By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

In the latest installment of  ”The Rich Family searches for a new church home”, we actually made progress today.  The pastor didn’t try to scare anyone with “Accept Jesus or be hit by a bus” shtick, the worship was decent, and the people who greeted us seemed very…well, normal.  After a few of the places we’ve visited, “normal” was kind of a refreshing change.

But the best part of the morning was an old, familiar feeling.  It started in the very center of my chest and radiated outward in a warm, oozy kinda way.  It was a feeling of possibilities.  A chance to be involved and be a part of something much bigger than myself.   I could easily see Jeff and I fitting into the congregation.  I could see where his gifts could be utilized and where mine could be too.  Big, honkin’ butterflies of excitement danced around in my stomach after the service as we got a tour of the Children’s area and had the opportunity to talk its director.   She felt like someone I could work with and dream with and grow with and it felt really good.

We have a few more churches to visit in addition to a lot of discussion and prayer ahead of us before we make a decision on our Tennessee church.  But for the first time since we moved, I feel hopeful that we are at least making progress in our quest.  And I feel blessed because of the lessons that I learned at our old church.

One of those lessons, I thought I had learned several years ago; but, apparently I needed a refresher course or perhaps I never did “get it” in the first place.  That lesson involved joining God in what He was already doing. 

The “service” aspect of Christianity always scared me a little bit.  As a kid, in addition to believing that drive-in theaters were cookie factories and that I had a metal plate in my head — that belief was courtesy of my brother, thank you very much – I also believed that to truly serve God you either had to go to Africa and get malaria or visit guys named “Slasher” in the federal pen.  Quite honestly, I didn’t find myself particularly excited about either of those tasks.

But then the light sort of came on for me as I began to see how I fit into God’s world.  I began to see Him work through my creativity and my sense of humor.  He worked through my love for kids and even the painful experiences of my parent’s divorce.  I didn’t really notice when, and I certainly didn’t understand how; but, God began to work through me. 

And then I got creative and truth be told?  Probably a little cocky…okay, a lot cocky.  I took the wonderfully functional wheel that God created and gave to me as a tool, and I tried to make it better.  In doing so, I over-complicated things, completely lost sight of my goals and objectives, and ended up with square wheels.  In case your wondering, square wheels really don’t work too well. 

But I learned.  I learned that God is the boss for a reason.  I learned that it’s best not to stage a coup — not on the first day of work, not ever.  I learned that Father really does know best and I do not.  And I learned to thirst after God and to join Him in what He’s already doing.

And joining Him is what had me excited beyond belief this morning.  God was working.  I could see and hear it and feel it; and I wanted to join Him.  Armed with the realization that my job is not to re-invent the wheel, I am itching to to be involved and simply, like the woman who anointed Jesus with her expensive perfume, do what I can.

On its 2001 CD “Revival” the group Petra released the song “Meet with Me.” 

The lyrics go something like this:

As I wait, You make me strong
As I long, You draw me to Your arms
As I stand and sing Your praise
You come, You come, and You fill this place
Won’t You come, won’t You come, and fill this place?

And that was the cry of my heart this morning, God won’t You come and fill this place?  Won’t You fill this place at the depths of my very soul that longs to know You and love You and serve You?

I promise.  No more square wheels.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

It was one of those mornings at our house.  You know, the mornings when life just seems…well, a lot like life.  I had my typical Sunday morning.  I got up, stumbled around, ran into large pieces of furniture and then it happened. I went to take my medicine and the lid wasn’t on the bottle so I spilled my 3 1/2 remaining pills all over everywhere.  Jeff woke up to the sounds of me trying to find the pills, Mr. Magoo style.

When it became obvious that I was not going to find the pills with my current modus operandi, Jeff jumped out of bed, flipped on the light, and announced, “I’ll find them!”  He is a very chivalrous guy.  However, his willingness to jump out of bed and find my medicine at 6:00 AM was rooted more in self-preservation and a deep desire for more uninterrupted sleep than chivalry.

So together we hunted little green pills and found exactly two of them.  The rest fell into the black hole that literally seems to surround me at times.  Rather than wasting our morning searching for pills that had obviously already fallen to China, we gave up and listed them as MIA — hoping all the while that our mail-order pharmacy has actually mailed my little green pill prescription that they’ve been sitting on for two and a half weeks.

Jeff got dressed and headed upstairs to check football scores from yesterday; and I started to get ready for church.  We were visiting yet another congregation this morning in our quest to find a new church home.  If I had any sense, I would have just jumped into the black hole with the missing 1.5 little green pills and gone MIA myself.

But I didn’t.  For the next hour, I dropped things.  It’s not really a hobby, mind you — just a study in how clumsy I can be first thing in the morning.  I dropped, in no particular order: one contact, one hairbrush (Three times.),  the toothpaste (On my foot, lid closed, thank you very much.) one lid to hairspray (MIA until after church.),  deodorant, the curling iron and, my lip gloss. (Lid off.  Very messy.) 

I also ran into the corner of the dresser, got my toe caught in the pocket of my pants (Don’t ask me how!) and dropped one of my clunky shoes on my foot.  As I was literally waiting for the other shoe to drop, I prayed.  “Please let me get to church in one piece.”  This was truly a passionate plea for help.

We finally did get out the door — after I stopped looking in the mirror, that is.  No, I’m not especially vain but I am the proud owner of one of the more stubborn cowlicks in the state of Tennessee.  And of course, it picked this morning to stand up and be recognized!  After poking, prodding, threatening, and a copious amount of hairspray, I was worse off than when I started.  I finally just turned off the bathroom light and walked away — secure in the knowledge that a big chunk of hair right in the middle of my forehead was reaching for the sky and praising God!

We went to breakfast and then to the new church, a charter member of the “Fire & Brimstone Association” where people come forward to accept Christ for no other reason than because they are scared to death of either the preacher or the bus that’s going to run them over when they leave the church — it’s really a toss-up.

The Pastor did have some good points in his sermon but this style of worship was just not for us.  Unfortunately, we knew that about 10 minutes into the service when they had a mass baptism and everyone repeated the same, obviously coached, sentence about why they wanted to be baptized.  It made me really sad to think that one of the most important moments in their lives had been mass-produced.  Shouldn’t baptism be a very personal time of reflection?  When did it become ok to have that moment scripted by anyone other than God?

Today’s church experience left me a little sad and a lot discouraged.   I want to be part of a church family again.  I miss the fellowship, the sense of belonging, and the deep relationships that are cultivated.  But then, tonight, after a nap, a shower, and the nightly dropping of inanimate objects (In real life, I’m really coordinated.  Honest!) I came to a startling conclusion — or rather, God knocked me over the head with it.

We can choose not to go back to that church today.  We can make a choice to try one of the dozens of other churches within a 15 mile radius.  We have that freedom.  Nobody is going to hunt us down (Or run us over with a bus.) for our beliefs.  We can worship our Creator openly and without fear.  Doesn’t that make us…make me…about the most blessed person in the whole world?

Kinda makes black holes, inanimate objects bent on revenge, bad hair days, and complaining about churches that have missed the mark seem rather unimportant and downright silly.  I am incredibly thankful for my life and my freedom and my God — even if the way I live that life sometimes suggests anything but a thankful heart.

Please forgive me, Lord, and thank you for another day with You.

Amen.

By Kiera Rich – krich13@bellsouth.net

If it’s possible for a personal stress meter to go from zero to sixty in less than 10 seconds, mine did on Friday.  Let me tell you why.

It all started so innocently.  I had just completed my monthly trip to Wal-mart to stock up on protein bars, protein water, various other forms of protein, and toilet paper.  I called Jeff as I pulled up to the apartment so he could help me lug stuff.  He is an excellent lugger, that husband of mine.

After several lugging trips, he came in with the last load.  Without even putting it down on the kitchen floor Jeff said, “I found out why that job in Tennessee was listed as “filled” on-line this morning.”  My heart pretty much stopped at this point.  Simultaneously, my brain kicked into high gear. 

“They gave his stinkin’ job to someone else!” I thought.  “It’s not fair!  It’s not fair!  It’s not fair!”  Screamed my inner toddler.

“I’m approved!”  Jeff grinned.

“You are?  You got it?”  I was so relieved!  I had to lean against the kitchen counter to catch my breath.

“Yeah,” he said, still looking more than a little sheepish.  “That’s the good news.  But it…um…comes with some other news.”  I sat on the kitchen counter.  “They want me up there in like three weeks.” 

There really weren’t enough counters in the world to hold me up at that point.

I think I told Jeff something to the effect of, “We’ll make it work.”  But as I looked around our thoroughly unpacked 1400 square feet, my inner toddler asked one simple question.  “How?”

This blog may be the last for a while because we have a lot to do in the next 23 days.  However, I had to write this as my end to the “Big News” saga.  Thanks, by the way, to my 6 regular readers who faithfully tuned in this past week.  Jeff was extremely reluctant to guest blog for me and thanks to your encouragement, he may even do it again.  Sometime…after the move…after football season…after a really long nap.

So the Rich household has moved quickly this week from treading water to swimming for our collective lives.  My multi-tasking skills were put to the test yesterday as I worked on some posters for church, reviewed my Sunday school lesson for today (By the way, 2nd graders are so cool!), did laundry, and packed exactly 3 boxes.  And in between a few of those events, I had a good cry — which is usually my first response to being overwhelmed.

But, in the midst of my overwhelmedness (“Overwhelmedness” really should be a word!)  some really amazing things have happened.  Probably the biggest thing has been the way God has been refocusing my brain.  As  I stated earlier, my first question about the move was “How?”  How is this ever going to work?  How are we going to get out of here in 23 days?  How are we going to find a place to live?  How are we going to find a church with the moving Worship that I experienced this morning?  How am I going to stop teaching some really amazing kids in 3 weeks?  How many boxes will we need?  How many nights can we eat pizza in a row before someone throws up?  How?  How?  How?  How?

God has helped me get rid of the “how’s” by asking me one simple question.  “Why?”

And the answer is amazingly simple.  Because we’re following God’s leading in our lives.  There is not a doubt in my mind or in Jeff’s that we’re doing exactly what God wants us to do and there is much peace in that realization.  When I focus on the “why” and let God worry about the “how”, things go much more smoothly.  How simple.

Yesterday afternoon, after my cry-fest, Jeff went to the grocery store to shorten my “to-do” list a little bit.  He dutifully compelted the task and returned with everything — including a small vase of yellow daisies wtih two tiny rose buds.  The flowers were beautiful and I cried.  Anyone sensing a theme here?  A State Farm commerical even made me cry last night.  STATE FARM!

But the flowers were beautiful and Jeff’s thoughtfulness even more so.  I could not have been more pleased had he given me a greenhouse full of Sterling roses — which are my absolute favorites.  But the simple gift of grocery store flowers melted my heart, brightened my day, and reassured me that things would, indeed, be just fine.

That is a small example of the way God is handling the “how”.  Yes, He is moving mountains, in terms of getting us relocated.  But He is also moving molehills and seeing to the details that threaten to drown me at this point.

I’m trying very hard to concentrate on the “why” and allow myself to be excited and the possibilites that are quickly unfolding in our lives.  I think I missed that in the move to Georgia.  Yes, I was excited about our impending marriage but I was scared senseless by the new place, new church, new friends, and new cats that awaited my arrival.

Knowing what I know now, I had every right to be afraid of the cats.  But in being afraid of those other areas in my life, I missed out on God’s gift of excitement and new beginnings and the feelings of unadulterated joy that come in following His plan.  But now I have a chance to do it over, do it wiser, and do it better. 

I take a lot of comfort in the knowledge that God’s plan for my life is perfect.  I may not understand that plan or the route we’re taking to get there.  I may think, at times, that God’s GPS is hopelessly out of whack; but, He IS in control.  He IS driving the bus.  He IS taking care of the details.  He simply IS — proving to me once again that I am loved.  How simple.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

Today is a truly momentous occasion.  Let me tell you why.  With certainty of over 99.8%, I can say that I will never again post a blog that shares a title with the University of Nebraska fight song.  I am not now, nor will I ever be a Husker fan.  It is just NOT going to happen.  But for today’s blog, the title seemed to fit.

Many families at our church travel this time of year as kids are out of school for a week for sping break.  They go skiing in Colorado.  They rub elbows with Mickey and Minnie at Disney World.  They take in the scenery at Tybee Island or Hilton Head.  And this is how I know my husband loves me…Jeff and I go to Nebraska.

We came to see the musical “All Shook Up” at a local high school because a very dear friend of mine had the lead.   It was an amazing experience.  I got to sit in the audience and hear this young woman sing her heart out.  All the while, I pictured the little girl that she used to be.  The one who drew angel pictures for me and thought that I was magic because I made her a Snow White costume out of a bag of shapeless fabric.

It has been a very busy few days.  In addition to the musical, I have had the joy of spending time with a lot of other dear friends.  We have shared meals and conversation and a lot of laughter.  Each night as I crawled in bed next to Jeff, my mind would replay the day and I would marvel at how things have changed in the last two years.

Some of my friends are grandparents now.  Others are partial empty-nesters with kids away at college.  Other friends who had preschoolers when I left are now grade-school parents.  And time marches on.

The kids that I said good-bye to in the summer of 2006 have changed as well.  The boys are taller and their voices deeper.  For the first time this week, I called a friend and when her son answered, I immediately knew who I was speaking to and didn’t mistake him for his  sister.

The boys conversation has changed a little bit too as I heard the word “shaving” mentioned a few times today.  In year’s past, the item being shaved would have undoubtedly been someone’s hamster — not anyone’s face.

The girls have grown too.  They are much closer to looking me in the eye than they used to be.  They wear make-up, have their own cell-phones (With obnoxious ring tones.) and talk about learning to drive.

My old church has changed.  The smallish building that was once bursting at the seams, has been expanded greatly with the addition of a generous children’s wing.

As I got the official tour of the new space, I had a raging attack of A.C.E (Acute Closet Envy.)  The room that now houses the 5th and 6th grade Sunday school class has a spacious storage closet with shelves.  And the closet door LOCKS.  What a comfort to know that needed supplies would be where I had left them the week before; and, not misplaced by any one of the dozens of other groups that I shared my room with during the week.

And the space!  There was space within the classroom to play active games, do dramas and split into small groups without literally being stacked on top of each other. 

Many things have changed since I’ve been gone.  Interestingly, some things have not.

My friendships have not changed.  They, of course, are different than they once were.  But without exception, the fellowship felt old and familiar and wonderful — as if we’d all been together last week and not 18 months ago.

I felt the same feelings of “I never want this to end” as I sat on a friend’s couch and talked about everything under the sun.  Just as it has always been, her children popped in sporadically to share interesting tidbits of their lives with us.

And as odd as it may sound, my basic ministry within my old church has not changed.  Due to the fact that I am a member of a different church and live 1200 miles away, my ministry is definitely different than it once was.  But in its most basic form, I still love the Children’s Director and the kids she serves and I want to do everything I can to help. 

I had the opportunity to meet with the Children’s Director and her faithful sidekick for one of our “Dream & Scheme” times.  We used to do this monthly.  And, as I was reminded, the last time the three of us met was when I dropped the bomb that I was getting married and moving to Atlanta.  (Sorry guys!  I probably could have been a little more gentle in the way I broke the news!)

Saturday, over pancakes, we talked about this summer’s VBS, future curriculum ideas and an amazing array of other topics.  There was definitely a longing in me to be working with these incredible women on a weekly basis again.  I miss their friendship.  I miss praying with them.  I miss dreaming and scheming and having the opportunity to hang around and watch our plans come to fruition.

They inspired me to use the gifts God has given me in a way that few other people have in my life.  I miss that.  I miss laughing with them.  I miss being part of their weekly (And sometimes daily.) lives.  I miss them.

After all this reminiscing, you may be wondering where this ”family reunion” weekend has left me.  Am I ready to pack it in and stay here?  Is Jeff drafting a letter of resignation from his job and buying long underwear so he can survive winter in Nebraska?

Nope.  We are going home tomorrow and I’m sad but ready.  It’s time to get back to our regularly scheduled lives.  It’s time to get back to our church and our cats and the fellowship of our Atlanta friends.  It’s time.

I’ll probably cry tomorrow and not be able to stop thinking of my Nebraska friends.  I’ll probably re-play the priceless memories of this vacation for a long, long time.

But I am so incredibly thankful for two reasons.  The first reason is that I have all these people that love me.  There is great joy in knowing that our friendships can survive distance and time.  I was actually a little scared to come back to Nebraska because I was afraid things would feel awkward.  But they were not and I’m so thankful.

The second reason is because of the sermon this morning.  The youth pastor delivered the message and it was on salvation and John 3:16.  He spent a lot of time on the part of the scripture that says, “Whoever believes.”   And I was reminded that eventually there will be a day when I don’t have to say good-bye.  A day when my heart isn’t torn by longing to be in two places at one time.  That day is coming.  You really can go home again.  And I can’t wait.

As the lyrics to “There is no place like Nebraska” say, “We’ll all stick together, in all kinds of weather…”

I can’t wait.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

On any given day, there is a whole lot of hissing and snarling going on at our house.  Once in a while the HissFest has human participants; but usually our cats are the responsible parties.

Our cat story began with Scooter and Kacey.  They were Jeff’s cats for four years before I came on the scene.  When I met them for the first time, I did what any potential step-mother would do.  I attempted to bribe them by bringing gifts of treats and cat-nip infused toys.  Scooter was not impressed.  Kacey wasn’t either — at least that was the vibe she sent out from her hiding place under the bed.

Thankfully, Jeff did not listen to the opinions of his cats and decided to marry me anyway.  Three months before the wedding, I moved to Atlanta.  As we moved furniture and combined our two households, Scooter supervised from a perch in the corner of the dining room.  I am quite certain that the only thing keeping her from toting a picket sign was the fact that she lacks a prehensile thumb.  And Kacey?  She was absolutely terrified of my presence and demonstrated this fear by hiding under large pieces of furniture for weeks at a time. 

During those months before the wedding, I spent a lot of time at Jeff’s unpacking and getting things situated; but, I spent nights at the home of a friend of ours.  Scooter and Kacey eventually got used to having me around during the day and every night they would breathe a collective feline sigh of relief when “that woman” disappeared for several hours.  They had their Daddy and the warm water-bed all to themselves and life was as it should be.

And then it happened.  Daddy disappeared for a week.  Scooter and Kacey hissed and spit at my aunt who stayed at our place while Jeff and I honeymooned.  Although we had tried to prepare the girls for the inevitable, they were still shocked when Daddy returned home with “that woman” in tow.  And when it got dark, I didn’t leave.  And when they went to snuggle with Daddy at night, there was someone in their water-bed.  No wonder they hated me.

And it was about to get worse.  Enter Tucker.  Jeff had promised me that after the wedding we would “get a cat that likes you.”   Tucker not only liked me, Tucker liked everyone.  He was a 12-week old ball of grey and black fuzz when we adopted him.  He had a sore under his nose that the shelter workers didn’t know the origin of.  After we got home, it was apparent.  Tucker was a kamikaze who knew no fear.  We quickly nicknamed him “Deathwish”.  He would hurl himself off of any surface at a high rate of speed.  He ran into walls and other inanimate objects, climbed everywhere, and did it all with speed that would have made the Tasmanian Devil look like a snail.  

Much to their horror, Tuck repeatedly asked his adopted sisters to play with him.  His requests were very vocally denied.  But that didn’t stop Tucker.  He would just wait 5 minutes and then ask again.  And when all else failed, he would simply knock them over.  What he was lacking in gentleness and tact he made up for in persistence.

Time passed and Tucker got bigger and smarter.  Like any little brother, he enjoyed annoying his sisters.  He loved to hear them scream and he would not be denied a good chase, even if he had to spend hours provoking his sisters in preparation.  Needless to say, Tuck spent many an afternoon in time out because he simply would not leave Scooter and Kacey alone and we were tired of listening to them screech.

We didn’t blame Tucker much.  He was bored and frustrated.  He just wanted someone to play with and try as he might, he simply could not convince any one of us to spend hours chasing him down the hall.

Last fall, we went to Colorado to visit my family.  My nephews proudly introduced me to the newest member of their family.  Max was fluffy and cute and so very sweet.  He was also a very playful little kitten.  Although we tried to resist, Jeff and I soon had visions of a playmate for Tucker dancing in our heads.  So after we came home, we ignored the little voices of reason that told us 4 cats in one family was insanity on the paw; and, we adopted Wyatt.

Tucker may have been a failure as a little brother but he was an outstanding big brother.  He was very patient and gentle with Wyatt for the most part and they became fast friends.  Tucker was in heaven.  He had someone to wrestle with and chase.  He had someone who would chase him and who shared his fascination with tin foil balls and ice cubes.   They play together until they’re exhausted and then they snuggle up together and sleep it off.  They truly are best friends.

Meanwhile, we still have Scooter and Kacey too.  Scooter hates her life and everyone in it — with the exception of Jeff.  Sometimes when she sits on his lap, her soulful yellow eyes seem to be saying, “Just you and me, Dad.  That’s all I need!  Let’s get rid of everyone else — especially that ‘mom’ person.”

Kacey has elevated herself to “Daddy’s little girl” status and enjoys all the privileges thereof; but, thankfully she also seems to like me now.   She checks on me when I get up at night.  We also have private brushing sessions and she seems to enjoy sitting with me when I scrapbook.   Her human relationships are pretty well defined.  However, her feline relationships are a confusing mess.

I think she’s honestly hurt that Tucker isn’t asking her to play every 5 minutes.   But the fact is, he doesn’t need Kacey anymore.  He has Wyatt.  Occasionally, I see Kacey watching wistfully as Tucker and Wyatt play tag and wrestle.  I can see her little cat brain saying, “Gee, that looks fun.  I wanna play.”  But her little stunted social skills don’t seem to allow her to ask nicely.  She tends to break into the boys games with a whole lot of hissing and spitting.  And the boys tend to ignore her — which makes Kacey furious.  At least that’s the story she gives us.

However, like any good story, there is another side.  This other side happens after dark.  After Jeff and I close the bedroom door for the night and the house is quiet.   For several months we have suspected that when the lights go off, Kacey plays.  Many times Jeff or I have gotten up unexpectedly in the middle of the night only to catch Kacey, Wyatt and Tucker tearing up and down the hallway together or sharing a toy.  Kacey seems absolutely horrified that she was caught in the act and immediately slinks off, leaving the two boys to wonder what happened.

Last night, I again caught Kacey in the act.  I got up to take some aspirin and noticed a commotion in the office.  Turning on the hall light, I saw Tucker and Wyatt crouched around a cardboard box.  Upon further investigation, I discovered Kacey underneath the box.  I could see one of her paws happily reaching out from under the box as she tempted her brothers to play with her.  It made my little heart very happy to see Kacey playing with abandon.  She was having such fun that she didn’t seem to care that I was watching.

As I went back to bed, I thought of Kacey and her split personality.  And I thought about how much Kacey I have in me.  I know I behave differently in the privacy of my own home than I do when the world is watching.  I know my conversation topics are different at church than they are everywhere else.  I know that I act differently around close friends and family than I do in public.  Does that make me a hypocritical Christian?  Yeah, it probably does.  I don’t think it really matters that I don’t mean to do it.   At least it doesn’t matter to God. 

Nearly four decades into my life and I’m still trying to figure out who I am.  It’s kind of embarrassing, really.  On the other hand, it’s also reassuring to me that I’m still growing.  I’m still wondering and still questioning and still reaching to discover who God made me to be. 

I’m a lot like Kacey.  When things scare me, I want to hide under large pieces of furniture.  I’m very timid at times and that sometimes keeps me from doing things I want to do.  I want to be a part of the close friendships that I observe; but I don’t know how.  But mostly, I just want to work and play and love and laugh and cry and grieve and live with abandon — no matter who is watching.