In the Bleak Midwinter

For as long as I can remember, I have lived in places between 37º and 44º N latitude.  That means that Christmas has always been accompanied by cold temperatures, and usually snow.  I savor the change of seasons and I especially like having white Christmases.

It's no secret that Jesus probably was not born in December, and there almost certainly wasn't any snow falling that night in Bethlehem.  But there's something so apropos about celebrating Christmas "in the bleak midwinter" because it reflects mankind's condition.  It is not the weather that was bleak when Christ was born, but our hearts.  Cold, hopeless, lonely, miserable.  Into this bleakness Life and Light came!

But Christina Rossetti said it far better than I.  Her poem came to mind as I took a chilly Christmas Eve jog with this in view:

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago. 

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ. 

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk,
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore. 

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air -
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss. 

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man
I would do my part;
Yet what I can, I give Him -
Give my heart.

See the Conqueror

Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for yesterday we were dead.

- Russell Moore

- - -

I woke up with this hymn running through my head.  Here's wishing you a joyous Resurrection Day, full of praise to the Death-Conqueror.

An Open Letter to Ellie Holcomb

Dear Ellie,

I have a few bones to pick with you.

1.  You make my mascara run.
To start off your CD release concert on Sunday, you stepped to the mic and recited parts of Hosea 6 and Lamentations 3.  It wrecked me.  In the future, please take a cue from any number of other Christian artists and stick to trite comments and humorous anecdotes when you're up in front of people.  Quoting beautiful passages of holy Scripture is an unfair advantage over those of us who prefer to keep our Avon intact.

2.  You are an enemy of the forests.

Conservation, Ellie.  Conservation.  You have caused me to blubber into more tissues than your fair share.  Maybe if you sang with less sweetness, if you spoke with less conviction and wrote songs with less vulnerability and joy—maybe then I could have kept the shrinkwrap on this three-pack of Kleenex and preserved an innocent pine.

3.  You made me miss my exit.

In October I took a week's retreat to Colorado.  Your EP, With You Now, found its way into my car's CD player and remained there the whole eight days.  It was a time of release and renewal for me, and your music was the soundtrack.  I would have been grateful, except that you caused me to lapse into such introspection and prayer that I missed my exit on I-70 three different times.  The same exit, Ellie: missed three times in a row by a woman who prides herself on level-headedness.  Neil Diamond has never made me miss an exit.  Neither has Alison Krauss or even Johnny Cash himself.  Your manager should have received my bill for 92 cents of gasoline.

4.  You do not live in Utah.

Sure, you do a number on my eye makeup; you make me expend fistfuls of tissues and drive like a clueless person. Still, I would be willing to set all this aside and strike up a friendship if only you lived 1,635 miles closer to me.  The truth is, with my (ahem) unrivaled humility and your delightful music, hilarious stories, authenticity, and love of Jesus—we could be very good friends indeed.  Is it really too much to ask that you leave the hub of American music and come to the Christian musician's flyover state?  In a burst of generosity, I hereby waive the 92-cent tab if you give just one concert here.

It is for these reasons, Ellie, that I am imploring all three of my blog readers and all seven of my Key Radio listeners to not watch your concert online for free, or download some of your captivating music for a tip of their choice, or purchase your new album which I Kickstarted in a moment of temporary insanity.

Yours with tongue in cheek,

Karisa

Farming and Ministry

This intimate song from Peter Rowan evokes all kinds of memories and feelings for me.

Among them, this biblical thought (see I Corinthians 3)...
How much in common has the gospel ministry with farming!

You bust the sod,

You trust in God,

And you work night and day.

Barefoot Country Road

"Barefoot Country Road"

from Dust Bowl Children, Peter Rowan

Auld Lang Syne

Whatever "auld lang syne" means... it's a pretty melody.  Don't worry, I don't sing in this clip.  I just show some proof of the guitar lessons I've been taking.

P.S.  No, I do not play left-handed.  Apparently Photo Booth records the mirror image; anyone know how to change that?

The Prairies Calling

Encircled though I am by mountains and city, I can feel the quiet pulse of the prairies today.  I can almost hear the wind whistling through last year's corn stalks standing in the field, half-covered by snow.  I sense the winter wheat lying close to the ground, patiently, patiently awaiting the spring thaw.  And I, too, await a day when I will shed the coldness of this world, this body, this heart so prone to wandering.

Maybe it's because I've been re-reading the classic Giants In the Earth, a story of Norwegian pioneers in Dakota Territory.  The land in Rølvaag's novel is vast, stark, and richly fertile, and it leaves no one unchanged who seeks to survive it, much less tame it.

After 130 years, the land had been survived and peopled and maybe even slightly tamed, but it still inspired awe for Rich Mullins, who wrote a song to the Keeper of the Plains.

And so, in belated celebration of Kansas Day (I spent the majority of yesterday sick in bed, alas); and because there are some days when I just miss the prairies, and even more days when I long to be "shaken free of this old world"; and also because this is a beautifully poignant song and a good cover that begs to be shared...

Remind Me Who I Am

Who are you?

I am:
Daughter, sister, aunt, friend.
Public relations director, optician, Bible teacher.
Single.
Missionary.
Bible college grad.
Lip balm addict.

Sinner.

Selfish.
Phony, hypocrite.
Lazy.
Jealous, lonely.
Shallow, judgmental, ignorant.
Misunderstood.
Wounded.

But.
My identity is not wrapped up in my family or my vocation.
I am not simply the sum total of my personality and experiences.
I am not confined by the perceptions of others'.
I am not defined by my choices and successes.
Nor am I captive to my disadvantages and failures.

Sometimes I just need to be reminded who I really am:

Forgiven,
Beloved,
Hidden in Christ,
Made in the image of the Giver of life.
Righteous and holy,
Reborn and remade,
Accepted and worthy:
This is [my] new name.
I am new.

Thank you, Jason Gray.



It is worth noting that Jason does not address the question of identity merely from an academic standpoint.  He knows whereof he speaks: Jason has a speech impediment.  What would normally be considered a severe handicap to a career vocalist, has become an evidence of God's grace and an agent of inspiration.  It serves as a constant reminder that, for the Christ-follower, identity is not determined by Self, but by Christ Himself.

I'm the one You love,
I'm the one You love;
That will be enough.



"I will call those who were not My people, 'My people,'
and her who was not beloved, 'Beloved.'
And it shall be that in the place where it was said to them,
'You are not my people,'
there they shall be called sons of the living God." (Romans 9:26-27)

Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come.  Now all these things are from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ...  (2 Cor. 5:16-17 NASB)

Who are you?

Near the Cross

O sacred Head, now wounded,

With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded,
With thorns Thine only crown.
How pale Thou art with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish
Which once was bright as morn!

Don't old English words like "sore abuse" and "visage languish" seem more apt to describe the grisly, stomach-turning crucifixion of Christ than the casual American English of 2011?  

The stanza above is part of the standard translation of a 12th-century hymn originally written in Latin.  A few days ago, I listened to Chuck Swindoll read these words—part of a special series of Easter-themed messages on KEY Radio.  He then made an observation to the effect that nobody is writing hymn texts like that nowadays.

It's not just the quaint vocabulary he was referring to; rather, I think his point was that we as the modern-day Church have generally settled into a religion of comfort, and we hesitate to dwell on our Savior's suffering.  It is simply too uncomfortable to think about anyone—much less God!—whose flesh was torn, whose nakedness was exposed, whose bones were broken without either anesthesia or pity.  Indeed, we embrace what the Cross purchased for us (reconciliation with a holy God) without understanding the enormity of the cost paid physically by Christ.

Dr. Swindoll's remarks got me thinking, as they often do.  Is it true that songs about Jesus' suffering and humiliation are not being written by my generation of believers?  Of course, I cannot speak authoritatively; I can only make the unscientific observations of a music-lover and occasional radio deejay.  But sadly, I must agree there is a void of songwriting here.

Building a playlist for KEY that afternoon, however, I found a few notable exceptions to what I fear is the rule.  "Blessed Redeemer," by Mark Hall and Bernie Herms does not shy away  from Christ's pain: "I see him on Calvary's tree, wounded and bleeding..."  Nor did Chad Cates, Todd Smith, and Tony Wood sugarcoat the crucifixion when writing, "Beautiful Terrible Cross."  (An aside: hymn-lovers will notice the Selah version of this song incorporating musical phrases of the old Fanny Crosby hymn "Near the Cross"—subtly paying tribute to the generation- and culture-spanning power of Jesus' death.)

One more thought: balance.  We should meditate on both the Cross and what it accomplished.  Contemplating Christ's agony does little good when I don't apply its ramifications to my life.  Because Jesus willingly died on the cross (and rose again! that's a whole other post), I have victory over sin, Satan and death!  What is more worthy of song?

And so I share with you these few songs about different aspects of the Cross.  As they have done for me, may they help you to "fix your eyes on Jesus... who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.  For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself" (Hebrews 12).


(Please forgive the commercial inserted before the final song.  "Free salvation" means no strings attached; not so with "free music player.")

"She's Away and Westward Bound"

They say the best songs are borne of experience.  If that's true, singer/songwriter Gordon Lightfoot must have had his share of travel woes and adventures.

I picked up a compilation cassette of Lightfoot's music at Goodwill while I was home for Christmas.  Little did I know how it would prove to be the soundtrack of my trip back to Utah.

The journey began uneventfully enough at the Great Bend, Kansas airport.  (Airport is used only in the strictest sense here.  The terminal is a small, one-room brick building with a single glass door that opens to the tarmac.)  My folks sent me off with hugs, last-minute parental advice, and a small roll of cash slipped into my hand.  Pro that I am, leaving home is never easy.

But the mountains [...] are calling out to me,

And I got my bedroll on my back

And everything that I could pack to see me on my way...

Four of us passengers boarded the 19-seater; since there was no flight attendant, the co-captain—who looked barely old enough to shave—checked our seat belts and gave the flotation device shpeel.  Then takeoff.  It's a small thing in the grand scheme, but I thanked my Father for a clear day to fly over farmlands; there are few things as beautiful to my eyes as the rural Midwest viewed from 39,000 feet.

And the prairie towns go sailing by...

A quick stop in Dodge City yielded one more passenger; then it was on to Denver.  Though it was a crisp, sunny day when we took off, the sky clouded as we flew west.  By the time we landed in Colorado, it was a regular blizzard.  But, so far so good.

All is well.

I left the cold midwestern towns behind...

My next flight to Salt Lake City was scheduled to leave in 1.5 hours.  Winter weather, however, would dictate otherwise.  Along with thousands of other passengers, my layover became what I call a delayover.

This old airport's got me down, it's no earthly use to me
Cause I'm stuck here on the ground, cold [...] as I can be...

My flight was pushed back several times until the boarding call sounded about two hours behind schedule.  I called home; Mom answered and I let her know I wouldn't be calling when I arrive in Provo since it is already late.

Does your mother know, you had to go someday?

Just tell her [...] That you've got ten dollars and you'll be all right,

And when you get straight you're gonna come back east some day...

But the waiting wasn't over.  First, we sat in line to deice the plane.  It was dark now, with snow blowing under the lights and a chill creeping into the cabin.

Out on runway number nine, big 707 set to go, 

But I'm stuck here on the ground where the cold winds blow...

About the time I should have been pulling into my driveway in Utah, we finally took off from Denver.

Hear the mighty engines roar, see the silver bird on high;

She's away and westward bound, high above the clouds she'll fly...

It was a late but safe landing in wintery Salt Lake City.  Five inches of snow and ice had to be cleared off my car.  That was easy compared to the task of getting inside it.  The doors were frozen shut.  After much prying, yanking, pleading, huffing and puffing, I got the driver's door open and crawled in.  Only now the door wouldn't close; the latch was frozen in place.

I have had to hold my door closed as I've driven to work on a cold morning once or twice, but driving 50 minutes on the interstate is entirely different.  My door must latch.  The parking lot attendants only offered a sympathetic shake of the head and pointed me to a truck stop.  Once there, I pulled out some tools and a flashlight and attempted surgery with numb fingers.  Where was my capable-of-anything dad when I needed him?

I'm a long way from home

And I miss my loved ones so...

Ten minutes later, with no success, I admitted what I was: a Helpless Female.  I went inside the truck stop to look for a hero.  The girl behind the counter called over Hector, a young man whose wide smile I soon realized meant, "I am not an English-speaker and I would love to help but I have no idea what you're saying."  Still, he seemed to recognize a Helpless Female when he saw one.

And the service station man agreed I didn't look too well...

Hector followed me out, and by gestures I made him understand what the problem was.  He motioned for me to get in the car and then he slammed the door.  It latched!  At last I headed south to Provo and my warm bed.

All is well.

The foothills are coming into sight.

Today is just a memory, the future is tonight.

And the red pines will bow their heads,

The rivers and the watersheds will carry us along,

And the mountains [...] will greet me there as only [they] can do.

All is well.

Excerpts from songs by the great Gordon Lightfoot: Early Morning Rain, Mountains and Maryann, Does Your Mother Know.

Oh, Sweet Construction-Free Peace!

The interstate is just a couple stone's throw from A Considerable Speck, and it's undergoing a massive revamp: four more lanes, all new interchanges, etc.  It will be oh-so-wonderful when it's finished.  But for the next 18 months or so: delays, detours, dust—and noise.  (My alliteration skills fail me.)

And so this song by Nicky Mehta came to mind the other night as I lay awake, trying not to listen to the grating sounds of highway construction.  (Pun intended.)

Oh, sweet peace, never have you fallen upon this town...

I cannot rest... at least until the darkness is quiet for a while.

How convenient that my friend (at least in the world of Facebook), Don Shorock, taped the winsome trio The Wailin' Jennys performing the song.  I attended this beautiful concert, so if you hear an earnest though slightly off-key alto on the sing-along chorus—well, I'll let you put two and two together.

Peace or no peace, my home is in heaven anyway.  Jesus said He's preparing a place for me before I get there, so there'll be no construction hubbub on those streets of gold once I arrive, thank you very much.  I've been keeping a mental list, and I think "No Construction" makes Reason #1,742 that I am glad to be glory bound.  Amen?

Good, Better, Best: Three Reviews of New Media

I am a sucker for tear-jerker storybook animals like Lassie and Black Beauty and Misty of Chincoteague.  Therefore, I was disappointed when Blind Hope: An Unwanted Dog and the Woman She Rescued did not quite turn out to be the moving pet story I thought it would be.  Mostly, it's the true story of a young woman emerging from a destructive past and slowly realizing what following Christ is all about.  The neglected Australian shepherd Laurie adopts aids her in learning authenticity, trust, joy and hope.  I found the writing style distracting, as needless dialogue and awkward narrative make the story seem a bit forced.  I ended up skim-reading parts.  Still, there are nuggets of truth and heartwarming anecdotes any dog-lover will enjoy.  And yes, I did cry when the dog died.  Except she didn't die.  Oh, you'll just have to read it yourself to know what I mean.  Keep reading to learn how to get a free copy.  (This book was provided for review by the WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group.  You can purchase it here.)

I'm fairly certain Phil Vischer, of VeggieTales fame, has more creativity in his pinky toe than the rest of us 7 billion inhabitants of Earth possess collectively.  Don't you love it when someone with a God-given talent uses it to build up the kingdom?  That's reason number one why I was excited to hear of the release of Phil's "What's In the Bible?" DVD series in March.  The other reason: we've got heaps of bibliology-illiterate folks sitting in our churches these days.  Many Christians aren't prepared to intelligently defend their faith and the Book on which their faith is (or should be) founded.  I have a hunch that's partly because when they (we) were kids, they learned Bible stories without really learning the Bible.  What is the Bible?  How did we get it?  Why is it organized the way it is?  Is it meant to be taken literally?  What does the word "bible" even mean, for goodness' sake?  These are some of the questions Phil Vischer sets out to answer for kids, using a delightful cast of puppets, catchy songs, high-quality production, and lots of humor.  I love, love, love the concept.  After hearing glowing reviews, I purchased the first (of three, so far) DVD ($14.99), including two 25-minute episodes: "What Is the Bible?" and "Who Wrote the Bible?"  I laughed and learned and I tapped my toes to the music.  Yes, I would love to add my glowing review to the rest.  However, some unsatisfactory tiptoeing around controversial issues gives me serious reservations.  The most disturbing is how the narrative of creation in Genesis chapter 1 is left open to interpretation.  According to Phil, it's a matter of opinion whether or not God created the world in six literal, 24-hour days.  He even invokes the worn-out and illogical argument: "with the Lord a day is like a thousand years" (2 Peter 3:8).  (For an excellent 2-minute rebuttal, listen to this.)  Alas, if only there were some way to edit out these moments of wishy-washy theology, I would heartily endorse "What's In the Bible?" DVDs.

And now we come to a product I can endorse, yea even urge you to purchase.   In fact, it deserves a post all its own.  It deserves a blog all its own.  Shoot, it deserves an internet all its own.  It is "Counting Stars", singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson's July 27 release.  I am still digesting these 13 songs of a Christ-follower's struggle and peace, longing and fulfillment, transgression and redemption.  Andrew's music always moves me deeply and this is perhaps his most intimate collection yet.  Give me a little more time to absorb.  For now, I'll simply quote Jonathan Rogers: "These songs aren’t safe. They hunker down and wrestle around, and they come up limping. The hope they express is hard-won."  Hard-won hope; authentic, unshakeable hope: that's the album in a nutshell.  You will not regret purchasing it.


Thanks to the good folks at WaterBrook Multnomah, I have a free copy of Blind Hope to give away.  For your chance to win, leave a comment recommending a book/movie/album you've recently read/watched/heard.

All the travel headaches were worth it in the end.  I had a pleasant ten days visiting family, as these photos attest.  Featured characters in this little slideshow are my folks, my brother and his wife, my nephew and niece, paternal grandparents and maternal extended family.  The building project was a storage shed for my brother's yard.  And the background music?  One of my favorite cuts from Tom, my traveling buddy.  It's called "First Winter"; he plays both acoustic guitar and mandolin on it, and I believe he wrote the music as well.

Euphonium and I

I just returned from a concert by the Utah Premiere Brass, titled, "UPB Goes West."  As gallant as "The Magnificent Seven" theme was, and as toe-tapping as Copland's "Hoedown," it was the hauntingly sweet euphonium solo on "Shenandoah" that stole my heart.  So what's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself in love with a conical-bore brass instrument? Why, write a poem, of course.

(It's better if you read it aloud.)

Euphonium, euphoria--
Oh hallelujah, gloria!

Euphonium, you fill me up,
You floor me then you soar me up.

Euphonium, euphoria--

Oh hallelujah, gloria!

Euphonium, you for me hum;
You've blown me one, you own me some.

Euphonium, euphoria--

Oh hallelujah, gloria!

Behold the Lamb of God

Here's what I would do, if I were you.  I would take about 30 minutes on Christmas Eve, grab a mug of hot cocoa, curl up, and listen to this.

In fact, I'll be doing it even though I'm not you.

It's a song cycle written by Andrew Peterson, and Christmas is at its heart. Take another look at "the Christmas story" you thought you knew so well.

God bless your quiet reflection on the old, old story of Redemption.  May it never lose its luster to you.

Color me delighted

Back when I was just getting into the whole iTunes thing (several years behind everyone else, it seems), one of the first songs I downloaded was Kristin Andreassen's "Crayola Doesn't Make a Color for Your Eyes".  It's a clever, cheerful piece of songwriting, sung with delightful harmony and fabulous rhythm by her band Sometymes Why.  What a happy surprise today to find this music video.  Enjoy.

Good Thoughts for Good Friday, Part II

Upon that cross of Jesus

Mine eye at times can see

The very dying form of One

Who suffered there for me;

And from my smitten heart with tears

Two wonders I confess,—

The wonders of His glorious love

And my unworthiness.

Elizabeth C. Clephane

"Beneath the Cross of Jesus"

Cularious!

I was wondering if I could figure out how to post a video; turns out to be easy as pie.  Easy as eating pie, that is.  Making pie is a different story.  Anyhow, I know I'm biased and all, but I find this little video of my nephew, Aaron, cularious (cute + hilarious).  Notice how the kid always has to have music going and has come up with his own makeshift boombox (a musical truck my folks gave him for Christmas).  He has a very bright future as a deejay like his aunt or perhaps a musician; probably, he's not going to win any coordination awards (again, like his aunt).

Best of 2007

Here I sit with my laptop and my journal, looking back on 2007... Before it becomes ancient history, I thought I would review some highlights and notable memories. I do this in the form of an awards ceremony. It's like The Memories Emmys. Except without the $5,000 dresses and the "I want to thank my make-up artist for always being there" speeches.

Fiddlesticks. I just realized my journal only goes back to July; the previous journal is sitting in some cardboard box in Provo. OK, so it's more like "Best of the Latter Half of 2007"...

Most Interesting Food Tried: Tie between octopus tentacles and pig tongue. My weekly supper with my Chinese and Taiwanese friends was always a culinary adventure! (FYI: octopus is strangely chewy; pig tongue is rather tasty!)

Best Hike: Squaw Mountain, 8/25. It was a moderately difficult hike--which is perhaps more a statement of my lack of physical prowess than of the height of the mountain--but the view on top was sensational, all 360' of it! Utah Valley and the city of Provo to the west, and to the east miles and miles of rugged mountain wilderness, seemingly untouched by civilization.

Best Concert: The Wailin' Jennys in Park City, UT. Heavenly, flawless three-part harmony from a trio of Canadian singer-songwriters. This event would also win an award for Highest-Priced Ticket Karisa EVER Purchased...but it was worth every penny.

Best FREE Concert: Sam Bush and David Grisman in Salt Lake City. Two legendary mandolinists on one stage...for FREE?! I'm there! This event could probably also get some kind of award for how many standing human beings I've been squashed against at once. But I'll leave that one alone.

Funniest Teaching Moment: While I was teaching a Bible story to some kids at my church, one of the students suddenly gasped with a horrified expression! Noticing he was looking at my feet, I abruptly halted mid-sentence, thinking there was some massive hairy spider crawling up my pants. When I found nothing and asked the student what was wrong, he replied (still horrified), "Your shoes! They're so... different!" Mind you, they were the same nondescript brown shoes I have been wearing for the past 4 years. Evidently, something about them is shocking to that young boy. I laugh every time I put them on now!

Best Purchase: Mandolin. Sure, it's made in China and it has a bad 7th fret. But still! It's beautiful because it's the beginning of realizing a long-time dream.

Most Sobering Moment: Leaving Mrs. R. She had been my senior care client for over a year and had grown dear to me. A shut-in, she sees nobody except her daughter, her doctor, and her church's visiting teachers. When I had to quit my job and leave Provo, I knew that this dear, lost lady would likely never have contact with a believer again. Sobering, indeed. And how many more are there in/near Provo just like Mrs. R??

Best Wildlife Spotting: Bull moose. My folks and I spent a few days at Brighton, UT, a ski resort in the mountains. While taking a walk one evening, Mom and I stumbled upon a huge bull moose lying in the grass, not 10 feet away! We were too surprised to be scared, I guess, so we just stood there gaping. Wow, was that sucker BIG. Later, we read that a sign of a moose being annoyed (and thus dangerous) is when he lays back his ears; I remember our moose doing that. So this could possibly be filed under "Closest to Being Mauled Beyond Recognition by a Wild Animal," as well.

Most Notable "Helpless Female" Moment: Calling Chris late at night because I "smelled something." See, I was house-sitting for some friends, and when I caught a whiff of an unidentifiable odor, my over-active imagination conjured up a picture of their house burning down--because of my negligence. How would I explain THAT one?? So I called Chris and woke him up. Trooper that he is, he drove over and went through the entire house with this helpless female meekly following him around, murmuring helpful things like, "It smells stronger here," "It's probably nothing," and "So you don't think their house will burn down?" Chris finally sniffed out the culprit: the locked up motor of a ceiling fan. (The pathetic thing is that I had to choose this Helpless Female moment out of many nominees. I should probably just come to terms with this role, as much as I despise it.)

Most Unlooked-for Blessing: A $1,000 check. This arrived in the mail the day before I left Provo, enclosed in a Christmas card from some old friends. I kept looking at it again and again to make sure I had counted the zeros correctly! Really, though, it was just case-in-point of God's unbelievable provision of my needs throughout all of 2007. He keeps surprising me with how He provides for me--and it is often through the sacrificial gifts of believers sensitive to His leading. An awards ceremony isn't complete without a few tears, and I feel 'em coming on...

Greatest Privilege: "Letting my light so shine before men that they may see my good works and glorify my Father in heaven." Not that I succeeded at this even half so well as I should have... But 2007 was a year of realizing anew my privilege of bearing and demonstrating Truth in a culture of deception. That meant scrubbing my elderly clients' toilets till they shone! That meant taking the time to share the gospel with two confused young women I ran into while hiking with some friends. That meant making it a point to nurture a heart of compassion for unbelievers. ...Because everything I do, in word or deed, should be for the Lord's glory. Whether people notice or not, whether I see results or not, my job is simply to let my light shine. Hide it under a bushel? NO! I'm gonna let it shine...

Shine in 2008, I'm gonna let it shine!