t believe it to be the utmost truth? I do. And perhaps in the past I have given reason for others to think I negotiate my truth or that it is flexible. Not so. If it is in the Bible, I believe it. And when interpretation is difficult, I pray and ask God to guide me. Because Christianity is not about the church I go to or the title of my denomination. Christianity is about a RELATIONSHIP WITH JESUS CHRIST. It defies logic and cannot be explained. And though there are historical facts upon facts to back it up, they are not the most important piece. When you walk with Jesus, you know this truth as deeply and certainly as you know anything else. That is being a Christian, and that defies doubts.

Now… onto the more social/political parts:

I believe abortion is murder. I believe every woman does have a choice in most cases… the choice whether or not to engage in activity that might lead to pregnancy. When that choice has been taken from her, then I honestly don’t know what to say. I’m not going to say a woman who has been raped or who might die giving birth or carrying a child should have the child anyway. I’m not in a place to say that. I will say that I don’t believe it’s black and white. I will also say that any woman who has ever been pregnant yet still believes in “choice” confounds me to no end. There will never be anything as amazing in my life as feeling and seeing my precious daughters inside my body. And the notion that because they were inside me that their bodies were not sacred is a LIE. Even now, outside the womb, everything I have is theirs first. It is my job to protect them with all my being because they cannot protect themselves. That’s not an opinion: it’s motherhood, and if you don’t believe that, don’t have sex. Don’t risk it.

I believe that homosexuality is a sin because the Bible says it. And I don’t care if it’s “politically incorrect” for me to say what I am about to say: one of the dearest people in my life is gay. I don’t condemn him. I don’t judge him. And I don’t want him to be alone or be lonely. I love him and want him to be happy. So you see, my belief does not make me a bigot or an intolerant jerk. It breaks my heart. It is not something I can easily reconcile; indeed, it’s not something I have reconciled at all yet. Additionally, I don’t believe, like so many “popular” Evangelicals seem to, that homosexualality is any worse a sin than other others… lying, gossiping, cheating on taxes. It’s all the same in God’s eyes. And God gives grace for all of it, new every day.

PAUSE: I believe in forgiveness. Several years of my life were lived in sin that is every bit as offensive to the far-religious-right as anything else. Most of you know this story. I was condemned by my church. I was disowned by so-called family. I lost friends. It caused the most difficult times of my life. And yet… there was grace for me. I pass that grace on. I will not judge as I was judged.

I believe bigotry is at a dangerous level in our country. I don’t have to put labels on it. All sorts of groups harbor hatred and resentment and <i>intolerance</i> against other groups. And though I have never been beaten for my race, my values, my gender, my sexual orientation, I have been mocked. Yes, I have been judged. So have most people I know. It’s not right. And in the wake of the presidential election, a historic one in which a half-black man has been elected, I fear it’s about to get worse. His election <i>is</i> historical. I am proud we have come to a place in which we would elect someone who is not “an old white guy.” I was also proud of Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin. I was also proud of Mike Huckabee (he might be old and white, but he did not compromise his beliefs to fill people’s ears with candy). I’m hopeful that as my children grow, they will know a country where people truly are assessed on the “content of their character.” But, I fear, based on reactions around me, there are people who voted in this election based on very shallow things. (Yes, conservatives do it too). I just hope that we, our country, did the right thing.

But whether or not we did, I know in my heart today that God is in control. He doesn’t need our permission. He made the world. We make our choices, but it’s in His hands. It’s another paradox I can’t grasp, but one I am grateful for when things go in a way that confuses, disappoints, or scares me.

If you’re my friend, if you’re reading this, you know the heart behind it. You know it is written with both conviction and love. I do not want comments here, because these are my thoughts. But if you want to discuss something here with me, send me a message. I would be happy to talk. And if you don’t want to be my friend any more because of it, that is fine too.

If you voted for Obama, I’m happy you are happy. And I will be more graceful to you than some people were to me during the last two elections. We need to respect who is in the office. It’s a difficult job and times are tumultuous. I will never stoop to say some of the things about Pres-elect Obama that people have said about Pres Bush, or Sen McCain, or Gov Pain or their families. I will pray for him. I do believe he has good intentions. May we all serve and be served well.

A few days ago, I said to Rod, “Really? NQC was just a MONTH ago?”

… ’cause it feels like a year, and I guess that is because pretty much as soon as we got home and settled back in, we got involved on a very large scale with a huge event. THIS ONE, as a matter of fact.

I am part of the company “putting this on,” so to speak, and I am excited, nervous, busy…

I still want to wrap up NQC. And we go back on the road for the next 3 out of 4 weekends for more adventures, including our longest trip so far: to North Carolina in November.

Meanwhile, Miranda will be turning two and Kaity is pretending she is just as old. I love having a full life. And it totally exhausts me.

Hope my reader friends are doing well!

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