I had the opportunity to spend a few hours at the book store last weekend. It’s my place of choice when I can steal away for some time alone.

On this trip, I happened upon a book called Burned Alive. It’s a story about honor killing and one woman’s personal story of survival. Honor killings occur when a family attempts to regain honor after one of their women acts inappropriately. According to custom, the shame brought on the family by the woman is only removed when she is put to death. (The fact that this appears to be a sick, evil twist on Christ’s sacrificial death to restore our shame is another story.)

Burned Alive was horrifying–there’s no other way to describe it. What’s more shocking is that it’s not just a part of barbarian history but it’s something that happens all around the world, from Great Britain to Israel to Ecuador, today, in 2004.

Reading this woman’s story was overwhelming. While I absolutely believe honor killings occur, they are something I can hardly wrap my brain around–it’s so completely removed from my own experience. Admittedly, I have no idea what to do with the knowledge of the atrocity.

But one thing’s for sure: I’m convicted of my inward-focused, self-centered tendency to let the world become as tiny as my own circumstance. It behooves me to turn my eyes outward, face the truth and strain to see the world as it really is. But realization is not the end. Action must follow. After all, Jesus’ last command on earth was one of action: “Go and make disciples of all nations…” (Matthew 28:19)

Injustice lurks everywhere and it would be foolish to take it all on single-handedly. The question is, for which cause will I refuse to turn and run, stop and stare or defer to someone else but instead, stand and fight?

How about you?

Ever feel like you need a little comic relief? I’ve been feeling that way lately. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) I don’t need to look any further than myself–not because I bubble with hilarity, I just happen to have an extensive repertoire of embarrassing moments. I have no shortage of things that make me laugh.

My favorite (for lack of a better word) embarrassing moment occurred about five years ago. I was a temporary employee working as an administrative assistant at a very family-friendly company. I say “family-friendly” because before I got the job, I was coached extensively on this fact by the person that recruited me for the position. Basically, I was reminded over and over again that conducting myself accordingly was of utmost importance.

On the day in question, I was quite new, hoping to make a good impression and in general, trying to go above and beyond the call of duty so as not to get the boot, as many temps do.

I walked into the cubical of a Senior Sales Manager as was typical during the course of my day. I noticed his suit coat tossed carelessly over a chair in the corner of his cube. “Aha!” I thought, “an opportunity to prove myself as a considerate, conscientious, can’t-live-without-me, truly professional administrative assistant.” So I casually pointed to the coat and said, “Mark, you need a….a….”

It was at this very moment that the clarity with which I had previously assessed the situation, suddenly escaped me. I knew in my head that I wanted to offer to locate either a hook or a hanger on which to store his coat, but the simple sentence so nicely put together in my brain somehow did not roll so smoothly off my lips.

In my desperate attempt to appear calm, cool and collected as I stuttered and sputtered, the words “hook” and “hanger” got horribly mixed up in my brain and I finally (and loudly) blurted, “Mark, you need a hooker!”

As I stood in complete horror at what I had just said and how positively un-family-friendly it was as well as how totally unbecoming of a pastor’s wife (as they all knew me to be), I was (somewhat) relieved when he graciously and quickly responded, “Oh, don’t we all!”

Epilogue: I’m happy to report all that was lost was my dignity and pride.

A couple in our church returned last week from China with their newly adopted baby girl. There must have been close to fifty people at the airport (despite it being 11 pm) to greet them and welcome their new bundle of joy home. It was extremely exciting and emotional. We have all been eagerly awaiting her arrival since last November when our friends began the adoption process.

The whole experience reminded me of James 1:27 which says,

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. (NIV)

I’m struck by the significance James places on caring for the orphans and widows in this passage. It makes sense that pure and faultless religion would result from not allowing oneself to be polluted by the world, as the second part of the verse notes. How interesting, though, that of all the things James could have included in that verse, he pointed out the need for us to care for orphans and widows. Clearly it’s a situation that demands our attention.

So I’ve been pondering my role in the issue–particularly with regards to orphans. Maybe my family is supposed to adopt. Or perhaps we’re meant to financially support an organization that helps orphans. I’m sure there are many ways we can help. We can certainly pray.

In any event, it seems obvious I must do something. If for nothing else, I want my faith to be pure and faultless.

I’ve played on a community softball team all summer. In a few hours we’ll be playing our last game of the season. Our team was new to the league this year, started by a friend of mine that wanted to get out, get active and have fun.

You may have noticed “win” was not on our list of objectives. This is a good thing because if winning was our goal, we would be sorely disappointed right about now. Let’s just say a good game for us was losing 14 to 1–we actually scored a run!

Despite how it sounds, this is not something I’m bitter about. The bottom line is, we’ve have a great time, we’ve improved phenomenally (you should have seen where we began!) and we’ve all enjoyed the camaraderie.

The teams we’ve played against are hard-core. These are women who play up to four times a week throughout the summer on various teams in various leagues in our area. Some even practice year-round (in a warehouse) despite our upstate New York snow and cold.

As for our team, we are a conglomeration of all ages and levels of experience. Several of our players have never played softball before and some of them have never played organized sports at all…ever. For them, I’ve got a lot of admiration. It really takes a certain amount of courage to try something completely new among others with significantly more experience than you. I say good for them. I hope I’m open to new things and not still paralyzed by my perfectionistic tendencies and fear of failure when I’m 50!

Well, it’s not even 10:00 am and I’ve already blown it twice with the ones I love most. I had an argument with my daughter after which I felt positively horrible–she’s only four and we were fighting about what she would wear today–not exactly the most important issue in life. Just as I recovered from my elevated blood pressure, I went at it with my husband over an equally insignificant issue. I think the thing I was most frustrated about is that I woke up extra early this morning, felt good and was certain I was going to make it a grrrreat day!

I’m quick to take matters in my own hands but I’m reminded that I need to surrender each day to the Lord. Feeling like I’m “in control” (as I did when I woke up this morning) is not really being in control at all. For me, being “in control” usually translates into needing things to go a certain way or work out just so. And I’m sure we all know how well that goes!

I’m just glad God is all about redemption (Romans 8:28), grace (2 Corinthians 12:9-10) and forgiveness (Psalm 103:11-13).

Now that my apologies are made and I’m re-centered (on Christ that is, not me), I’m starting fresh…again.

I had a weird experience the other day. Out of the blue I remembered an incident that occurred when I was about 13. It was weird because when I lived it, I didn’t think much of it, but when I thought about it again the other day, I felt sick to my stomach.

It was the mid 80’s and I was a missionary kid in Papua New Guinea. The place we lived, called Ukarumpa, resembled a small military base with a post office, store, and school as well as homes, offices and other assorted buildings. My parents are missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators and the base served as headquarters for all the translators that lived throughout the country in remote villages.

Ukarumpa was a great place to live as a kid although security was becoming an increasing problem while we were there. Incidents of robbery and rape committed by people in surrounding areas were commonplace. I knew several people who were victims of these crimes.

Because we were far from any sort of Western civilization–without TV, movie theaters, malls etc.–many of us rode horses as a form of entertainment. All of the horses were kept in paddocks on the perimeter of the base.

The day I recalled was like any other day. I grabbed my bridle and my dog and I hiked out to get my horse. I’m sure I found her in the swamp as usual, bridled her up, jumped on and headed for the paddock gate. This particular paddock was the most remote of them all and the gate through which we got out was in the furthermost corner. Just as I neared the gate, I saw a group of men clustered around it. At the time, I found it odd they were sitting there. There was really no reason for them to be doing so–there was no farmland or village nearby, just empty, unused space.

I do remember feeling slightly uncomfortable as I approached them and I also recall choosing not to dismount my horse to open the gate. I made my way through as quickly as possible and headed for home where I prepared for another day of riding.

Looking back, I’m quite certain those men were not there for anything other than sinister reasons. Why they sat quietly as I passed less than ten feet away escapes me. I was a young girl, alone, outside the earshot of anyone I knew and I was certainly no match (even with my dog and my horse) for the group of them.

Maybe I wasn’t old enough at the time to fully grasp the gravity of the situation but I’m absolutely shocked at my stupidity. I realize my life could have taken a dramatic turn that day, but it didn’t. Why? I have no idea. I wonder what sort of spiritual forces were battling around me. If I could see into the spiritual realm, what would I have seen?

And I wonder how often in life I’ve come within a hair’s breadth of devastating circumstances without having a clue. I wonder if, when we get to heaven, we’ll find out how many times God spared us from horrible experiences. If we do, I don’t think we’ll be surprised. I think we’ll be seeing the big picture and we’ll see how it all fits together…just like we’ll understand the larger purpose in some of the horrible events God did allow to happen.