My son’s new prayer:

Dear Jesus,

Please help us to go to McDonald’s and help me to have a good sleep.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

I have to admit, I don’t blame him. I would pray the same if my grandparents took me to McDonald’s, let me stay up two hours past my bedtime playing on the playground, let me order and consume an entire soda (despite my 2 1/2 year old size, my overdue bedtime and before I even touched my hamburger & french fries) and then let me order and consume a large ice cream cone to top it all off.

Grandma and Grandpa’s scheduled day of departure was the following morning so, unfortunately, they were denied the opportunity to experience the fallout effects of their evening of fun and frolic.

Jeremiah. He’s an interesting fellow. I love the way he opens his book:

The Lord gave me a message. He said, “I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. Before you were born I set you apart and appointed you as my spokesman to the world.”

“O Sovereign Lord,” I said, “I can’t speak for you! I’m too young!”

“Don’t say that,” the Lord replied, “for you must go wherever I send you and say whatever I tell you. And don’t be afraid of the people, for I will be with you and take care of you. I, the Lord, have spoken!”

Then the Lord touched my mouth and said, “See, I have put my words in your mouth! Today I appoint you to stand up against nations and kingdoms. You are to uproot some and tear them down, to destroy and overthrow them. You are to build others up and plant them.” Jeremiah 1:4-10

OK, if I was Jeremiah, I’d be peeing in my pants. Spokesman to the world? Stand up against nations and kingdoms? Right.

Not that I’m on the same level as Jeremiah (I have no plans to destroy nations or anything), but I can SO relate. This is exactly how I feel about being a pastor’s wife. I feel grossly inadequate and entirely too young. Besides, isn’t this whole thing Brian’s gig?

I have NO CLUE how to be a pastor’s wife. In fact, how DOES one be a pastor’s wife? It is such a weird existence.

But, Brian and I are married; therefore, we stick together. Brian is clearly supposed to be the pastor of this church; therefore, I’m clearly supposed to be the pastor’s wife—trippy as it is.

I take comfort in knowing God knew me before I was even a twinkle in my father’s eye. There is not one thing in my life He has not considered. Not only did He know I would eventually be a pastor’s wife, He actually prepared me to be one, despite how unprepared I feel.

I might not have a clue how to be a pastor’s wife, but there’s a reason God chose me. Something my dad always says comes to mind in moments like these: “Just be yourself, Aim. Just be yourself.”

At this point, that’s my plan of attack—just being myself—because I am totally wingin’ it.

My husband and I celebrated 8 years of marriage yesterday. It has not been a cake walk, people.

Worth it? Yes. Easy? No. But I digress.

OK, so last night as we sat eating Middle Eastern food (he had lamb, I had falafel…not that you care), we came to a disturbing conclusion: We do not know how to have fun.

This is not a new problem. In fact, in our first year of marriage, one of our friends pointed out the issue and proceeded to give us about 50 board games in an effort to stoke the fires of fun. It backfired. Playing a game means someone will lose. One of us (that would be me) does not like losing, so you can imagine how our “fun game nights” ended when I didn’t win (not that I lost a lot, of course).

So, I turn to you, dear readers (all 3 of you). We need your help. We’re looking for your fun-filled ideas. We ain’t rollin’ in the dough, you’ll remember, so it’s gotta be cheap—free would be better.

And don’t suggest sex. We already know about that one.

Feelin’ a little envious today.

I just found out my cousin and his wife are backpacking through Europe. They are DINKs (Double Income No Kids) so they have one thing I most certainly do NOT have—flexibility.

They just pick up and go whenever they darn well please, spendin’ money like they’ve got no one to support besides themselves (which they don’t) and then being so kind as to give the rest of us a blow-by-blow description of every one of the 5 THOUSAND countries they are visiting on their month-and-a-half-long European tour (which they can take, of course, because they are both teachers and have the entire summer off).

Apparently it’s their last big hurrah before having kids. If I remember correctly, our last big hurrah before having kids was a trip to Taco Bell.

No, I am not bitter. I’m just mad I’m not as smart.

No offense to God or anything, but I just DO NOT get the Book of Revelation. I’m really trying (again) to understand it, but as of yet, I’m afraid I’m just plain lost (again).

So, I’m analyzing the fact that it doesn’t make any sense to me and it occurs to me that the whole book is so very fantasy-like. You know, it’s got all kinds of funky creatures covered with eyeballs and lots of bright, shiny, spectacular jewels and things.

I’m a very pragmatic person who has a hard time conceptualizing anything that’s not in my realm of familiarity (which is probably why I have the issue with the jewels). My imagination is about as robust as a deflated tire on hot blacktop. I’ve never been interested in fantasy ficton or films etc.

But I got to thinkin’ that maybe if I could develop my imagination, perhaps I’d be able to appreciate Revelation a little more.

For all you Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter-types out there, do you get it?

UPDATE: OK, so now I’ve pondered it a bit more and I’ve had an aha moment. I said I’m pragmatic. Therein lies my problem. I’m always looking for the practical application and that’s just not the point here. I’m thinkin’ that because Revelation is not so much an explanation of what is now but of what is to come and since what is to come is nothing like what is now, my attempts at practical application are fruitless. OK, ok. Takes me a while, but I get it.

I’m happy to report we are now the proud owners of a hole in our kitchen (or living room, depending on where you’re standing) wall. It’s all an attempt to make our 1950’s boxed-in, closed-up house into a modern-day, “open floor plan” house.

My father is responsible. Give that guy a chisel and a staple gun and he’ll build the Taj Mahal. I am not kidding.

I’m deeply grateful for his handiness (and particularly the way it benefits me) but I do have one question: WHY DIDN’T I GET ANY OF THOSE GENES?

(Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 or Part 4 here.)

OK, this story is getting long—not what I intended at the beginning. I’m going to wrap this up because I was reminded the other day that I don’t like writing. Why I started a blog, I have no idea.

Also, if you’ve read 61 Random Things About Me, you’ll know that I’m good at starting things but not good at finishing them. My friend calls this the “Project Poop-Out.”

(You can feel free to post a comment with any remaining, burning questions about the story, if necessary.)

So, I was at the graveside of my brother and I bawled for a very, very long time. I guess my therapist was right—I had “family of origin” issues.

The experience at the cemetery was certainly a turning point. It’s when I started to see how the events of my brother’s death and the resulting belief that I was bad, were intricately woven into the rest of my life.

Therapy, while excruciatingly painful and outrageously frustrating, was one of the best things I’ve ever done. It’s amazing how much got worked out through the course of it. God showed up. (I still had to work though.)

I had gone in, you’ll remember, because I was obsessed with Brian. Well, I don’t think therapy helped me get un-obsessed (if that’s a word) but somehow it didn’t matter. Besides, I decided to deal with my obsession another way—I moved to Israel. That took care of it.

Anyway, my reason for posting this story in the first place was…geez, it was so long ago, I can’t even remember.

Suffice it to say, my heart was wounded, but God redeemed.

The end.

(Read Part 1, Part 2 or Part 3 here.)

The looming white wall marked the edge of the cemetery where Daniel was buried. As soon as I saw it, it was as if something clicked inside that made if familiar, despite having been there only once before—when I was 3 years old.

I was nonchalant. “Oh, I think that’s where Daniel is buried,” I thought. Then, “I wonder if I could find his grave.” At the time, it was just a random idea, holding zero significance whatsoever. I could just as easily have said, “Oh look, there’s a new mall. I think I’ll go check it out.”

Looking back, it’s clear to me this was no random occurrence. God clearly had set it up to be a major milestone in my personal journey.

As I mentioned, my “heart” told me to turn right—toward the entrance to the cemetery—which I did. What follows is something I had never encountered previously. It was as if a forgotten memory was being pulled unconsciously from the depths of my soul.

As I approached the main entrance of the cemetery, I was struck by it’s grandeur. A huge white funeral home graced the front, complete with a large pond and a fountain shooting water 20 feet in the air. The road curved around in front of the funeral home and led to a gigantic iron gate. It was open, so I drove in. Acres and acres of perfectly manicured lawn were before me.

At this point, my head took over. “How am I going to find Daniel’s grave in all of this?” The thought nearly made me turn around and drive away. After all, I still needed to get to my friend’s house.

But a strange tugging seemed to pull me forward. I decided to go with it.

I drove ahead, but soon came to a fork in the road. “I think I’ll go…ummmm…left.” So I stayed left. I drove further. I passed rows and rows of gravestones. I passed trees. I saw a church on the right.

“I think I’ll stop…ummmm…here.” Nothing marked my stopping point. I just pulled over when it seemed my heart told me so.

I got out of the car and looked around me. I was surrounded by gravestones in every direction. “I think I’ll walk this way,” I thought. I went left. I didn’t hesitate at any row because something inside clearly knew where I was going.

I eventually stopped and turned right. I looked down at the gravestones in front of me. I saw three with my great grandparents’ names on them. Then I saw one that was different than the others—one with a tiny lamb—and my brother’s name carved across the top.

Quite unexpectedly, I was overcome with emotion. I fell to my knees and wept. I cried deep, gut-wrenching, uncontrollable sobs. It was as if 15 years of pain I had no idea existed came bubbling to the surface. It was absolutely unstoppable.

And in my head I’m thinking, “WHAT IS HAPPENING??”

Read Part 5 here.

(The story continues…read Part 1 here or Part 2 here.)

My parents, understandably, had no idea I internalized as much as I did. In fact, I didn’t realize it either.

So as not to overwhelm my sister and me with the gravity of it all, my parents decided we (i.e. my sister and I) would not attend Daniel’s funeral. Instead, after he was buried, we went, just the four of us, to my brother’s grave. It was a good move on their part.

Life went on after that. The years passed and not much mention was made of Daniel except on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death. I never felt like we were purposefully avoiding discussion about him—we just adjusted to the loss and eventually moved on.

Growing up, I don’t remember ever consciously thinking his death was my fault. In fact, it wasn’t until I was in 9th grade that I even considered it—when my dad expressed his regret for not better explaining how Daniel died. He said he suspected I blamed myself.

At the time, I denied feeling like it was my fault, but his comment certainly planted a thought that I mulled over from time to time.

Time passed again and the next few years brought many changes—a move to Africa, graduating high school, moving back to the States and starting college. I was busy with life and thoughts of Daniel rarely entered my mind. I thought it was totally in the past.

Age 17 was the beginning of a very weird, tumultuous, crazy time for me. I was in college, enjoying my increasing independence and I had met and started dating my now-husband. Our relationship was on-again, off-again and all-consuming. At one point, a good friend looked me straight in the eye and said, “Amy, you are obsessed with him.” I knew she was right.

I mention this not because it’s relevant to the story of Daniel (no, dating Brian is a whole ‘nother 15 or so posts). I mention it only because it prompted me to go into therapy. (I was a student at a Christian college and therefore, I could get therapy from a psychologist-in-training for 6 bucks an hour. I’m Dutch. I don’t pass up a deal when I see it. So, into therapy I went…and in I stayed…for a year and a half.)

I went to therapy to figure out why I was obsessed with Brian. Period. I was NOT interested in delving into “family of origin” issues. After all, my dad is a therapist himself and as far as I was concerned, my whole life was one big therapy session. I did not want to waste my time dealing with a whole lotta nothin’—6 bucks or not. I informed my therapist of this fact. Somehow she didn’t let it go.

So anyway, just as I started therapy, I had a very bizarre experience. (God has a way of making things work together you know.)

One day I planned to meet a friend at her house. I had never been there before so I didn’t exactly know where I was going. I got a bit lost and drove around for a few minutes until I eventually found myself stopped at an unfamiliar red light. I could only turn right or left. Directly in front of me was a looming white wall. My head told me to turn left. My heart told me to turn right. So right I went…

Read Part 4 here.

If you’ve been reading the blog at all the last few days and it seemed to be freaking out, it was. That’s because I have been FIGHTING with the dumb layout and it has been DRIVING ME CRAZY throughout the process. I think things are finally under control.

The only thing I’ve got to say is that Internet Explorer has been known to do WEIRD things to websites. So, if you’re reading this and it looks very bad—like the text is way over to the left, for example—it’s because you’re using Internet Explorer and you should get a new browser (in my opinion). I recommend Firefox. It’s free.