O God of compassionate justice, God of everlasting peace,

We are indeed living in a society that is hungry for compassion, thirsty for peace.
We give thanks that your sustaining spirit surrounds us always and everywhere, no matter how ugly the world around us may be.
We are grateful for your daily reminders to us of your love that bind us together.
Keep us grounded to this love during days of sunlight and days of storms. 

In this political season, we lift up our prayers:
We pray with gratefulness for our community servants who sacrifice much
and seek the common good;
We pray for our leaders and those who seek to lead,
that they would be driven by empathy and compassion;
We pray for those who are marginalized and
whose voices are often drowned out or silenced;
We pray for those who have survived sexual assault or abuse,
as we realize the rhetoric of this election has reopened many of their wounds.

We pray for all of us to work hard at opening our minds to hear the views of others drastically different than our own without shaming or blaming or name calling or judging;
We pray for our hearts to make room for hope and to drive out fear;
we pray for our words and thoughts to build others up and not tear them down;

O God, in this season of divisiveness and despair,
work through us so that we can live and demonstrate the gospel message that challenges us to love our neighbor as ourselves—to love all of our neighbors as ourselves--
our democrat neighbor, our republican neighbor, our independent neighbor,
our FOX news neighbor and our NPR neighbor,
our Muslim neighbor, our Jewish neighbor, our atheist neighbor, our evangelical neighbor,
our rich neighbor, our poor neighbor,
our gay neighbor, our transgender neighbor, our straight neighbor,
our Black neighbor, our Asian neighbor, our Hmong neighbor, our White neighbor,
our rude neighbor,
our homeless neighbor,
our youngest neighbor, our oldest neighbor.

May our love for all our neighbors influence our politics and our speech,
may it fill our streets and our homes,
may it guide our churches and our mission.
Amen.

I have a confession to make. When I see strong female leaders who are making a difference, my first thought is, what a great role model for my daughter. I want her to grow up to be a strong leader herself, with strong ideas and convictions and the confidence to use her voice and her actions. I want her to be articulate, successful, compassionate, and wise. So whenever I see a women who resembles that vision, I think of her, my daughter.

My church book club recently read, I Am Malala, the story of a 15 year old Muslim girl who was shot by the Taliban because she was (and still is!) an advocate for the education for women. She's the youngest person to receive a Nobel Peace Prize. The thought occurred to me when my husband and I got our tickets to see her speak—I wish our daughter was old enough to come with us.
 
We have books about Ruby Bridges, Amelia Earhart, and Rosa Parks that we read frequently at our house. My thinking is usually along the lines of how good these stories are for her, for her courage and her sense of self and her ability to be strong and remarkable. 

When we talk about going to a women's sporting event, I think, that would be really good for my daughter to see, to experience, to value, to appreciate.
 
I do want her to have positive female role models, diverse female examples that demonstrate various ways women can be leaders in the world who are making a difference. I know that having people who look like you (your skin color, your age, your gender, your background, etc) can inspire you in ways that people who don't look like you may not.

But here's the thing. I also have two sons. Why aren't I as concerned that they have strong female role models as well? Do my boys only need male role models? Will only my daughter benefit from female role models?

Of course not. In fact, I think it's just as important, if not more so, that my boys learn to look up to women just like my daughter. I want all of my children to see competent men and women in leadership. I want them to see a variety of people, with different skills and personalities and backgrounds and experiences, making a difference in the world. I want my children to be able to recognize strong leadership attributes.

I especially want my boys to appreciate women as leaders, as change-makers, as equal partners in all aspects of life. I want them to empower women. I want them to encourage women. I want them to work with women. That won't happen if they don't learn from an early age to look up to women, to admire women, to model the worthy attributes of women in their lives.

When our church group (of 8 people total--7 women & 1 man) went to hear Malala speak, I took a look at the group in attendance. Based on a small sample size, my estimate was that 15% of those in the sold out Target Center were male, 20% at best. Malala's speech was aimed largely at young people, but most of those young people were young girls. I celebrate that there were many young people in attendance and that the arena was sold out. But I do lament that more young boys and men weren't present.

This was especially poignant because Malala's life is based on the strong support and encouragement of her father. Her father fought against his culture to help his daughter (and other young girls) get an education. Her father went against the norm to include his wife and daughter in political conversations and important decisions. Her father raised his whole family to look up to strong women. He named his daughter after one of his own role models-Malalai of Maiwand, a famous Pushtun poet and warrior woman from southern Afghanistan.

Men, who are your role models? Do any of them happen to be women? Who are your children's role models? Do your boys look up to strong women, or just men? Does it matter to you? Should it matter to them?

We added a fifth crew member to the team last year. He's adorable and sweet and easy as pie. No lie. But like all babies, he comes with a whole host of things, not to mention laundry! Since this is our third go-around, I now know which baby products get used at our house and which ones don't. Here are my top 10 baby products that we use ALL THE TIME and were worth every. single. penny.

1. Ergo baby carrier with infant insert. We have the Original Baby Carrier and love it. You can use it with a toddler too, so it never even got packed away between kids. Our first didn't like the infant insert, but the next two did.
2. Rock 'n Play. We didn't know about this genius of an item for our first, but have used it for hours each day for both boys. It's a lifesaver and provides a good napping spot while traveling too.
3. Halo sleep sacks. I had big babies, so I had to find the largest size swaddlers they make. I recommend keeping kids in the swaddled ones for as long as possible. You can always leave their arms out if you want. Soon enough they'll be too big for them anyway.
4. Keekaroo Height Right high chair. We bought this for our second child because we were tired of how hard it was to clean the first high chair. Not to mention how much room it took up. This one is much easier to clean, takes up much less space, and has the ability to convert to a chair once your child is older.
5. Chicco Keyfit 30 travel system. I'm tall, so I needed the tallest stroller possible. This one was it, and it is so EASY to maneuver. Would never get a different stroller or carseat.
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6. Medela pump-in-style travel pump. The backpack style is the way to go! Easy to carry around with you and enough space to put a few extra things in there.
7. Boppy. This is a must have. I use it for nursing (and have tried a couple other kinds and always come back to this one). My whole family used it in the hospital when they were holding the baby. Our oldest uses it as a neck pillow at times. It can also be useful for tummy time and helping a baby sit up when he/she is still learning.
8. Dr. Browns bottles. We tried four different kinds with our first before these came to the rescue. Yes, they are the most complicated bottles to wash with all the parts. But for my babies who were very picky about who fed them and how, they loved these. They also cut down on reflux for babies.
9. Bath tub. Nothing fancy here. We got ours at a garage sale for $2, and it has worked out well. They make lots of fancy tubs and gadgets for babies, but I'd rather spend that money on other items (or college!)
10. Summer infant Day and Night handheld monitor. This one has lasted us 5 years and is still going strong. We've had 2 other ones that have not worked out well for us (when we wanted a monitor in the toddler room). 

I love Fridays. Most of the time, Fridays are my day off. I get to spend time with the kiddos, not think about work for the day, get dressed whenever I want to, do a project or watch a movie. In celebration of Fridays, here are some of my favorite things lately.

Brian Doyle's book, A Shimmer of Something, is a pleasure every single time I pick it up. It's a collection of what he calls proems--a combination of prose and poetry, or a combination of prayers and poems. He is very gifted at finding the sacred in small, ordinary unsuspecting places. I teared up at his proem about his kid trying out for the basketball team (titled "On Pinning the Number 92 on My Son before Basketball Tryouts") and I laughed out loud at the proem about what he would do if he was Pope (titled  "We Have a Wild New Pope"). You can read one or two here or there, or go through the whole thing. Either way, I find myself going back to read my favorites over and over.

Kowalski's Brown Betty Pie. I blame it on my pregnancy, but I ate it just as often when I wasn't preggers, so....... Not their regular apple pie. Must be Brown Betty with the crumbly topping. It also counts as breakfast, because FRUIT.

It's no secret that I love Pinterest. And while I pin way too many things (I'm hovering around 3,000 right now) to actually do/use/remember, it is true that I do occasionally complete a project from Pinterest in my real life. I made the above fleece romper for baby #3 due in a little while. Photo on the left is the one I made, and photo on right is from the tutorial at The Purl Bee. The tutorial was easy to follow and I did it straight through with no mistakes! That NEVER happens when I sew. Head on over there to check it out along with some other really great tutorials and inspiration.

Amy Schumer. When I need to laugh, I google her name and find a video I haven't seen of her yet. She makes me laugh out loud. She's all over the place now, and I can't endorse her new movie (I haven't seen it yet. Could be awhile before I'm able to put an actual REAL LIVE movie in theaters on my Friday Favorites, but as soon as I can, I promise you I will), but I can endorse HER for a good laugh! Plus Ellen is one of my favorites, so this one counts double time. Enjoy! Happy Friday!

O God,
The warmth of the sun's embrace,
the gentle breeze coming in over the lake,
the chirping of birds and crickets, 
the buzzing of mosquitos and bees,
the dripping, sticky juice of watermelons,
the smell of smokey campfires,
the clicking of ice cubes in our lemonade.

All of these are signs of summer’s arrival.
All of these are ways that we can glimpse you in nature and in our lives.

They remind us that you us to see you, feel you, find you, and know you in concrete ways.

This summer, may we find you and recognize you, God, as we walk through this world. As we feel the sunlight peering through the windows even before our alarms have time to ring, may we also feel your love filling our lives.

As we hear the casting of fishing poles and the light drips of jumping fish in the water, may we also hear your voice calling our names and beckoning us to listen to you throughout our day.

As we search for relaxation and renewal, as we look for connection and family, may we also look for where you are calling us and where you are pointing us.

As we scratch our bug bites and soothe our sunburn, may we also soothe those facing deeper pains and hurts in their lives. May we pay attention to the itch within to live for the sake of others, showing them the beauty that exists in your world and sharing our compassion and generosity.

Summer is filled with many wonderful things and experiences. May our summers also be filled to the brim with your presence and our connection to you and to each other.

In Jesus' name we pray. Amen.

There’s a popular theory out there that you are either left or right brained. Left-brained people are those who can listen to a lecture that lasts for hours, who enjoy checklists and logical arguments, who like to focus on very specific details and examples. Right-brained people are those who prefer audio-visual presentations, who are comfortable jumping (sometimes literally) around from idea to idea, who relish conversation and interaction. Left-brains are ordered; right-brains are creative.
 
Scientists now know that we aren’t actually left or right brained—we all use all parts of our brain. This is good news! We may have preferences or different learning styles, but it doesn’t mean that we are only using one side of our brain, or even that we use one side disproportionate to the other.

Our culture hasn’t caught on to this, though. We still live in this dichotomy that puts logic and critical thinking and reasoning on one side, and intuition and creativity and emotions on the other. Science often gets put in one camp, and religion in the other. I hear things like, “the scientist in me can’t take religion seriously” or “I’m too logical to believe all that faith stuff.”

When I hear that, I hear an unspoken assumption that science is about facts, clear outlines, logic and proof. That this is the best way to approach all areas of life. It is the best filter—better than looking at things through an emotional or intuitive filter—and the only filter that we should use when we look at our world.


Enter the book of Job in the Old Testament. It’s the story of a man whose life, in chapter one, is exactly the life we would write for ourselves if we could—he’s got a loving family, he’s got a profitable farm, he has enough help to do what he wants to do. Job is a faithful guy who is a good and trustworthy neighbor. He can think deeply and constructively about difficult topics. He has dependable friends who are present in his life. It is a rich and meaningful life.

And then he loses almost all of it. His children die, his livestock dies, he himself is covered in excruciatingly painful sores. Everything you’ve ever worried about for no reason has happened to him. He is now forced to live through his worst nightmare.

For 37 chapters, he questions and accuses God, searching for some sort of rationale for why this happened. He wants a left-brained response—a rational, logical explanation. His friends all share their own perspectives on why, but none of them satisfy Job. He wants to hear from God directly.

Finally, after everyone else has had their chance to debate and theorize, after Job has questioned and demanded answers from God, God finally speaks.

But God doesn’t give Job answers. God gives Job more questions.

         Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
         Have you commanded the morning since your days began?
         Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth?
         From whose womb did the ice come forth?

God reminds Job of the complexities of the world that don’t relate to his present situation:
         The birth of deer, the tides of the ocean, the wings of the ostrich, 

         the snow and hail and light and darkness of the world, 
         the might of the horse, the nests of the eagles.

And after God shares all that, all Job can say is, I’ve spoken twice, but I won’t speak again. 
My hand covers my mouth.

The only appropriate response from Job when faced with God’s work is one of awe and wonder. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is cover your mouth with amazement. Sometimes, the most faithful thing, the most intelligent thing you can do is say wow, and sit down.


Job thought he needed an answer. Job thought that to find meaning and purpose in his life again, God would need to explain to him exactly why all these things had happened to him.

As it turns out, Job didn’t need that.

God didn’t point him towards a logical answer. God didn’t give him a timeline of the way his life will work.

God pointed Job towards creation. God pointed Job towards awe and wonderment.

Science and faith both point us towards awe. Our faith encourages us to cultivate this sense of praise and wonder for all that God is doing, all that God has created, all that exists beyond our own understanding. Our Bible is filled with invitations to see the world with wonder and awe. There are close to 150 places in the bible that use the word “wonder.”

The Psalms say that God is great and does works full of wonder. The prophet Isaiah says, “the whole earth is full of God’s glory.”


May you come to treasure the value of awe and wonder.

May you practice turning off your need for clear answers and open yourself up to experiencing the questions and mysteries of life.

May you use both faith and science to point you towards a more grounded and extensive experience of what is holy and sacred, what is possible, what is beautiful, what is amazing.

May you come to understand that sometimes the most faithful and intelligent response you can give is simply to say wow, and sit down.

May this be so. Amen.

As you were making your entrance into this world, literally being pulled from my body, you were already making an impression on the OR team delivering you.

I’ve watched the video of your birth no less than 70 times. If an iPhone video can be one of someone’s favorite possessions, this is mine. I will forever be grateful that the delivery was routine enough to allow one nurse the time to video 38 seconds of your arrival that I couldn’t see.

“What a chunk!” says a nurse, off-camera.
“Geesh!” says my doctor, as she’s pulling and bending and yanking on your shoulders to come out. She has to bend at her knees to get enough leverage to pull you out.

The night before, your daddy and I took bets on your size. Your sister was a decent eight pounds six ounces. Since my doctor had said that second babies are often bigger than the first, we guessed nine. Nine pounds one ounce, nine pounds three. Part of me thought that it was wishful (would we call it wishful? Or fearful?) thinking on our part—most likely you would be a heavy eight pounder, maybe close to nine.

Still, it was fun to think you might resemble my own birth weight. At nine pounds nine ounces, my arrival was still a topic of conversation 32 years later. The doctor who delivered me, though needed elsewhere, waited around the room to see me weighed. He was certain I was a 10 pounder. I wasn’t, but my birth weight nonetheless raises most eyebrows.

I didn’t hear the chatter of the nurses or my doctor during your actual birth. I only heard the excitement of your dad narrating to me the critical events happening just inches away from me, behind the blue paper curtain: your head (“baby’s head! Hi baby!”), your hair (baby has a lot of hair!”), and finally your sex (“woah! Baby Anderson!”). With that news, tears fells from my eyes. Though your cry paled in comparison to most babies, it was soon and strong enough to signal health and vibrancy. You were here. You were safe.  

I asked to hold you before they weighed you. Your dad and the nurse laid you on my chest. With five hands helping to prop you up on my chest, I could barely feel any weight. I felt your pruned, purple fingers; I uncurled the blankets swallowing your face so I could stroke your cheek; I kissed your ears and examined the absence of eyebrows and the length of your eyelashes. You were so little and so light—was this really the same baby who had caused my belly to swell so much? Was this really the same baby who had kicked me so hard it kept me up all night? You hardly seemed capable of such strength, such power.

The OR team then took you to get weighed. I was now occupied in conversations with my doctor and anesthesiologist, while watching you and daddy out of the corner of my eye.

At first, your dad thought the scale was broken. I started to worry that maybe you were too small.

“What’s going on?” I tried to ask, but doctors were talking to me about other things.
“Is this right?” Your dad asked.
“Well, we can try it again to make sure.”

They weighed you three times to make sure. 10 pounds, seven ounces. You weren’t too small at all. Quite the opposite!

From that moment on, your size was your identifying trait. You were the largest baby any of our family or friends had heard of. My doctor told me later that for a moment, she was worried you wouldn’t fit through the incision.

“He’s huge!” visitors would say, after having walked past other mothers with their six or seven pound babies.
“He doesn’t even look like a newborn!”
“How’s your kindergartner doing?”

I smiled at these comments, even found a strange sense of pride in them, as if you or I had done something particularly well to arrive at 10 pounds and nine ounces.

Even though I heard these things, I didn’t feel them. You felt like a tiny newborn to me. I felt the way your head rested against my arm, not yet strong enough to support itself.  I felt the way your clenched fists could both fit inside one of mine. I ran my hands over your onesies, knowing they would only last a couple weeks before you outgrew them. I took a diaper to put in your baby book, to show you how small you once were. You slept in a hospital bassinet just five inches deep, and no one was worried you would roll out of it or crawl out. You were too little to do that. You hardly cried at all, and when you did, the sound was but a grunt. You were too little to wail, too little to sob, too little for tears.

10 pounds, seven ounces. The smallest you will ever be. Years from now, I will yearn for those first days when you could barely keep your eyes open for more than an hour. When I could hold you in one arm and not get tired. When I could lay you on my chest and nap with you without getting a crick in my neck.

“Tell me about the day I was born,” you will ask me one day, as your sister does now.
“You were so small,” I will tell you as I tuck you into your bed.
“How small?” you’ll ask, as I lie next to you, pulling the blanket over both of us for a snuggle.
“Small enough to completely fit under my arm in bed,” I will say, as your legs reach my knees.
“Small enough to carry you in a sling. So small no socks would stay on your feet. So small you could only suck on pinky finger. You were the smallest ten pounds I ever saw.”