By Kieran Lin Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

Something happened to me last Sunday that has never happened before.  Jeff and I were visiting the next contestant in our seemingly ever-present quest to find a new church home.  Nothing unusual there.  We were enjoying the experience, although the church was on the smallish-side, thus making Jeff and I stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.  Some people may love the extra attention a situation like that generates; but, Jeff and me, charter members of Introverts Anonymous?  Not so much.  Everyone was so genuine and friendly though, it was hard to feel uncomfortable.  Mostly.

The youth pastor/children’s director/utility infielder gave a very thought provoking devotion before Communion and then they began passing the trays.  I have never had a problem taking Communion in a church that was not my own because I understand the concept of open Communion being just that — open to all believers, regardless of church affliction…I mean affiliation.

That wasn’t the problem.  The problem was, of all things, God.  As the tray was passed to me, a little nugget of Scripture popped into my head with a little ding — like an email popping into my in-box — and it caused the “Holy Chiclet” train to come to an immediate and screeching halt.

The scripture was from Matthew 5 – after the Beatitudes…after Jesus talks about being salt and light…oddly, when I looked up the scripture later Sunday afternoon, I found it right smack in the middle of a paragraph on murder.  An interesting topic for a personal Communion meditation, don’t you think?

 The scripture that popped into my head was Matthew 5:23-24. “”Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.” 

So I passed the tray to Jeff without taking Communion and I looked at the floor rather than meet his questioning gaze.  “Have you already written off this church?”  He whispered.

“No, my heart hurts,”  I sniffled.  “Communion…I can’t…I’ll explain later.”  And I did.  Or at least I tried.

This was one of those times when I felt decidedly female as I tried to explain my emotions and the conflict of my heart to one who is decidedly male.  Don’t get me wrong…Jeff is an unusually good listener but he is also about as male as they come.   It requires serious effort and restraint on his part to not have my problems solved before I’ve even finished telling him about them.  If it is true that women are from Venus and and men are from Mars, then Mars and Venus aren’t nearly far enough apart. 

But I gave it my best shot and tried to explain to Jeff about all of the conflict and confusion and anger and pain in my heart.  And he listened and tried to understand as I told him how a very personal situation had caused this pain and anger of mine to absolutely explode and how the aftermath of destructive debris was still continuing to rain down.  I tried to explain how hard it’s been to even pray about the issue because each time I do, old wounds are re-opened resulting in raw, mind-searing pain.  I hurt for God.  I hurt for all of the people that are involved and yes, I hurt for myself too. 

Hurt is nothing new though.  I’ve taken Communion plenty of times with a heart full of hurt.   At those times, I have found the act of Commuion to be a comforting invitation and a time of sharing my hurt and sorrow with the ultimate Healer.   It has always been very soothing.

The difference this time was that attached to the hurt was a lot of anger and malice.  That is something new for me.  And there’s so much anger to go around, it’s hard to even keep up with who I’m angry at.  Myself?  Yep.  My friends?  Probably.  My family?  Uh-huh.  God?  Absolutely.  Some kid that I don’t even know.  Yeah.  I’m angry. 

So granted, there has been a lot going on in my head and my heart but I’ve managed, until this point, to compartmentalize very nicely, thank you.  But when God tells you not to take Communion?  That’s a pretty serious wake-up call and well…you sort of begin to notice these things that until then you’d been able to ignore.

I mentioned last week that the default theme for February seems to be “living with courage.”  And again, this week’s blog has fit nicely into that theme without any planning or preparation on my part.   Coincidence?  I think not! 

So where do I stand now?  I have no plan of action on how to solve this problem.  I could just not take Communion ever again; but you know as well as I do that the Communion issue is only a symptom of a greater disease.  And now I am left with this blossoming sense of dread that I’m entering into one of those painful, lonely periods of Godly growth.

Courage aside, to be completely honest, I’m not really interested in growing right now.  I kinda liked where things were.  But God has made it painfully obvious to me that some change needs to take place — not on the surface but deep in my soul where the salt burns. 

One of my favorite movies in the world is “Remember the Titans.”  For me, it has all the markings of a great movie.  It has football, it has a good story-line, it has humor, and it was based on a real moment in history.  There is a quote part way through the movie when the head coach is trying to get his newly-integrated, racially charged, football team of 1971 to come together.  Coach Boone takes the team on an early morning run through the woods.  A run that ends at Gettysburg.

As they stand panting and gasping for breath, watching the pre-dawn fog rise over the battlefield, Coach Boone tells his boys, “This is where they fought the battle of Gettysburg. Fifty thousand men died right here on this field, fighting the same fight that we are still fighting among ourselves today. This green field right here, painted red, bubblin’ with the blood of young boys. Smoke and hot lead pouring right through their bodies. Listen to their souls, men. I killed my brother with malice in my heart. Hatred destroyed my family. You listen, and you take a lesson from the dead. If we don’t come together right now on this hallowed ground, we too will be destroyed, just like they were…”

I’m not playing football.  I’m not fighting the segregationist fight.  But I am in a battle.  I do have malice in my heart and that malice and hatred is threatening to destroy my family.  I take that pretty personally.  However I’ve realized, through the course of this week, that at its very ugly heart, the malice and anger and hatred that I’ve been feeling aren’t as nebulous as I first thought.  All of those feelings do have a focus.  It’s not directed at God or my friends or my family or even that kid I don’t know.  It isn’t directed at anyone but me.

Somewhere along the line, I have become the enemy.  And in the midst of my anger and utter loathing, I’m rehashing the same battles that Jesus fought over 2000 years ago.  

And now I’m at a crossroad.  No pun intended.  I can either accept the victory…the one that Jesus bought with His own blood or I can keep fighting a fight that I will never win.   Seems pretty pointless, doesn’t it?  And yet I fight…

Later today, I will go to church and I will worship.  I probably won’t take Communion because my gift is unacceptable until I’ve found a way to be  reconciled with God and with myself.   That hurts; but, there is comfort in honesty and in knowing the truth.

I guess the only question that remains is which I love more — My God and my Father, the One who knit me together in my mother’s womb, or those comfortable, familiar parasites of anger and malice and loathing that I wrap around myself like a cloak.

The time has come to make a choice.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

As the calendar year winds down, top ten lists are all the rage.  So I thought I would conclude a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend with a little list of my own.

Here are, in no particular order, things that I am especially thankful for. 

10.  Escaping from Atlanta.  Moving.  Running away to home.  However you want to phrase it, I am so thankful to be out of the city that never felt like home.

9.  Friends.  The one from Atlanta who shares my passion for the good doctor — Dr. Seuss, that is!  The one whose phone line I tie up on Monday nights.  (My apologies to my pool cleaner!)  The one that I sleep next to every night.  The ones who have had a profound influence on my life and those that I have yet to meet.

8.  Family.  Especially my aunt who has moved me more times than any family member should ever move anybody.

7.  Books.  The three that I’m reading.  The three that I just finished.  The ten that I have stacked next to my bed, the thousands that live at the library and, the one that I’m trying to write.  They give me ideas and insight and inspiration.  They force me to change and grow and evolve.  Anthony Hopkins said in the movie “Shadowlands”, “We read to feel that we are not alone.” and it’s true — at least for me. 

6.  Creatures.  The cats I live with.  The pets I’ve had throughout my life.  The animals I see in nature that remind me constantly of my God who just IS!

5.  Humor.  There is nothing more comforting than genuine laughter.  God gave me a pretty good sense of humor.   He’s also blessed my life with people who have the ability to make me laugh — even when nothing is funny.

4.  Food.  We are still working on our Thanksgiving leftovers and honestly, I’m getting pretty tired of seeing the same thing on my plate every night.  But then I think about the people who have no leftovers because they had no Thanksgiving dinner.  Rather humbling, isn’t it?

3.  Exercise.  Isn’t it interesting that this came directly after food?  Before the food and football that dominated our Thanksgiving, Jeff and I hit the gym.  I lifted weights and ran a mile.  This may not seem huge but to me, it is amazing.  I am indeed fearfully and wonderfully made.

2.  Music.  The intricacies of classical music.  The sweet harmonies of an old hymn.  The driving beat of my workout music.  The music that so often breathes life into my memories.  The music that, at times, has moved me to believe.

1.  Faith, hope, and love.  Faith is knowing that no matter how dark the night, the sun will rise the next morning.  Hope is knowing that everything, even the hard times, have an amazing potential for Godly growth.  Love is knowing that the Creator of the universe sent His Son to die for me. 

And the greatest of these is love. 

Happy Thanksgiving.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

I have this little game that I play when I can’t sleep at night.  Due to a stubborn and persistent streak of insomnia, I’ve been playing a lot lately.  The game is pretty simple.  I lay in the dark and think of things I really want to know that cannot be learned by conventional methods.  I imagine hanging out with Jesus and  finally getting the answers to all these perplexing questions.

For instance, I would really like to know what the point is to leaf blowers — in the global sense of the word.  Atlanta is completely obessed with its landscaping.  After living there for two years, I have had the opportunity to witness many of these leaf blowers in action.  The blowee guys (Bonus points for the first person to email me with the actual job title!)  walk along the sidewalk with their blowers, making little piles of debris swirl in front of them.  Need a visual?  Picture the character Pig Pen from the old “Peanuts” cartoons.

I understand that the obvious purpose of this act is to clean off the sidewalk.  I get that part.  What I don’t get though is what happens to the little piles of debris when Pig Pen turns off the blower.  The piles still exist, don’t they?  They’re just in a new and improved location.  A location where, in a few days, a new Pig Pen will come along, stir up the debris, and blow it another quarter mile down the road.  And the process continues.  Am I alone in thinking this is a ludicrious if not totally futile act?

And, now for the really big question.  After all of the Pig Pens have done their thing, what ultimately happens to all the debris?  Where does it go?  When Canada isn’t looking do we just sweep it under the border?

Some of my questions are a bit more intellectual.  On the heels of a Presidential election, I would like someone to explain to me why ANYONE would want to be President of the United States right now.  What kind of sane person would voluntarily inherit the headaches of major financial crises, two foreign wars, and a bunch of elected U.S. officials who tanked on a quiz about American history?  No, seriously…it happened.  Check out this link.  

I also want the absolute truth about some things.  I want to know what really happened on the day that John F. Kennedy was shot.  Was it one gunman?  Was it two?  Was it the C.I.A?  The Republicans, the Soviets, LBJ?  Over the years there have been so many theories and counter-theories and counter, counter theories.  The only thing, it seems, that can be agreed upon is that JFK is indeed, dead — which is more than I can say for Elvis.  Did you know that he was recently spotted at Skeeter Bob’s Pump and Pass in Skyler City, Alabama?

Ok…you’re right.  I made that up but it easily could have been a tabloid headline that would have sold millions of papers; and, it’s slightly more believable than some of the stuff they gleefully print on the front page. 

I also want the truth about what really went down during the 1919 World Series, who actually won the 2000 Presidential election, and why exactly that the words ”am” and “not” don’t combine to form the contraction “amn’t”  As in, “I had a huge lunch.  I amn’t hungry.”

While we’re on the subject of questions with no answers, somebody please explain Facebook to me.  In an effort to keep up with my old Sunday school kids who are no longer kids, I joined Facebook.  I have been steadily gathering “friends” ever since.  What I don’t understand though is how I became ”friends” with people who have barely been acquaintances for the last 10 years?  Ah…the magic of Facebook!

And perhaps the most complex question of all is, “What in the world is wrong with me?”  I don’t care to know Britney’s every move and my life will remain unchanged regardless of who committed a fashion faux pas on the red carpet.  I find the power and influence of Donald Trump, Oprah, and Dr. Phil to be downright scary at times.  I don’t think foul language, crass jokes, or rude kids make a movie script enjoyable.

And my worst offense to date?  I hate my cell-phone.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I hate my phone.  I saw a commercial last night showcasing the App Store feature of the new IPhone.  The tagline of the commerical was, ”What do you want your phone to be today?”

My immediate and yet slightly bewildered answer was, “How about a phone?”  I don’t need to play games, text my Facebook ”friends”, surf the net, or watch music videos.  I just need it to make a phone call every now and then.  Otherwise, just leave me blissfully out of touch, thank you very much.  I know, I know…very old school of me.

In John 17:14-15 Jesus prays for his disciples.  ”I have given them your word and the world has hated them, for they are not of the world any more than I am of the world.  My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one.”

As Believers, we are to be “In the world — not of it.”  Meaning we are physically present in the world but not part of it’s satan-driven values.  At times I do really well at skimming the surface of what the world has to offer without becoming totally immersed in its culture.  Other times, I do not and my focus completely misses the mark.

Do people around me think I’m different because I hate my phone or because they see Jesus in me?  My honest answer to that question is, “I don’t know.”; and, the fact that I don’t know the answer feeds my insomnia on a nightly basis. 

The lyrics of the song, “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus“ talk about looking into the face of Jesus and then having the “things of earth” simply fade away.  And although that is my ultimate goal, to be utterly and completely focused on Christ, I’d still like to know what happens to our swirling debris when the sidewalk ends.

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

Saturdays at the Rich house are generally pretty quiet.  We try really hard to not do much.  Our main goals yesterday were getting the sheets changed on the bed and eating something for supper that was not ordered at a drive-thru.  I am happy to report that both objectives were achieved.

We do have a few treasured Saturday traditions.  One of our favorites is to head to our local Barnes & Noble.  This is a tradition that we do together.  At least in theory; but in practice?  Not so much.  Once inside the door, we split up.  Jeff sprints for the Sci-Fi section as I begin my own dizzying tour through the store — hitting nearly every section except for Sci-Fi.  I don’t know what it is about bookstores.  They transform me into something that looks like a hummingbird with A.D.D.  There is just so much to take in…so much to look at…so many books, so little time…gotta go over here…or was it over here?

I LOVE books — all except for the Sci-fi ones.  I’ve never been able to read more than a few pages of any of Jeff’s books.  The writing is not bad, it’s just not interesting to me.  But they capture Jeff’s attention enough to make him want to stay up all night and read on occasion.

Movies are another area where we are essentially incompatible.  “Aliens and explosions” are the main characteristics of Jeff’s favorites.  For me to love a movie, I need a good storyline, witty dialog, believable characters, and popcorn with extra butter.

Shortly after I moved to Atlanta, Jeff took me on a date that included one of the “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies.  I did enjoy parts of the movie; but, it will never be a favorite.  And after seeing it, I have one suggestion for Disney.  If you’re going to scare the pants off of me with your movie, please do not show me a happy little Mickey Mouse logo at the end!  Mickey is for fun movies with rainbows and singing woodland critters – not explosions and hideous characters with tentacles growing on their face.  So in the future, if the movie is scary, DO NOT show me that mouse at the end! 

Music is another area where Jeff and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.  We’re still in the process of discovering music that we both enjoy.  Jeff is a Rush guy from way back.  I think we own every CD and concert DVD they’ve ever done and I have to admit, they are extremely talented musicians and their lyrics are profound and thought-provoking.  In fact, I would probably love Rush if they stuck to just playing music and nobody ever sang.

To be fair, I’m sure Jeff would have equally harsh critiques about my music, my movies, and my books.  However, this is my blog so he’s not going to get equal time.  It’s good to be queen! 

While our differences do make for occasionally difficult dates, I am thankful for them.  It would be a lot easier if we loved the same movies.  Jeff could sniffle through my tear-jerkers with me and I could applaud his exploding aliens.  We would listen to Rush every time we got in the car and fight to see who got first read of my latest presidential biography.

But we’re not the same.  Thank you, God!  In sameness, there is no growth.  In sameness, there is no learning to compromise and no learning to get along.  I am extremely thankful for our differences because they have forced me to become someone different than I once was.  Our differences have forced me to grow.

I was reminded of the joy of differences this week as I had the opportunity to talk about ministry with a Children’s director at a local church.  She talked about the process she goes through to place a volunteer in an area of ministry.  As she described all the people who come together each Sunday to create a meaningful worship and teaching time for the kids at her church, I was enthralled and amazed.  Isn’t it just like God to create a world where every one’s gifts are needed and every one’s circumstances are valued?

A few years ago, I was lucky enough to teach Sunday school with a wonderful lady.  When we started teaching together, I didn’t know her at all.  But now, she is one of my best friends.  We had a beautiful partnership in our Sunday school class.  I did all the work and she showed up.  That was HER description.  Not mine!  But essentially, her assessment was true.  I did do the prep work.  I did teach the class.  And she did show up.  Every week. 

Our lives were very different.  At the time, I was single and had a lot of time on my hands.  She had two active and involved teenagers.  My Saturdays were spent cutting out 30 little Jesus puppets.  Her Saturdays were spent running between show-choir and soccer and music recitals.  It would have been easy for her to pull back and say, “I’ll just wait to serve God until my kids are out of the house.”  But she didn’t.

Instead, she did what she could and became an adult that I could count on in my classroom.  Another adult to listen to our Sunday school kids and to pray for sick pets and school problems.  She was another adult to give special attention when it was needed and a stern “Mom” look when the kids got squirrelier than normal.  She was another adult that I could ask to complete some weird task at the last minute and know that it would be done.  On time.  Every time.

Her loyalty and dedication allowed me to dream and to occassionally dare to try something different.  Her committment to me and to our class gave me the courage to fail.  She became a trusted friend who gave me feedback and talked me down when I was frustrated.  We laughed together and she became someone with whom I could share my heart.

Each week she served the kids and she served me.  We became a team and together, we taught a bunch of kids about Jesus.  I don’t know that I am more proud of anything else I’ve done; and yet, there is no way I could have done even a portion of what I did without her.  I’m so thankful for our differences and the way God put us together so we could serve Him in the most effective way.

Although she thinks she just “showed up”, this simply is not true.  She supported and encouraged and lovingly touched and shaped lives.  Every week.  Because of this friend, I’m a better person, a closer follower of Jesus, and more focused and sure of my ministry than I’ve ever been before.  She mentored me beautifully but with the purity of my never knowing what she was doing.  Sounds like a lot more than just “showing up”, doesn’t it?

Yes, there are times when Jeff’s movie choices annoy me.  There are rare times when all I want to do is go to bed together; but, he’s so into finishing his book that he’s not aware of anything else.  There are times when I forget to be thankful for the different people God created us to be and the marriage He formed by bringing us together.  

Like my Sunday school friend, Jeff tends to believe that his contribution to my life is just “showing up.”  But he does so much more.  For example, several years ago I wrote some Sunday school curriculum that required some cooking and craft projects that I had never done before.  This made me nervous and I felt it absolutely necessary to try out everything before I handed the curriculum over.  However, because I am a master at both procrastination and biting off more than I can chew, I was running out of time and my curriculum deadline was looming.

It would have been easy for Jeff to get frustrated with me because of my lack of pre-planning and seeming inability to say, “no”.  But what he did instead was join me in what I was attempting to do for God.  He became my test kitchen and my research lab.  Via long distance, he made my recipes and tried out my projects, reporting back to me about what worked and what did not.  He became an invaluable member of my team and I couldn’t have done what I did without him. 

As I go through my week, my goal is to remember writing this blog and to be a little more thankful and a lot less judgemental of the differences in this world.  God created people, with all their likes and dislikes and personality quirks, for a reason.  And it wasn’t just to annoy me!  Whether we all play nice and get along or not is our issue – not God’s. 

And for those of you who were wondering, the last time we left Barnes and Noble, Jeff’s bag contained two Sci-fi books and a bargain table book on the life of Judas.  What was in my bag?  “Horton Hears a Who”, that’s what!

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

Last week Jeff and I drove to Chattanooga, TN to spend the night.  Before you decide that we’ve fallen off our proverbial rockers, let me tell you why.

Some dear, dear friends of mine from Nebraska were going to be spending a week in Nashville while their son attended Camp Electric.  Because Chattanooga is sort of in the middle between Nashville and Atlanta, we decided to meet there.

Although I saw these friends in March and we email and phone somewhat regularly, the opportunity to meet them and talk in person and hug and laugh together still made me feel like a little kid on Christmas morning.  I was SO excited!

I was excited to spend time with them and catch up on their lives.  I was excited to reminisce and laugh about the same old stories and hear the new stories.  I was excited for Jeff to have the opportunity to get to know them without a thousand other distractions. 

And, as a unforseen bonus, I felt profound, renewed excitement about Jeff as my husband.  He proved to me again how much he loves me by taking two days off from work so he could go to Chattanooga with me.  Although these are technically my friends, Jeff embraced the trip as something we would do together because it was important to me.  My dad was right, Jeff is most definitely a “keeper”.

Our trip was wonderful!  We played tourist and rode the incline train to the top of Lookout Mountain.  We shared meals and laughter.  And for 24 hours, things were just as they had always been — except that we were in Tennessee rather than Nebraska and I was married and my friend’s daughter had just finished up an internship and their son now had his learner’s permit and…well you get the idea.  Like it or not, time marches on and yet, these three remain…faith, hope and love.  Lots and lots of love.

During our last few hours together, we again played the part of the tourists, as we visited Ruby Falls.  Ruby Falls is a cave with a twist.  Deep within the winding, damp caverns of Lookout Mountain, there is a dome with a 145 foot natural waterfall.  According to their website, the Ruby Falls cave and waterfall is approximately 30 million years old. 

I have never been in a cave before and yet there I was, with at least 45 other tourists, viewing the stalactites and stalagmites and learning that people who study caves are called “Speleologists”.  People who just explore caves are the “Spelunkers”.

There really aren’t words to explain the beauty I saw that day.   Formation after formation appeared as our tour wound deeper into the underworld of Lookout Mountain.  These formations have been there for millions…MILLIONS of years.  I was amazed.  Speechless.  And awed.

After nearly 40 minutes of following the trails in the cave, we came to the dome.  Before we entered, I could hear the rushing water and feel the dampness.  Once inside the dome, we saw the waterfall, in all its glory.  It was so far beyond beautiful.

As I stood there, with the spray hitting my face, I had tears in my eyes.  How could any human being look upon the amazing beauty of that waterfall within a sparkling, bejeweled cavern and not believe in God?

Later, as I said good-bye to my friends, I wondered the same thing.  How can anyone look upon the beauty of a deep, enduring friendship and not believe in God?

I don’t know the answer to either of those questions; but I am incredibly thankful for all that God has made.