Diaries of Sanborn

Gotta Start Somewhere

2009-08-21T12:30:00.002-05:00

As I've thought about this first sentence I figured I could just dive right in, ignoring the fact that this poor site hasn't drank in any words in quite some time. But, that would be kinda awkward. How do I dive back in without describing the dry ground? Well people, I have no idea. And frankly, its a little too overwhelming to think about it.

So...married life is good. Sometimes good in the way that David talks about in Psalms 119 (which I'll get to...). I've realized much about the Lord, much about myself, and even more about this alienated life we're given. Nothing like an intimate relationship to dig up the basement's musty hidings. In the past eleven months I have found myself face to face with my own selfishness, pride and just downright wickedness. And its not like I thought I was perfect before marriage! I was aware of my heart's fleshly capabilities. But this....is just different. A friend's blog recently confessed about our own pride in seemingly innocent statements. Things like "I would never do that to my husband.", "I can't believe I said that", or "That's just not like me".

Uhm...news flash-YES IT IS. I am completely and utterly capable of the most inhumane, devilish acts one can even fathom. To say I would never (throw a lamp across the room) is my own pride boasting in my assumed self control. To be shocked that I said (you're just a butthole) is my own ignorance to the bloodline of sin that runs through my veins. To believe that (giving the silent treatment until I get my way) just "isn't me" is a flat out arrogant lie. The truth is, I am subject to the keeping hand of the Lord. All he has to do is lift a finger and let me be "myself"...and I instantly become capable of anything. Humbling. With a side of repentance. With a dessert of submission. Yum...

By the way, I mean, who would really do and say those things. Not me. Never. What, you think I'm in elementary school or something??

Ahem.

If you're not married and I just scared the ever living crap out of you...don't worry, keep reading. Although I will bluntly say, if you crave marriage for the happiness and romance that it offers, you may as well click over to Facebook. I stand strong in the belief that marriage is more about our holiness than our happiness. If you're not too concerned with being completely surrendered to Christ during those "what-the-hell-are-you-doing" moments or don't necessarily believe He is the all in all, desire of all desires, then what I'm about to dig into won't really make sense and will probably be more frustrating than anything. I would encourage you to explore this option though, because it is a good one. And I mean good, good.

The gospel is so backwards. And I don't mean that as fact, because obviously, its..you know...perfect. I mean that in my premature, earthly skin and bones perspective...its backwards. Normally words like submission, surrender, obedience, discipline and sacrifice would easily be associated with "no thanks". These very words used to conjure up an anxiety attack in me. Literally. Because those words can all go back to the fact that its me releasing control. Again, no thanks. It seems like these things would hold us in bondage, smothering our zest for life and freedom.

I have found it to mean quite the contrary. In these verbs I find more freedom, relief, and a deep down contentment that I can't even explain. See? Backwards. It doesn't make sense unless I remember that I didn't create myself. (Duh). There's a God who created me to thrive on certain things, to desire certain things. He programmed in me certain results according to certain actions. The enemy may have manipulated my mind and disconnected my perspective, but my soul lies deeply tied to its Creator. So my mind, being manipulated and disconnected, is freaking out in one of those "what-the-hell-are-you-doing" moments, while my soul is screaming "YES!". While my mind is reeling with heartache, my soul is soaking up the comfort of Jesus. Though my heart may feel deserted and forsaken, my soul runs the race, knowing what is at the end. Trusting that He knows me better than I know myself releases me to feel everything with hope. Pain suddenly has a purpose. Discipline loses its legality and becomes a form of affection.

So in my soul's deepest desire to know Jesus, to be like Him, to make my home in that Alice in Wonderland sense of backwardness, I submit to his teachings, even when they don't make sense. I surrender to the pain, even when its killing me, I obey when I'm angry, I sacrifice when I think its my right. I accept the grueling labor of life, trusting that the final push will grant me complete joy and Him complete glory.

All of this has me camped out in Psalm 119:65-72. You know Psalm 119...that ridiculously long chapter that really makes me wonder if David was on a Biblical version of speed. Or he just thought way too much. Or, maybe like me, he went almost a year without writing and then exploded all at once. (uh...sorry) Either way, the reason its so long is because its an acrostic! The Hebrew alphabet has 22 letters in it, and so David decided he was going to write eight verses for each letter.

Show off.

Also, each section (letter) has a common theme, some even use the same word in ever verse. Its cute, isn't it? Like when the little kids perform songs describing Jesus through the alphabet. Actually, I wonder what David would have been like as a kid. Was he the type to steal the other kids goldfish crackers? Or maybe he was the little boy on the front row of the choir that, ahem, "sang"...loudly.

Anyway, in the "Teth" part (65-72) David starts out almost every verse with the word "good". John Piper breaks down the translation of the verses like this:

65: Good (tov) you did, Yahweh, with your servant according to your word.
66: Good (tov) discernment and knowledge, teach me, because in your commandments I trust.
67: Before I was afflicted I erred, but now I keep your word.
68: Good (tov) you are and you cause good to happen, teach me your statutes.
69: Smear upon me lies, so do the proud, but I with all my heart watch your precepts.
70: Gross like fat is their heart, I delight in your instruction.
71: Good for me (tov li) it was that I was afflicted, so that I might learn your statutes.
72: Good for me (tov li) the instruction of your mouth, more than thousands of gold and silver pieces.

Verse 71 gets me. ESV says "It is good for me that I was afflicted, that I might learn your statues." This means that the statues, the disciplines, the teachings of God must be pretty dang awesome. It's one thing to say yeah ok I'll endure this affliction. It's another to call it good. This is so challenging. I immediately start asking myself, "Do I think his discipline is worth the affliction? Or do I avoid the affliction for fear of the discomfort? Do I tolerate it or do I crave its worth and call it good?" Hmm....

Goes back to the backwardness. When it comes down to it, I want to be like a child. Those are the ones Jesus welcomed and made examples of. The little babies, completely dependent on someone for food, shelter, protection and provision. I'm convinced this is where I will find the most freedom. In my soul, in my marriage, and eventually in my family. I mean really, what other hope is there?

So what does all that have to do with marriage? Everything. And, thank God it does.

I'm still alive!

2009-06-05T14:09:00.003-05:00

Hello readers. I am, in fact, still alive. Just going through a writers block of sorts. A lot of new things going on and not quite enough time or brain power to process things into words. Don't worry I'll be back eventually with all my young opinions and ironic happenings. Until then, I wanted to share with y'all a couple of business projects I've started. I've been doing flowers for weddings for a couple of years now, but my photography passion is somewhat recent. Actually, the passion has been there for years but the resources, equipment and clients have been more recent! Ha!

Anyway, check it out...

www.keriduckettphotography.blogspot.com

and...

www.TheLeopardOrchid.blogspot.com

Blood on Loan

2009-03-14T16:00:00.001-05:00

Wrestling and fighting

hoping and dying

beaten and broken but my heart's still trying

to beat on its own

this blood that's on loan

pumping through veins that are killing the bone

Self destruction

it begs for decay

3-2-1 better get outta the way

before the blast off

dignity is cast off

a whispered prayer can't turn the past off

You wanna make it

think you can fake it

maybe you can but your heart can't take it

it'll beat on its own

this blood that's on loan

pumping through veins that are killing the bone

What happens in Vegas....

2009-01-17T02:04:00.002-06:00

Well, we've been up since 5:30am. It's now 2:15am (Texas time). We're in Las Vegas visiting our best friends Aaron and Morgan. We're also attending/teaching/leading worship at a conference on student church planting. Some really exciting things have happened since 5:30 this morning including, but not limited to, waking up late, almost missing our flight, getting free airline tickets instead, getting to flat out sharing the gospel with the guy sitting next to me, and some hardcore (and I mean hardcore) worship leading.

All this to say, in keeping with the ever endearing Keri blog fashion, a detailed update of the trips happenings will come soon. Unfortunately, I'm approaching the 24-hour mark and nonsensical words are about to explode all over this blog.

Check back soon. Otherwise, you're missing some good stories.

Love.

The D's.

Midnight. Coffee. Community. Questions.

2008-12-29T01:50:00.005-06:00

Community. It's quite the buzz word these days, isn't it? I've followed blogs on it. Read a handful of books. I even heard Oprah talking about it. What seems to be an easy and glamorous concept is the very thing that woke me up at midnight, drug me out of bed, convinced me to turn the coffee pot on and landed me here. Once again, wrestling. Defining. Challenging. Celebrating. From Oprah to Claiborne to me, community has many different faces. All seem to share a certain togetherness and common goal towards good, but somehow I doubt that my community has much in common with Oprah's.

Read Wikipedia's definition of community real quick. Intentions, beliefs, resources, preferences, needs, and my favorite, risks. These things, shared in common, create an identity of those in the community. It's safe to say this definition is a pretty good blanket description that both Oprah, myself and everyone in between can shake our heads to. Which leads me to ask, what is community to me? What has it been? What will it become? Even better, what is it leading to? And why on earth do I keep going? If you've ever read anything on this blog you know that once I start asking questions you had better grab a cup of coffee yourself and prepare for a read…

In sorting through these questions, I have to first paint a picture of what community looks like for me. There is a group of people that I claim as community. It's hard to explain, but these are people I do life with. For me, physically living in community plays a big part. Think about it this way… Normally people are categorized as family and then friends. Family are the people who are a part of you. I would even say they're a part of your identity. You can't think about or define yourself without thinking of them. Then you have friends. Friends are the ones that are on the outside of you. A part of your life, as opposed to a part of you. The eleven of us that are closely scattered in this neighborhood, and even a few that live 20 minutes away, aim to function as a family. These precious people have become a part of me. I don't have to plan to see them, it just happens. Whether I'm doing laundry or taking a walk, they somehow intertwine naturally into my daily life. Four girls share the house downstairs and Sam is moving a few houses down from them. Jeremiah and I cozily fit into an oversized garage apartment behind the girls. Tom and Marsha live a street south of us and the Hatchers live a street north. Add in a few people who basically live here anyway, and that's my family. We only have two nights a week that we "plan" to be together, yet somehow we all see each other almost every day out of the week. We joke about how a few days can go by without spending time together and our skin starts to crawl. These friends are not a part of my life, they are a part of me.

It all started when a few of us read a book called the Irresistible Revolution. The author has been a part of a "missional community" (side note: love this definition of missional community aside from the emergent church part) for over 10 years. Reading of all their adventures stirred in us a desire to do the same. Lord, we had no clue what we were getting ourselves into. First, we moved to this inner city neighborhood in East Ft. Worth. We had lead feet and bid dreams to take over the neighborhood and see everyone rolling around in the love of Jesus. Hah. Apparently we had (and have) a lot to learn about community.

Four of us girls moved into a two bedroom apartment with one tiny bathroom and an infamous 110lb panty eating Labrador. We'd all had roommates before, but this was different. We signed commitments to each other to walk as people of the scriptures. This means when issues come up, we deal with them according to the standards Christ sets for us. We pursue love (aka selflessness). We extend grace. We practice being second. We force ourselves to communicate when we'd rather sulk. We refuse to gossip (this was, is, and might always be the hardest one). We extend and receive accountability. A little different than a college dorm room, wouldn't you say? It has proved to be the hardest, greatest, ugliest and most gorgeous endeavor.

In my little experience in both community and marriage, I have to say that the two are very, very much alike. In fact, I don't see how people make it in a marriage without previously living with other people (And by living, I mean intentionally pursuing all things mentioned above, not just simply residing. Oh, and I also mean with the same sex friends…disclaimer). A close friend of mine was sharing some of her own questioning with me the other day. It had to do with marriage and why the heck people do it. And, she's happily married! Her point is that when a right and intimate marriage is pursued, things become hard and uncomfortable. When selflessness is demanded of a selfish heart, things get grueling. When patience is demanded from a quick temper, it gets tough. So, why do we do it? There are a lot of reasons that involve romance and love and earthly comfort, but for those of us that believe and trust the scriptures, deep down, maybe even subconsciously, we do it because our soul craves sanctification. We want to be closer to the One lover we have, and this lifestyle pushes us closer to him. The only hope for a selfish and impatient heart is to fall to the floor and beg for the Holy Spirit's overtaking.

Living in community is no different for me. To be honest, these people drive me up an ever living wall sometimes. It would sure be easier to treat them like friends. To see them once a week and "catch up" on life. To only let them in on the areas I want them to know about. To hide my own darkness and frankly, to avoid having to deal with theirs. To turn my eye when they're headed for trouble or to convince them I'm ok when I'm not. It would be easier for them to be a part of my life, so why do I choose for them to be a part of me? Simple. They push me onto Jesus. I think there's a reason the scriptures show the first Church living in community and sharing their lives with one another.

The three girls that lived with me put up with the Beast I called my dog for eight months. Eight whole months of barking at 4am, undergarments being eaten and pooped out whole, belongings being destroyed and messes being made. Yet everyday, if they got home before I did, they would get him out of his kennel and risk their own bones to be drug downstairs so he could go out. They definitely didn't do it out of love for the dang dog, but rather out of love for me. Most of the time they wanted to kill the dog, and some of the time they wanted to kill me, but all of the time they sacrificed their own murderous desires and chose to be second. They chose to serve me in that way. And I can guarantee you they had to beg the Holy Spirit for patience.

The thing is, it doesn't stop at sanctification. As awful and uncomfortable and hard as it gets, there is something to be said for security. Think about marriage again. Why do we do it? Almost every reason I can think of goes back to security. Jeremiah and I are passionate people. When we love, we love hard. And when we fight, we fight hard. But I'm learning that my dark side can rear its ugly head and come to life all it wants but this man is determined to love me through it. Now that just feels good, doesn't it? I know the same goes for my community. No matter how dark my past, or how wicked my present, or how hopeless my future seems, I am safe with them. They are committed to me. It makes everything worth it. There are times that we have talked until the wee hours of morning because we're determined not to let the sun go down on our anger. We've all received phone calls in the middle of the night. We've all used each others stuff or eaten each others food. We've left messes and we've cleaned messes. We've all given. We've all taken. It's okay. It's safe.

The funny thing about security is it allows us to walk in freedom. We can dream up crazy things, we can pursue the outlandish. We can try and we can fail. We can have energy or be burnt out. Security allows us to fearlessly walk in our identity, our "calling" per say. When I'm not concerned with pleasing other people, I'm not scared to let the Lord move me in different directions. This brings in the "missional" aspect of community. If we are all walking in freedom and can spend less time pleasing each other and more time pleasing Jesus, then we are bound to have our hearts broken for the poor and hurting around us. The more we practice loving each other, the more we get in tune with what the Spirit is doing, the more we become a part of His pursuit of the people in our neighborhood who don't know Him. Right? And what happens when those steps get out of order? Well, we figured that out the hard way too, but that's a whole 'nother blog. Let's just say that we learned we can't love and serve the poor, broken and lost when we don't even know what it means to love and serve each other.

It's obviously getting later (err, earlier?) because one page just turned into four and my screen is full of little red and green squiggly lines. (Paige and Nancy will have to edit this later)

These are my thoughts on community. This is what it means to me, what its been, what its leading to and why I choose it.

If everything in your life is comfortable, I'm afraid you're in a dangerous place. In case you haven't noticed, everything about the gospel is kind of backwards. So, the things that make us squirm in our seats are actually the things that will keep us alive while the comfy cozy things mask our dying souls. Are the people in your life simply a part of it, or have you allowed them to be part of you? Have you become a part of them? How would our perspective change if we were walking in security and freedom? Hit that little comment button and talk it out. I'm curious…

Because Blonde's Don't Necessarily Have All the Fun

2008-12-17T20:42:00.004-06:00

What Do You Think?

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-14T23:31:00.001-06:00

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Our first...and second...Christmas Tree!

2008-12-08T20:29:00.004-06:00

We, the Ducketts, live through every holiday or event just like everyone else. Granted, ours normally have an added dose of mishap, sarcasm or just downright silliness.

Let's see, there's my attempt at baking which ended in black bottomed muffins and something that looked like wet dog food gone bad. There was the second attempt at baking which actually succeeded only to be dropped all over the living room floor. (I guess I never blogged about that. Full story coming soon). We have video proof of my nervous husband with his hands cupping (yes, cupping) my lovely behind as he asked me to marry him. There's the three (yes, three) times we locked our key in the room on our honeymoon and had to beg the lobby for forgiveness. Let's not forget the chickens that are stinking up my bathroom as we speak (err, type?). Oh, the time Jeremiah got his car stolen (ok, guess that's not exactly funny). Me, locking my keys in the car and being too prideful to ask for help, resulting in an accidentally busted window. Recently, we went to the lake to roast marshmallows but couldn't find a place to light a fire and ended up roasting them on a cigarette lighter. The day before Thanksgiving I almost burnt the house down and at lunch on T-day an elderly friend threw up all over the table. Humorous. Disastrous. But, never boring. I wonder what Christmas has in store for us...

Well, while other little girls were dreaming about their big puffy white wedding dress and two boxes of china, there was always this one thing that excited me the most about marriage. The first Christmas! With the day finally here, we set off to buy our first Christmas tree. We spent the morning cleaning and rearranging to make a place for it. We drove to a Christmas tree lot that's only there during the holidays. They had the big lights strung everywhere and it was almost like walking through a Christmas tree forest! But let me tell you, these people were mighty proud of their dang trees that they probably chopped down and loaded in the time it would take to yell "timberrrrr". The smallest, shaggiest one we could find was still around 60 big ones. Uh, no thank you. Newlyweds, here.

I thought I remembered hardware stores having live trees so we headed to Lowes. Cheapest one-20 bucks. And that was for a 6-7 footer! We picked out our tree-wait, maybe I should rephrase that. I kindly and sweetly asked my husband to show me just about every single one of the dumb trees until finally I had them all so confused I just closed my eyes and picked one.

My smart husband wanted to put it inside our little Explorer. I argued, of course. Everyone else straps theirs on top! And if its inside then it will get all squished and mangled! So on top it went. Fast forward a few minutes. We're driving down hwy 121, fighting mall traffic, when all of a sudden it sounds like Santa's reindeer are landing on our roof.

BABOOMPH.

I didn't realize what happened until a few curse words later. There she was. Our first marital tree, innocently lying helpless in the right hand lane. She was only helpless for two seconds though, then

BABOOMPH,

BABOOMPH

...as cars started slamming their big 'ol tires over her. She flipped and flopped until nothing was left but the trunk and a few branches. First was shock. Then was me trying to convince my husband it was NOT a good idea to run out onto the highway in hopes of recovery. Then came the laughs. Of course. Why wouldn't something like this happen?? Ahhhh, I still laugh thinking about it. What a great story to tell the kids. Jeremiah, unfortunately, still has a hard time seeing the humor in it all. We contemplated building a tree with leaves from the front yard and Elmer's glue, but then decided to just go back to Lowe's and pick up another one.

And so the story goes of our first...and second...marital Christmas Tree! And to think, Christmas isn't even here yet....

Worlds Collide: Two Stories of Adoption

2008-11-17T20:27:00.006-06:00

This week's events have been quite the pendulum. Swinging so easily from one extreme to the other. Not giving care or thought to its method yet somehow forcing time on earth to slide forward. And when the hour strikes, oh the sound...

This summer, a friend of mine had her routine sonogram done. Is it a boy? Nope. Is it a girl? Yes...two of them! These precious twins were conjoined at the chest, sharing a tiny beating heart. Doctors explored options, but because their heart was missing some major ventricles, hope apart from a miracle was not offered. On Tuesday night, at 32 weeks, Melody Joy and Madison Hope were born breathing. An hour later, their breathing ceased and their purpose had been served.

Saturday, I attended a reception held by some other friends of mine. Why? They had just adopted three little girls and were throwing a part in their honor.

As I walked into that room full of decorations and pictures, my heart felt as though it would burst. These three girls: Angel, Mary and Zulu had been adopted, taken into, chosen! I can't and honestly don't want to try to imagine what these girls have seen, heard and felt in their short lives. They weren't wanted. They were either given up or taken away. Yet now, they are wanted. Now they have a Mom who will put a band-aid on their skinned knee and blow so it doesn't sting. They have a Daddy who will let them dance on his feet. They have brothers who will hug and love on them. They are wanted. Not only are they wanted, but a party is thrown to celebrate just how wanted they are! Their new parents invited all their friends and secured a reception room. They bought a whole bunch of food and had a huge cake decorated. They set up tables and put together slideshows. All of this was done to celebrate adoption. To celebrate that what once was lost has now been found. That what once was ignored has now been treasured. Three lives that have a distorted, or even absent, view of "family" are adopted into family.

C'mon y'all, please tell me this sounds familiar! Isn't this the very thing that Jesus has done for us? What the father did for the prodigal son? Don't we have pasts that have left us broken and ignored? Don't we have something deep in our souls that was born wicked and unwanted? The scriptures say that as we lie in a pool of our own blood, unwanted, rebellious and forgotten...He died so that we could be adopted (Keri's paraphrase). He orchestrated a plan so great, he arranged the details, he planned a celebration. Why?

Because He wants us.

Read that again. Let it marinate your mind.

He.

Wants.

You.

Maybe you're a goody-two-shoe. It's ok, I won't judge you. Maybe you've never experienced the sting of dirt in your eyes or the taste of mud in your mouth.

I, however, am much in need of redemption. I am wicked at my core and the fact that there is a man, a Creator, that not only wants me, but is celebrating my adoption?

The pendulum of my soul strikes that fateful hour.

Today I watched as a two foot long white box was lowered into the ground. Bare voices sang the soul stirring lyrics of "It Is Well" as a plain-like man clad in dirty jeans, a ball-cap and workers gloves shoveled dirt over what we knew of two babies. That's really it, isn't it? We live. We breathe. And eventually, whether it be an hour later or 80 years later, our breathing will cease and dirt will be shoveled over out hollow bodies.

I can't help but imagine the dwellers of Heaven preparing the same sort of feast for the adoption of Madison and Melody into their family. A party to celebrate their arrival home. A celebration for two purposes well served. Jesus comes to the middle of the room and whistles, grabbing everyone's attention. Beaming with a Daddy's pride he introduces the newest members of the heavenly realm. His creations. His daughters: Melody and Madison. Finally home. I bet it seemed like forever to Him.

Joy.

Sorrow.

Earth.

Heaven.

Each is in our DNA. Each makes up our being.

And the pendulum swings...

You know ,the funny thing is that there is this marriage that happens between grief and beauty. As I have grieved, and as I've watched M&M's parent's grieve, it is evident we cannot do so without at the very same time being overwhelmed with the tenderness of Jesus. I should be questioning, I know. I should be asking, "why?!". Yet every tear has come hand in hand with a sense of rest. Like Vanessa (mom) said today, "God did not make a mistake when he created Melody and Madison".

There is this aspect of what I believe that may be hard to understand. It seems like it would make life more complicating or painful, yet it has done just the opposite.

I trust the sovereignty of Christ. I trust that He is good, that He has promised me eventual joy, and I choose to give myself to His Way. I have chosen this because I have tasted otherwise, and I believe my soul was created to be loved by Him.

I think there is a false sense of Christianity in America that implies coming to Jesus is all about us. If we obey Him, we will be blessed. We follow him because He makes us feel better. If we want heaven, we better submit. I. Me. My.

The problem I have with this is...well...the Bible. Time and time again things do not end the way they were expected to. (Joseph, Job, John the Baptist, Jesus...) At the same time, we are promised that it's worth it. I have chosen to believe it's worth it. Things have been a little easier since I made this choice. Not easier in the sense that things are less painful or grueling, but easier in the sense that I know its not in vain. Easier in that I don't have to question why, I can just trust that the why has an answer. Whether I ever know the answer or not, its not about me. I know it will be answered. If I am serving Christ so that He can keep my life from tragedy than really all I am concerned about is myself. My feelings. Idolatry, anyone?

Life happens. Tragedy strikes. Things end badly, sometimes. It doesn't hurt any less or break our hearts any softer, but He is enough. He sustains us. That, my friends, is the difference. He. Is. Enough. In the midst of groaning. In the midst of tears streaming down our face. He sustains us.

I have never buried my child. I have never watched my spouse go through surgery. I have not had parents neglect me. There are circumstances and emotions in which hope cannot be assured to me. I simply haven't been there.

But I've seen parents bury their child. I've watched a man await his wife's groggy awake from surgery. I've seen a dear friend lose the lady closest to him. Vicariously, I hope. He has been enough for them. He will be enough for me. He has sustained them. He will sustain me.

There is a line of a song written by some friends of mine: "It's a long, straight uphill climb where all the grief and pleasure intertwine. Oh, drink it down like a bottle of perfect wine."

Something about grief stirs my soul to worship Jesus. There is a place so deep that only He can communicate with. Maybe that's why He created it. Grief, that is. Maybe we must grieve in order to be comforted. And, maybe His comfort is so satisfying that the grief is worth it.

So, the clock lets out a ring as if to celebrate the two extremes of emotion and I can't help but be so grateful for adoption. Earthly. Heavenly. Me. You. Melody. Madison. Angel, Mary, Zulu. We are all wanted, right?

Thank you, Jesus.

(Many of these thoughts were sparked from a sermon by Matt Chandler called "Hope in Real Life". Check it out on the podcast)

Jingling and Mingling and Contemplating Happy Pills

2008-11-08T13:55:00.001-06:00

There are certain elements in which certain people feel comfortable. This we know. None is better or worse than the other, but can be excruciatingly awkward for one while highly enjoyable for another. I’m sure you’re begging for examples.

Ahem. For example… I love pubs. Good ‘ol live music, beer varieties, and a group of rough-around-the-edges people who are there to actually appreciate the taste of beer rather than just inhale it. All of life’s dirty imperfections seem to collide into each other and make us all human. Many people I know would be completely out of their element here. You know, they’d be “that” guy that’s subliminally coughing in the corner and telling people that they’ll die an early death due to lung cancer. I, however, find a sense of peace and enjoyment in this atmosphere.

Which brings me to my next example. Let me describe an element that has me running for the underside of a table. 400 women. Enough said there. But, add church pews, Christmas colored tulle, crafts and name tags and its like teasing a claustrophobic trapped in an elevator.

Oh, who am I kidding. Truth be told this isn’t a mere example. Let’s just get to the story.

Apparently every year the Duckett women (all of them) attend First Baptist Church of Hurst’s annual “Jingle and Mingle”. When invited I could think of a hundred reasons not to go, but there were two reasons TO go that outweighed all my fears. One, I really enjoy time with this family. They are awesome and insane. But the good kind of insane. The kind that makes you feel at home and can keep you laughing all night long. Two, I was not about to be the only woman in the family that didn’t go. I’m sure the art on my skin and the metal on my face already raises enough eyebrows. (Not from any of the Ducketts, though. They love me- art, metal and all!) So, I did what any loving and respectful daughter would do and forced my mother to go with me. I had to bribe her with some pre-mingle margaritas but hey, whatever works, right?

Somewhere between the “Love Train” quartet and the introduction of the word “fantabulous” I decided that this, my friends, is beyond my element. After we learned the ten steps to keeping the Christ in Christmas, we made our way to the fellowship hall to shop the craft booths. It is amazing to me what women will pay for painted wood with handwritten quotes on them. We (the family) decided next year we’re going to have our own booth and make millions. I’m still trying to convince them to donate the proceeds the Newlywed Duckett fund.

After our fellowship hall shopping extravaganza we snacked on some finger foods and things dipped in chocolate. As we made our way to a table I was so grateful there was a whole table open so we didn’t have to split up and talk with the “others”. See, Mom D’s been sick and so she barely has any voice left. Her sister Sherry had to interpret everything to us! A couple of times she got a little caught up in the interpreting process and starting translating to Mom D what WE were saying! Mom D replied “Sherry, I can still HEAR!”.

We ended the night at Starbucks to celebrate Sister D’s birthday over coffee and plot how we were going to make and create things to fill our “booth” (and our bank accounts?).

So. The whole 400 women packed in one room thing. Freaks me out. But, its not so bad when you have such great family to distract. And in case you’re wondering, I convinced them all to come with ME to the Ginger Man Pub tomorrow night! Ok, maybe that’s a lie…

Side note-it did get me thinking about things that stir our affections towards Jesus. Rather than fuss and worry over rules and restrictions, I am always asking myself what stirs my affections for Christ and what robs me of him. That’s what we want, right? To be stirred towards, to worship Him? It’s funny to me how a place like a pub (that could easily be thought of as sinful) would be a place that ironically stirs my affections for Jesus, while a church service would be the place that somewhat robs me. Hmm…..

I would like to thank deeply my Mom D, Sister D, Sister M, Aunt Sherry and Grandmom for being crazy and making me laugh. And of course thanks to my sanity, my partner in crime, my Margarita Momma for stickin’ it out with me.

The End.

New Blog!

2008-11-08T13:24:00.002-06:00

Dear Fellow Stalkers (C'mon, admit it. We all do it.),

After pointing many people to this blog to read about what we, as Intentional Gatherings Community are up to, I realize that many of you may not be as eager to hear about my Saturday excursions or baking mishaps. If you are, then by all means keep checking this blog! However, if you're just interested in what's going on in the hearts of our community, let me point you another direction...

www.FrontPorchConfessions.blogspot.com

This will be a place that I will post all of my blogs related to what Jesus has us wrestling through as a community. There will be posts from other people in our community and our hope is that it will be the start to lots of thinking, questioning, and worshipping.

I will, of course, continue to post everything here too, but it will be mixed in with mine and Jeremiah's everyday life happenings.

Stay tuned...

Lyrics

2008-10-22T16:29:00.002-05:00

A tune was in my head today and I found myself singing these words...

Bending and breaking has worn me of faking

The truest of colors take breath

Spinning and running has kept me from coming

To grips with my own ordained death

Who will pick up the pieces? The dirtiest job for the purest of hands.

Who will tend to the bruises? When cuts of their own have left their demand.

When darkness is fighting and light keeps on trying to push through my lying and

Set

free

So maybe when its all over I might know you a little closer

And you can tell me all the secrets of my soul’s deepest corners.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"CrackDown"

2008-10-16T09:48:00.000-05:00

Fort Worth cracking down on drug dealers near homeless shelters

By ALEX BRANCH
abranch@star-telegram.com

FORT WORTH — Colleen Guine is a homeless woman who smoked crack cocaine for five years but underwent drug treatment and a few months ago vowed to stay away from that poison.

If only it would stay away from her.

Streets and alleys in the homeless district are a gantlet of drug pushers preying on homeless people’s weaknesses and miseries with crack and heroin.

"You got to look straight ahead and keep walking," said Guine, who lives at the Presbyterian Night Shelter. "You can’t even stop."

As part of its plan to end chronic homelessness, the city of Fort Worth is clamping down on the bustling drug trade along the stretch of East Lancaster Drive near the homeless shelters. Since this summer, narcotics officers have tried to be in the area once a day, said Lt. Robert Rangel of the narcotics section.

The department wants to assign three narcotics officers to focus solely on the area.

Dealers are especially common on the 1st and 15th of every month, when homeless people are more likely to have received government assistance checks. Their point-blank, in-your-face presence has a devastating effect on homeless people who are enrolled in programs and making an honest effort to stay clean, advocates for the homeless say.

Carol Klocek, executive director of the Presbyterian Night Shelter, recalled a homeless woman who swore off drugs only to be harassed daily by a neighborhood dealer.

"He would follow her across the street saying: 'You know you want it. You’re one of us. Don’t act like you’re better than this,’ " Klocek said. "It got to the point where she told us she didn’t like leaving the shelter anymore. It was relentless."

'It’s better around here’

Not all homeless people have addictions: In a survey of Tarrant County’s 4,000 homeless people, 21 percent claimed to have a drug problem. However, 82 percent of those people said their drug use contributed to their homelessness.

Dealers come to the homeless district from other neighborhoods because they consider it a high-density area for customers, police said. Crack cocaine is the most commonly sold drug; one rock goes for $10.

"There are no shortage of drug dealers willing to take advantage of the situation," he said. "When we’re visible and make our first arrest, the rest of the dealers tend to pack up and move.

"The problem is, as soon as we have to move on to another area, they or someone else is back."

Shelter directors and some business owners say the summer crackdown has helped.

Kerry Brown, director of operations for S L S, an industrial labor center at Main Street and Vickery Boulevard, said his employees are no longer besieged by drug dealers after they are paid and head to the shelters.

"There is better awareness of the body language of a drug dealer," Brown said. "Our dispatchers here know how to spot it, and we reach out to police. It’s better around here."

Targeting addicts

Dealers don’t just wait outside day-labor centers; they try to pick off the homeless coming out of drug addiction treatment. Pine Street, an addiction treatment center, is in the homeless district.

Don Shisler, president of the Union Gospel Mission, said it is all too common to get a client straight out of rehab enrolled in a self-improvement program only to see him or her vanish into the drug-infused landscape.

"Some of it is their peer groups getting them involved right back in the same stuff," Shisler said. "You can’t imagine the pain and misery it all causes."

Neale Mansfield of the Feed by Grace program said that while keeping drugs off the street is a worthy goal, he would rather see that money steered toward treatment.

There aren’t enough treatment beds or after-care programs available to the homeless, he said.

Police crackdowns result in too many low-level street arrests, he said. Homeless people who are baited into carrying a dealers’ drugs are the ones getting caught.

"These dealers will get a homeless person to hold their dope for them or take it to a customer, and they’ll just stand down the street and watch," Mansfield said.

"When the cops show up, the homeless person gets arrested, not the dealer who brought in the drugs.

"They spend time in jail and then are right back out here," he said. "It’s a revolving door."

Soul Cravings

2008-10-16T09:05:00.006-05:00

This phrase has kind of been the "buzzword" in our community recently. It all started when Erwin McManus, author of "Soul Cravings", spoke at Northwood church a couple weeks ago. Here's some thoughts and truths that have stirred us...

In the oh-so-famous chapter of Ecclesiastes chapter 3 Solomon sums of life as laughing and crying, living and dying, working and playing, hurting and healing. A time for this, a time for that. Seems life really contradicts itself. I can relate to that, can't you? In verse 11 Solomon shares a promise that I have claimed and clung to many, many times. "He (God) has made everything beautiful in its time." Then, "Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." It means our souls were created with a craving for God. Ever had an itch that you couldn't seem to scratch? Like, no matter where you scratch the itch remains? Ever felt that same way in your Spirit? Like something deep inside of you is longing and desiring but you're not sure what for? Something Erwin kept saying that made so much sense to me is that its like our souls know something that our brains do not. So we have this desire, this craving deep within us, but our brains can't quite catch up to what it is. That's where the enemy comes in and tempts us with the temporary satisfaction because his worst fear is that we will grab hold of what it is that will truly satisfy us. Erwin questioned who it was that discovered it was water we were thirsty for? How many people died because they tried eating dirt to quench the dry craving in their mouth before somebody dipped their hands in the stream of water and drank deeply?

So, I've been asking myself, and now am asking you...

When our hearts seem thirsty or our soul feels that "itch", what will we choose? Time and time again I find myself in a pile of dirt thinking I've found the water. Sometimes, I even like the taste of the dirt better only to be left dying.

As a family, a community, we are experiencing a deep craving for Jesus. We are exploring what it looks like to train our brains to catch up to our souls. We don't want to live like he did only for our hearts to be far from him. The next few weeks (or however long it takes!) we will explore. We will question. We will challenge each other. We will search for the line between discipline and legalism. We want more of Jesus.

You, as always, are welcome to join us. In our home, in your own home, with us in flesh or with us in spirit...jump in!

Great Affection

2008-09-29T01:16:00.003-05:00

The phone on the nightstand rang a few minutes ago. The spanish accented man on the other line so easily said, "Hello Mrs. Duckett", as if this had been my name forever.

That's right y'all, I am now Mrs. Duckett! My precious husband is slumbering next to me and though the clock reading 2:08am is enticing me to join him, I must write. I must expel this warm passion in my gut for fear otherwise of spiritual intoxication. Our wedding was one of the most intimate times of worship that we have ever experienced. The way the legs of our souls seemed to twist and tangle around one another in the bed of the Holy Spirit was like seeing Beauty at her best.

We were warned that it would go quickly, that we would head out hungry in a haze of post-wedding blur. But we begged the Lord for a different experience. We wanted to drink in every moment at that altar and remember every word said. We wanted to dine amongst our guests both literally and metaphorically speaking. We wanted to be in the moment rather than be swept away by the winds of adrenaline.

All I can say is, Jesus Christ is faithful. From the moment we stepped foot on those grounds (two days before the wedding), everything was smooth and for the most part stress free. As ceremony time crept closer, we both experienced a sense of reality. All of our senses were on and eager to indulge in the sweetest of memories. As I walked down the aisle towards this man it was as if my soul was walking the concrete corridors headed to a feast.

To the altar. Who gives this bride? Changing of guard. Authority shifted. Tearful leaving. Vulnerable cleaving. Depths awaken, preparing to mingle. A feast, indeed.

The worship that followed in the form of prayer, communion, promises and intentions was readily available for our logical minds to cling tight to. Every moment I remember... Every sound still echoes... Like the look in Aaron's eyes as he challenged us on to "mutual submission". The quiver in my husband's lip as he vowed his eyes to me. The sound of the birds chirping as though they were cheering with the angels for our new union. The water sliding its way down the rocks and making its debut into sound as it splashed against the bottom. My closest soulmates to the left of me. Our irreplaceable families to the right. At one point I remember making eye contact with several people surrounding us as if to celebrate this one thing: "I'm here. Right here, in this moment. In every way possible for one to be in a moment, such am I. I'm drinking it in, baby".

The few days following that sacred event have been everything I wanted and nothing I expected. You know, I talk a lot about being the hands and feet of Jesus, but its always been from an outside view. This person being the hands of Jesus to that person. Yet when the hands and feet I speak of are serving ME...phew...what a revelation. The sweet spirit of God has used the selflessness of my closest family to carve in a deeper understanding of his passion and zeal for me. The mercy my husband has had on me and his desire to care for me at any and all costs reminds me that there is no depth or height, no bag heavy enough or cut deep enough, that can separate me from the tender affections of my Creator.

My heart's desire if that you too, would know this great affection.

Remembering November

2008-09-15T16:04:00.005-05:00

I'm sitting at the bottom of the stairs outside my apartment. I've carefully nestled myself at the corner of the concrete step in a Keri-sized patch of shade as if it was made for me and this moment. The coolness in the air and the ability to enjoy this spot without having to wipe the sweat from my brow takes me back to ten months ago when I first moved here. It was in November, so it got pretty chilly off and on, but during the warmth we spent our new days in the East side sitting on the porch doing a bunch of dreaming. It's so hard to believe we have been here nearly a year. Everything reminds me of then. The musky, disgusting smell of the ancient carpet that clings to our outdoor staircase is actually somewhat comforting to me.

I love the way our neighbors have slowly crept their way back out to their front porches. School season means yellow buses passing by and students walking home. One of my favorite memories happened a couple days after we moved in. We were upstairs in the living room with the windows open, arranging furniture and settling in. We could hear little girls laughing hysterically followed by a crunching sound. We looked out the window and across the street a family had scattered all the coke cans they had collected onto their front yard. Four precious little girls giggled to no end as they jumped around, smashing the cans. Such simplicity.

So here I am, just shy of a year later, arranging furniture in the same apartment and looking through the same window. Sitting in this same spot with the same weather. Funny though, how almost nothing is the same as in November...

Fall, Change, Baking and China

2008-09-03T09:41:00.003-05:00

When summer begins, sweaters and scarves are the absolute last things on my mind. I swear up one side and down the other that I will never grow tired of sun, swimsuits and sunglasses.

But, my friends, all it took was a few brisk winds, courtesy of Gustav, and I'm packing up the summer clothes. Well, metaphorically speaking. Anyone in Texas who actually packs away seasonal clothes has obviously never lived here before and doesn't have any friends yet who will slap them upside the head.

Anyway, I know this whole hurricane thing is scary and disastrous. Devastating to some, I'm sure. But nonetheless it has drug me into a place of craving change. Change in weather, change in role, change in roommate. Yessss. That's right. In case you missed the memo. Perhaps I forgot to tell you (hah). The winds of Autumn are swirling me up a husband!! Awesome.

So, c'mon fall! Winter-you can take your time. We all know how cranky I get when I'm freezing cold. I don't exactly enjoy wearing five layers of shirts every day. Come October I will lie on the vast beaches of Mexico and drink it in with hopes of returning to the Lone Star State with a somewhat-ish tan that I can cover up with jackets and scarves. Gosh I love scarves.

I'm ready for Autumn. And change. And wifely stuff. You know...cooking and...baking...and trying to get used to the antique china we got as a wedding gift (it freaks me out). The women in my family keep assuring me its just "glass". But I think its china. I'm convinced they are just saying that to comfort my nerves. Whatever it is, its definitely not my flowerdy plates I got at the dollar store. Who cares if you break a dollar store plate, right? But this??? Its a family tradition. So with each piece that slips through my hands and shatters on our wood floors, I can't help but feel like a piece of heritage dies with it.
Its just glass. Its just glass. Its just glass.
Maybe I'll get one of those cabinet things that displays it ever so delicately so all can see how beautiful my untouched china is. But don't get your hopes up. You're eating off dollar store plates, buddy.

That is my rant. About fall, change, baking and china.

Until next time...

Thank you, Saturday

2008-08-30T19:42:00.002-05:00

I woke up this morning to a text message from my ever faithful, former roommate.

It read, "Hey girl, so it looks like about every other house on like five streets around my house is having garage or estate sales so you might want to come look"

I seemingly skipped over my morning phase that normally requires answering internal questions such as "where am I?", "what time is it", "did I oversleep?" and rolled outta bed to get my garage sale groove on. I had stayed the night at my parents so it was time to wake up my partner in crime. Mom-guess what??

That's about the only thing that will get my mom up before noon on a Saturday (and it was 9:30, thank you).

So off we went. But not without getting coffee first. Lord knows I can't function without it. (I know, I know...don't judge me) All of a sudden my body realizes its morning and decides to go on strike. Sore throat. Headache. Dizziness. Great....just what I need.

After making a pit stop to my trusty chiropractor and loading up on some sort of cherry flavored herb filled chewable things (he knows how much I hate swallowing pills), we were ready.

We were expecting a few garage sales. But seriously, it was six blocks of literally every other house having a garage sale. Antiques galore. I especially enjoy estate sales in these quaint neighborhoods because you get to go inside these grand old houses and take a look around. The wood floors, the sliding doors, the built in cabinets and secret cubby holes. They just ooze with a story.

Shockingly, we didn't buy anything. Well, I tried once. There was a fabulous tree statue that had little colorful glass birds on it. Mom, of course, thought it was hideous and was appalled that I actually wanted to pay money for it. Come to find out, it wasn't for sale. Dang it.

There are a couple other things we wanted but the "bargaining" won't happen til tomorrow. So we'll go back and see if we can make a deal.

By the time we were done I was fading fast. We picked up some lunch and headed home. And I haven't moved off the couch since. Thank the Lord Almighty for CSI marathons.

What a Saturday. Stay tuned.

Sweet Sanctification

2008-08-26T15:09:00.007-05:00

One month away from marriage and I'm already learning this one thing. Sanctification. The grueling, pride stripping, beautiful process of becoming more like Jesus. Not only actively striving against sin, but even against the "things that so easily entangle us". The morally neutral things. The things that hide behind acceptable masks and seductively sink my soul deeper into my own self.

Here is this man. A physical, tangible reminder of Christ's grace on my mess. Arms that hold me when I want to run. A voice to sing over my hurting heart. This man and my Creator have something in common. They have both been called to me. Neither will leave. Neither will forsake. Both will love me no matter what my state, but neither will let me stay that way.

I believe there is an end to one's journey. An end result, that is. Everything that happens along the way is molding and shaping us for this end result. What blows my mind is that Jesus...He is enough. His Spirit, His presence...it's enough for me. He has the power to be all that I could ever need. Though not tangible, he doesn't need help communicating his love to me. After all, He is the controller of my emotions!

BUT because he loves me so much, and He loves to see me romanced and pursued, He created this man to be his surrogate lover. Not because I needed a tangible force, but because it is his gift to me!! He called this man to my side to journey with me on to that end result.

I want to boast in Jesus and the gift he's given me...

After a year of school and just a month away from marriage and graduation, "stressed" was an understatement. It was time for an intervention! I sent him off to a hotel in Dallas to enjoy some alone-time with Jesus...but what relaxing day doesn't begin with fishing??

our dinner date in Dallas where I had the fanciest version of a grilled cheese ever!

I had to set his room up and hurry my butt outta there before he showed up!

Flowers he brought me to work last week just because I was having a stressful day...

So, as you can see, I'm a grateful gal. Jesus is so good.

Pencils, Paper, Pens, Oh My!

2008-08-21T19:35:00.007-05:00

Hey y'all. Gotta be quick because I've got a group of innocent friends downstairs waiting for me to kick their butts in Phase Ten.

We just wrapped up our first ever Back to School Party in our neighborhood! We did this because we wanted to get to know the kids and parents and share with them that we will be offering homework help once a week in our front yard. We also realize how absurdly expensive school supplies are so we wanted to make that a little easier.

(maybe next year we'll be slightly more organized)

We had talked to several mom's earlier that day saying they would be there for the free school supplies. I was really concerned people would just show up to get their free stuff and be gone before we could even learn their names. It's tricky serving in these ways because we DO NOT want to be labeled those "Christian" people who have money and donate things. We'll pass on the good Samaritan patch, thank you. I was pleasantly surprised that our yard stayed full of mostly the same people for almost an hour and a half! People stayed! Just to hang out! My friend Chris had the brilliant idea of bringing crayons and paper out to give them something to do. Derrr.

So, one minute I'm unloading school supplies and the next minute our yard (and living room) is full of sweet babies and mommas and even a few dad's! Whether they were slurping their Capri Sun, shoving cookies in their teeny little mouths or comparing colored folders, I just wanted to squeeze them all until their cute little eyeballs pop out. Ok, sorry, that was weird. I know. They just melt my heart, y'all.

Anyway, I would say about 50 scrumptious small hands walked away with a bag of school supplies. And new friends, maybe? And definitely some refrigerator-worthy art.

The point is, we know names. We know stories. Now, when we walk, we can say "Hey Sandra, how's baby Sasha?" instead of just a good-intentioned wave. Mission freakin' accomplished. The Lord is so faithful. Really. He is. He's the one who ordained all this, anyway. He's just letting us join in the fun. A fact for which I am so, so grateful!

Here's some more pictures of the fun...

Pray. Meet. Love. Repeat.

2008-08-21T09:13:00.000-05:00

Today finds my heart a mess. The Holy Spirit has been stirring and cultivating this burden in some of us. It's a burden for the hurting, yes. A burden for the many, many people who go to bed hungry or wake up hopeless. Recently, though, reality has set in a little deeper. As we drive the streets of our own neighborhood, our own home, we are faced with these people. We see children playing in the streets and can't help but know the enemy's plan to have them ruined by their teenage years. We see women bearing bruises. Instead of that fresh cut grass you normally smell in summertime, we usually smell a different kind of plant...

Please don't hear me wrong. I am not complaining about where I live. I have chosen, and daily choose to reside here, to invest here. Not only to park my car and sleep here, but to truly LIVE here. I believe in change for these families. I believe the harvest here is beyond plentiful and the workers are extremely few. I assume it is a lot like a marriage. Many times its messy and difficult. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes you don't know if you're going to make it. But wouldn't you leave? Absolutely not. Is it worth it? Every single second.

Last month, the man who will be my husband in 36 days had a gun pointed in his face right outside our house. They stole our stuff. It's just stuff though. It cost us way too much money to get our stuff back, (thanks city of Fort Worth) but in the end...it's just stuff. Our world hasn't fallen apart and we're not going hungry. Jeremiah knew these guys were young, a fact which fueled my passion for salvation amongst the younger generation that surrounds us. Last night, however, we found out more. One was 19-years old. The other, only 15. 15?!? What is that, like ninth grade? IF that? Not only did they point a gun at Jeremiah, but in their rampage of repeated robberies they shot two people, killing one. Talk about being grateful for life spared. I am convinced this 19-year old, Juan, is where he is because of what shaped him when he was 15. This 15-year old, who's even too young to have his name released, is where he is because of what shaped him when he was 5.

C'mon y'all. Why are we ok with this? Why do we simply pity the next generation and say a blanket "bless em'" prayer? How can we rest knowing we pass by these desperate-to-be- loved people and offer a shallow smile?

I have a job and bills to pay just like the rest of us. Even with all this pent up passion I know that I am not in a place where I can devote fully my time in these people. But God help me if I ever become ok with that . If I am ever found comfortable or content with spending more of my time at an office desk than I do pushing kids on the swingset of our park, then something is off.

In the deepest core of my spirit I believe in the power of Jesus' love. Call me a hippie. Call me unexperienced. Heck, even call me stupid. But the thing is, I can't help it. I've tried to face reality and tell myself that loving on a little girl isn't going to keep her off the street corners. I've tried convincing myself that the big bad gang members that pack our state jails and prisons need a whole lot more than just love. The problem is, y'all, I can't help but believe. I cannot deny the burning in my gut that is 100 percent convinced that true, unconditional, forgiving and selfless love can move a soul to repentance. When self is sacrificed on another's behalf and loyalty is held in the midst of betrayal, it goes beyond just warm fuzzies. I do not see how it would be possible to ignore that kind of love. I know it happens. Biblically, it happens. I believe the Lord has the sovereignty and power to harden someone's heart and turn their eyes from seeing the truth. But I do not create my own passion. The only reason I have this burden is because God has called me to it. So then, why would he birth a passion in me that he isn't going to fulfill? This brings me great hope. My roommate Paige and I were talking last night about what our lives look like. I mentioned that if we could sum it up it would probably be-

pray. meet. remember names. love. repeat.

I understand that I'm young and lean towards the "Dreamer" personality type. I expect that some of you will read this and dismiss my thoughts as being naive. That's ok. If I've learned anything over the past year its that most times these "dreams" unfold at an absurdly slow pace. Most times the journey is absolutely nothing like what we thought it would be. And, you know, it may take 40 years to see the change we dream of. It may take 2 years, and like the faith heroes in Hebrews, we may never even see it. But our children will. This, I hold to. The things we do on a weekly basis may not stand up to the American church's standards. Maybe it wouldn't qualify as "big". It's not like we're making the news or anything (Actually, my stolen car did! That should count for something! Ha.). When it all comes down to it, who are we trying to please? If the Lord says, "Walk around your neighborhood and pray until I change them" then we will. I'm pretty sure when the Israelites marched around the walls of Jericho that it wasn't too popular. Not nearly as exciting as an extravaganza of blood shedding attack. I bet a few marchers marched their way right back home due to boredom.

We may not be marching, but we're walking. And we may not be faced with walls of stone and concrete, but we can feel the walls of bitterness and despair. We have hope that they will come crashing down.

This fall we have invited the kids over once a week so that we can help them with their homework. Word on the street is that TAKS is kicking everybody's butt. We, as a nation, sure are seeing to it that no child is "left behind" academically. Uhm...what about their hearts? What about their lives? What good is a kid who aces his TAKS test but ends up with murder charges at the age of fifteen? Seriously?
We want to see them succeed in and explore their education, however, what we're really after is their hearts. We are begging Christ to save their souls. We are, in faith, claiming them for His kingdom!

I have a few pleas-
Pray. We need the Saints to rise up and pray. Pray for us. Pray for our neighborhood. Pray for your own neighborhood. Pray for the nations. Pray until you run out of words to pray and then start all over again.

Pick a kid. Any kid. Find a child who has a path of disaster set before them and literally love the hell out of them.

Disciple your own children to do the same (Who better to reach them then their own peers!?) Train your own kids to be the hands and feet of our tender King to the nerd sitting by himself or the bully who steals lunches. If the Lord has blessed you with tiny followers, take advantage of it!

And lastly, please don't become too comfortable with our surroundings. Times are hard, they say. We choose to either ignore it, pity it or do something about it. Please choose the latter of the three.

I believe in love. Not the kind that we plaster $40 t-shirts with. Not the kind that's on the movie screens. But the kind that hurts. The kind that sacrifices. The kind that says, "no matter what you do to me, you are worth my love."

Isn't that what Jesus says to us every day?

Loving till it kills me,

Finding the Green

2008-08-21T09:12:00.000-05:00

January 15th, 2008

This morning was different.

For over a year now, my Saturdays have consisted of one thing: the streets and people of what they call the "Homeless Corridor". In the ever blossoming cove of downtown Fort Worth, sky rise lofts and booming businesses paint the perfect picture of any big city. Now we Texans know good and well that while everything may be bigger, our pace and accents are just a tad slower than that of competing cities. But still, head to Sundance Square around lunch time and you'll see the suit clad, blue-toothed men scurrying about the sidewalks, eager to work their way to the weekend. Aging architectures with missing windows are being restored into $250,000 havens. Quaint corner café's and high class dining peek between the walls of steel. Museums, monuments, gardens and galleries pose an invitation for natives and tourists alike. Good 'ole Cow Town has become quite the town.

Take a wrong turn, however, and you'll find yourself wandering a different land. Just across the highway holds scenery so different its as if you've stepped through Lewis's closet and into a nightmarish Narnia. Head to E. Lancaster around lunch time and you'll see the baggage clad dirty men scurrying about like a destroyed ant bed, eager to get in line for their next meal. Roll up your windows before you smell their disaster and they smell your fear. Aging architectures with missing windows are left alone. Café's and restaurants have been boarded up. The only sign of life in this desert are the beating hearts that crowd the sidewalks. If it weren't for them, E. Lancaster might as well not be on a map. There are different invitations on this side of Fort Worth. The woman on the corner who's hair hasn't been washed in months...she has an invitation. The circle of guys behind the dumpster huddled down and bundled up…they have an invitation. The random cop car begging for intimidation in a sea of criminals…that's an invitation, too. The obvious question in any right mind is how one highway can separate such different worlds and cultures, but some things just don't have answers. Or, in my opinion, some questions are just too risky to ask.

Either way, this dark and forgotten land has been somewhat of a home to me. The simplicity in the air can set a soul free. There's something about such harsh reality that reminds me to be alive.

This morning I am sitting in the Day Resource Center, surrounded on every side by these harsh realities that have become my friends. I've been here before, but today its different.

The Day Resource Center is packed with chairs that face a big screen, movie playing television providing the only means to an escape these people can find. I haven't been in here in quite a while. Even in the discomfort, I have become comfortable in the streets. The open air fades the smell a little and concrete fields mean I don't have to get too close to anyone I don't want to. Here, however, I had to struggle just to get my little butt in a seat. The long ratty hair of the woman beside me is tickling my left shoulder and the dirty sweatshirt of the man to my right is keeping my arm warm. I can feel the breath of the man behind me and if I'm not careful my knees may bruise the back of the person in front of me. Behind me and to my right is a chocolate skinned woman with round cheeks and full, chapped lips. Wearing an oversized ski coat, her frame is hard to make out. As she's fallen asleep her body has gradually leaned further and further onto the shoulder of the person next to her. It's cute in a way. A dark red color has been painted on her fingernails, only now to be noticeably chipped and fading. Her head is fully covered with a navy blue toboggan, the kind we Christians buy in bulk to hand out during winter. I wonder if in her mind the only dignity she has left lies in her polish remains. I wonder if her hair has much in common with her fingernails. I wonder if the person beside her minds or even notices her sleepy weight.

To describe this room as "cramped" is an understatement. "Uncomfortable" is a nice way to put it. The stench of brokenness is like a sweet reunion to my selfish soul.

I often question why most people out here have some sort of addiction or a record a mile long. Its hard for me to give in to the belief that they've "always been this way", or they simply "choose" this lifestyle. Yes, there are many of my friends that choose to sleep in the shelters and eat off of charity. But, somewhere along the line they had to make the choice to give up. Some kind of darkness had to flip the switch of self worth off and convince them that life isn't worth anything. Somewhere along the line, darkness won the battle.

I have to wonder: is it the trouble that put them on the streets or the streets that got them in trouble?

When the place you call home creeps with demons and reeks of death, there is a weathering that takes place on a spirit. Denver Moore, homeless man and co-author of "Same Kind of Different As Me" says, "The streets'll turn a man nasty." Later he explains homelessness by saying "Sometimes its drinkin or druggin that lands a man on the streets. And if he ain't drinkin or druggin already, most fellas like me start in once we get there. It ain't to have fun. It's to have less misery. To try and forget that no matter how many "partners in crime" we might hook up with on the street, we is still alone."

We that claim Jesus as life believe that He is the answer and hope to every longing and ache our hearts can fathom. Yet even we, being surrounded by life-giving families and communities, experience loneliness. We fall into addictions. We are prescribed anti-depressants. We apply for credit cards in hopes of soothing our need for newness. Little demons that peck away at our being.

I am convinced that when darkness isn't broken by light, death starts a knockin. So yes, Jesus is "the answer", but is this a reality on the streets of Lancaster? Nope. (Maybe until we are diligent in pushing back darkness like it was our only purpose in life, will this even begin to be a reality for the "least of these".)

After time, I believe this dark hole of a home begins to wither a soul. Cries for light aren't heard. Cravings for truth aren't satisfied. And the soul begins to die…

Expecting someone in this environment to cling to the hope that Jesus can and will meet their every need is like expecting a flower to stay green under a blanket. The reality is that without light, the flower beings to wilt, and eventually, she gives up.

Yes, I realize these are natural things against a supernatural God. Yes, we serve a Lord of miracles. Yes, if you surround a candle with darkness it will burn with light (as one once argued). If we're going to go that route then who's there to trim the wick when it gets heavy? Eventually even a candle burns down to a puddle of shapeless form.

I am also convinced there is good. Somewhere under all the layers of dirt and depression, behind the years of anger and shame, there is good in these people. I see it every once in a while. A few weeks ago, a woman who fights to love Jesus every day gave everything she had to support our friends on a mission. It was twenty three cents. A little girl in the shelter known for hitting anyone that doesn't give in to her way shared a bite of her donut with me. In front of me, Paige sits on the floor with her back against the wall. A man about our age with shaggy brown hair and wrinkled khaki pants jumped up and offered her his seat. Somewhere in his heart, there is good. Even on the darkest streets in the country, there is chivalry. Jesus saw the spark of good left in people, too. The tough skinned prostitute suddenly kneels to wash his feet with her tears. The scrawny little tax collector ends up dining at the table of the Christ.

A flower may wilt and the petals may become black. It may lose its fragrance and have no backbone to stand straight. Cut it open though, and you may be surprised to see some green.

It's there. And I am convinced I can find it.

In the Name of Christmas

2008-08-21T09:11:00.002-05:00

November 27th, 2007

Well, it's that time again. Can you tell? A blanket of post-turkey drowsiness tends to wrap itself around America and convince us that this is "the life". It's wonderful to me how one certain season can bring out the best in people. All of a sudden we let that car cut in front of us or tip the waitress a little more. All in the name of the "Christmas Spirit". As the weather grows colder (or...not) it seems our hearts grow warmer. I remember getting pulled over for speeding on Christmas day a couple years ago. The police officer let me go with a warning because "Eh, it's Christmas". The chime of that bell and the beckoning red bucket collects our change with ease. In October, life was a little heavy and my vision was blurred with my own problems. But come November, things don't seem so bad. Starbucks is always the first to welcome the red, white, and green. There are specific things that our minds automatically associate with Christmas. How can I get flustered over a seven dollar cup of coffee when all I can picture is little Tiny Tim? Oh, I do enjoy this time of year. I mean, besides the frazzled shoppers and crowded roads, there are things that take place that are nothing short of a miracle. Families come together and forget about the past. Forget about how dysfunctional things may be. Forget about "that" family member who wears a strange odor and says inappropriate things (we all have 'em). We choose to find the good in people. We also find the good in ourselves. Call a homeless shelter this week and try to schedule volunteer time. They're all full. We've had enough emails and phone calls to last all year from teens, couples and families that want to give of themselves to soothe another's loneliness. The Saturday before Thanksgiving there were more volunteers on the streets than homeless! Children everywhere are "adopted" and given toys and gifts. Children who otherwise, wouldn't be important enough to receive such things. I wonder how many children find hope in the fact that someone out there, even a stranger, cares enough to spend money on them. So, there is obviously something magical about these two months. We can't deny the seasons ability to muster up motivation in us.

But I have to wonder, what would Jesus think about holidays? It seems we've assigned one day to celebrate something more than any other day. Think about it...Valentines Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas.
I all too often pat myself on the back for work well done during the holidays. Sacrifices that are made or money given. We do have the best of intentions! But how would Jesus respond when a man is unloved January through October. Or the waitress with average tips, or the road rage infested drivers. Or the single mother who is alone. I'm not so sure he would be patting me on the back.
In fact, I wonder what kind of image of the gospel we are portraying.
I have begun to wonder why charity comes so easily during this season. Is this the message of the gospel?
"Whoever oppresses a poor man insults his Maker, but he who is generous to the needy honors Him." (Prov. 14:31) I couldn't find any footnotes that specified a time frame.
"Jesus said to him, 'You lack one thing, go, sell what you possess and give it to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven." (Matthew 19:21)
"He said to the man who invited him, 'When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, crippled, lame and blind, and you will be blessed because they cannot repay you.(Luke 14:13-14)
"They asked us to remember the poor" (Galatians 2:10).
Because our minds adapt to traditions so quickly, sometimes its hard to see when something is off. It just seems normal. I know that for the past 22 years I never had these questions. It's always been like clockwork. Holiday equals charity. But how strange would it sound if we added " during Thanksgiving and Christmas" to the end of these few verses. Please understand, I'm not trying to be sarcastic or cynical. But sometimes we don't know why we do things, and until we step back and ask hard questions, what is strange masks as normal.
"When you give a feast, invite the poor...for Thanksgiving and Christmas".
"Remember the poor....Thanksgiving and Christmas."
I know what we've been taught and that our hearts and motives are pure, but I cannot ignore how this concept does not match what Jesus taught.
My fear is that we, the Church, are painting ourselves a great divorce between resources and relationship. I know that its a lot easier to serve during this time. I realize that schedules lighten up a bit and opportunities seem to be more available. We know that our intentions are good and our hearts are broken for these people. But maybe they don't know that. All they see is that around the holidays we show up, do our good deed, and go home. See ya next year.

Imagine with me for a moment. Maybe some of you are the "numbers" type of person and imagination is something silly and pointless. But c'mon. It's Christmas. (Couldn't help it)

Imagine what social poverty would look like if we had the same motivation every month of the year. Imagine all the good done November-December multiplied by ten other months! Imagine if "charity" became who we are rather than what we do. And most importantly, imagine the picture of the Church: consistent, pure, selfless. As we pack up our volunteers and go back home, I can't help but imagine Jesus staying behind.

So should you spend every waking moment on the streets? Probably not. We all serve as different parts of the body and must be passionate about such. An arm wouldn't do much good if all it did was try to be a foot. But maybe what we see as "Christmas Spirit" is actually the gospel in action. Maybe we've caught on to something.
This year as you tear down the Christmas tree and swear to the latest diet, ask yourself some questions. Ask you family some questions. Imagine January through October. Choose to love. Choose to find good. Choose to give. Choose to sacrifice. Choose to be thankful. Let the gospel of Jesus change who you are.

Maybe we'll see each other more often. Merry Christmas.

Beauty Moves

2008-08-21T09:11:00.001-05:00

March 6th, 2007

I've been thinking alot lately about beauty.
What is it?
Who's to say they possess it?
Is it tangible and self-satisfying, or is it invisible and sacrificial?
Is it merely pleasing to the eyes or does it satisfy the soul?
Is it an opinion, an emotion, an experience, or perhaps a process?
It is said to be defined only within the eye of the beholder, yet is without fail something every being will violently seek until death.
In trying to define beauty, have we so betrayed it's purpose?
What if it can't be touched or grasped? What if it wasn't meant to be understood, but rather to tease its beholder with a kind of mystery that evokes a lifelong chase.
What if beauty's game is to simply create longing.
What would happen if the soul became the beholder instead of the eye. There is a marriage between beauty and worship that can be so sweet or so deceiving, depending on the authenticity of it's author. If beauty is only seen through our eyes, then we will surely be deceived through idolatrous worship.
Oh, but if we could open the gates to our innermost being, our spiritual core, maybe in her most raw form, beauty would push us to worship the true Creator. When our souls can make this connection, beauty's purpose has been accomplished.
It may be just a moment, it may be a lifetime.
It may be a taste, a smell, a memory. A motive, an affection, a song.
There is something beautiful about that first sip of morning coffee. The soft mixture of warm sunshine, a good night's sleep, and the strong taste of Starbucks creates a moment that forces my soul to worship. Just for a moment, my soul is familiarized with something my mind is not.
A dim-lit living room being filled with prayers and cries on behalf of a brand new friend is beautiful. The transparency that brought us to our knees next to her, to cry with her, to fight with her...is beautiful.
A song celebrating the faithfulness of Christ echoing deep from a voice that has tasted and known betrayal feeds the soul to devour its purpose.
Ten teenage girls, timid and new, shaking homeless hands as if they are family...dark and light skinned fingers tangle together as voices and hearts cry out for a man they just met...this is beauty at her best.
The closest of friends around a dark stained table crowded with good food and great wine, laughing until tears are born...beauty.
A fatherless man turns to father many.
A canvas of color that captures a thought.
The prodigal's journey home.
These things...these are beautiful.
She stirs a spirit, she moves a soul, she stretches a mind, she engages a heart. Oh that we might truly know this beauty.
May we feast deeply with her, and in doing so, fall into worship with our Creator.

"Aging"

2008-08-21T09:09:00.000-05:00

February 1, 2007

I was not created for comfort
Yet I beckon it just the same
But after years of fostered adultery
I find beauty in Your name
So I linger in the aging
For it is here I find my grave
I welcome the turning of autumn leaves
Lest my selfish soul be saved

Just to be close to you, Jesus...
Just to be close to you...

No other can rest my soul like You
My husband, my friend, the only one true
The colors will change but Jesus, you prove
There is no greater need than my need for You

Good Morning, Blog

2008-08-21T08:27:00.000-05:00

I grew up in the suburbs. I have fabulous parents. I live on a street called Sanborn. It's not the best part of town. It's not the worst part of town. I will become Mrs. Jeremiah Duckett on September 25th, 2008. Jeremiah was created for me, and I for him.

I have big dreams. I cannot apologize for truth.

I believe that we are bent and broken, but we weren't created that way. I believe that Jesus Christ is behind it all. I believe He is the only hope we have of living in our deepest destiny. I believe He has just as much to say about this world as the next. I believe "Church" is a verb, not a noun.

When I love, I love hard. When I fight, I fight hard.

I see weird things in my neighborhood. Like cows walking down the street. Or the old lady who scuffles along in her nightgown at 2am. I have a weakness for stray dogs.

I want to write a book.

I have been deeply loved. I have seen the hands and feet of God. I have been called "friend". I will be called "wife".

I love a good glass of wine.

I've learned life is messy. I've learned to love it.

This is me. Just another life, another journey. Want to join?